Dianne's Promotion

He's your boss now, the client, the man who can make or break you. You cannot show weakness. Resolutely you reach behind you and slowly tug up your skirt, the tight material peeling over your backside to reveal your crisp, knicker-clad bum.

"Please, Mr Stevenson," you beg. "Might I keep my knickers on? I've never been caned before, you see, and in England it's terribly shameful to show your naked..."

"Certainly not!" booms Mr Stevenson. "All punishments in Westjack are bare bottomed! It's a tradition! I can't very well tell my superiors I beat you with your knickers on -- it would be a disgrace, to you and me. Nothing must come between the cane and crisp, bare skin!"

You shiver, but having put yourself in this position you can't very well back out now.

For Mature Readers Only

This is a work of fiction. In real life practice safe sex.

Copyright Robin Pearce 2014. First printing 2014.

Introduction

This is a spanking adventure game. It follows the story of your character, an ambitious but stressed young woman in her twenties, who is given the promotion she always dreamed of, a senior position in her mobile phone company. But it comes with a catch -- she must work on a remote island where the sexual revolution never happened, and where young ladies are soundly spanked for the slightest error. Worse, a secret group of conservative men, who control much influence, are determined to keep the conveniences of the outside world off the island. Can you complete the company's project and secure your promotion? And can you balance the demands of your work with your secret desires to submit to shameful punishment?

Creating Dianne Hathaway

In this adventure you play Miss Dianne Hathaway, a brilliant, if overworked employee of ComLondon, a company specialising in mobile communication. You have to decide what Dianne is like, where her strengths and weaknesses lie. Whether you wish to create an arch-submissive, a cruel authoritarian manager, or a sly manipulator, you create your character in the same way.

You have 12 points to create your character. You can spend these on Attributes or Traits, or gain more points by giving your character Weaknesses.

Alternatively you can download and print a pre-made character. You can find character sheets at www.spankingadventures.webeden.co.uk/

Attributes

There are three Attributes in the game, which help to sum up Dianne's personality.

Ambition -- A measure of your authority, strength of character, and your ability to command others.

Dignity -- A measure of your poise, grace and social charms.

Willpower -- Your ability to endure upsets, punishment, and trying situations.

You can spend your points on these attributes. Each attribute must start with a value of at least 1. There is no maximum number of points you can have on an attribute. A value of 3 is about average.

Traits

Traits are special abilities that give Dianne an advantage. Traits will often save you from difficult or embarrassing situations. You begin with a single Trait free which you can select from the list below. You can purchase more -- they cost one point each.

Independently Wealthy -- You have a personal fortune of millions. Money is no problem ... it's status that you seek.

Tough -- Your bum is made of tough stuff. You have an extra bum status, Scorching, that exists on top of Blazing. See the section 'Bum Status' to see how this works. You cannot take this trait if you have the Big Girl's Blouse weakness.

Knowledgeable -- You're not just a pretty face, you have a superb grasp of the technical elements of the job.

Lust for the Cane -- Secretly, all your life you've dreamt of being thrashed by the cane -- the bending over, the sharp sting, the sobbing... you want it all. This trait is a mixed blessing. You find it hard to resist acceding to an offer of a caning, but your love of the implement makes you better able to endure it. When you are caned, you can reduce the number of steps up the Bum Status chart by one. If, for example, you are raised three steps, you can reduce it to two. This does not apply to flogging, hand spanking, or any other non-cane punishments.

Organised -- You are immensely efficient, and meet deadlines as a point of pride.

Fast Healer -- You can take a thrashing, but by next day your welts have practically vanished! When you are asked to lower your Bum Status, you can lower your Bum Status by an extra level, but not below Unblemished.

Domesticated -- You've always been neat and tidy, and can sew, knit and cook as well as anyone you know.

Sneaky -- You know how to stay quiet and move around without being seen. Hardly management behaviour, but often useful.

Weakness

Unlike Traits, Weaknesses are generally disadvantages that will hinder you progress. You start with a single weakness which you can choose from the list below (you can't 'buy it off' with a point). If you want more points to build your character, you can select additional weaknesses. Each extra weakness you choose gives you an extra point to spend.

Big girl's blouse -- You just can't take a beating as well as some girls. Your Bum Status chart stops at Fiery. After that you lose attribute points. You cannot take this weakness if you have the Toughness trait.

Disorganised -- You couldn't organise a drinking competition in a bar. You've relied on skilful underlings to organise you. You cannot take this weakness if you have the Trait 'Organised'.

Messy -- Some say you have a ruffled charm, although your mother was less flattering about you. You tend to be scruffy, have no domestic skills, and your room is like a bomb site. You cannot take this weakness if you have the Trait 'Domesticated'.

I'm sorry Mr Stevenson... - What is it about your client that makes you tremble at the knees and turn to jelly? It's almost as if your body is betraying you, daring Mr Stevenson to spank you. You will find meetings with Mr Steward an instructive process...

Technical Ignorance -- Look; you're a manager, not an engineer! You don't need to know how mobile phones work ... that's what the boys are for! You cannot take this weakness if you have the trait 'Knowledgeable'.

Clumsy -- You frequently bump into things, trip over stuff, and drop things you shouldn't. Surely that can't get you into trouble, can it?

Bum Status

Throughout the story Dianne will inevitably be soundly spanked. It is important to track how sore her bottom becomes. There is a seven point track, from Unblemished to Blazing, through which your character can endure punishment without disadvantage.

Dianne starts with an Unblemished bottom, completely mark free and clear of any crimsoning. Throughout the story, as your character's bottom is punished, you will be asked to go a number of places up the track. If for example, you are given a sound spanking, you might be asked to go up two steps up the Bum Status track. This would put you on 'Sore'. If after that you had the misfortune of being punished again by a stout caning, you might be asked to go three steps up the track. This would put you on 'Fiery'.

(Scorching)

Blazing

Fiery

Throbbing

Ouchy

Sore

Warm

Unblemished

A 'Blazing' bottom is as much as you can take without delving into the depths of your soul to keep still. For every step beyond 'Blazing' you must deduct one point from one of your attributes. These points can come from any attribute you like. You might take it from Willpower to represent your sapping strength of will, or from your Dignity, as your character considers what a spectacle she is making of herself as she wriggles under the lash. Beware that if any of your attributes drop to zero or less, your story will be over as your character resigns from her job and flees back home to England.

(Note: Characters with the 'Tough' attribute have one more step on the track after 'Blazing' -- Scorching. They only lose attribute points for each step beyond Scorching they reach. Likewise characters with the 'Big Girl's blouse' weakness can only go up to 'Fiery' before losing attribute points.)

Your bottom won't just get sorer. It will also recover over time. In this case you will be asked to move a certain number of places down the track. Note that the chart tops out at Blazing (Fiery if you have the weakness 'Big Girl's Blouse', Scorching if you have the trait 'Tough'), and even if you go over this level and lose attribute points, you do not go higher up the track.

For example, if your bottom was 'Blazing' and you were asked to go two steps up the Bum Status track, you would lose 2 attribute points. If later you were asked to go down two steps on the track, your bottom would be on 'Throbbing' -- because the Bum Status chart tops out at 'Blazing'.

You can't go lower than Unblemished - that's your bottom fully healed!

Codewords

Throughout the game you will be asked to record codewords. Codewords keep track of your actions throughout the game. Sometimes you will be asked to go to a certain paragraph if you have a particular code word. In this case you must immediately turn the page requested.

Other Statistics

In addition to your Attributes and Bum Status, there are several other things to keep track of. The current Week and your Progress, as well as your Fun and Reputation scores.

Week

The project is to be completed in 12 weeks. You begin on Week 1.

Progress

Progress tracks how well the project is proceeding. You will need a progress score of at least 100 to succeed. Beware, progress can also go down as well as up if you make bad decisions or your enemies hinder you! You start with 0 progress points.

Fun

Your last job left you stressed and exhausted. You need to find a way to boost the fun in your life, through new experiences and friendships. If you get too stressed you will lose focus. You start with 2 Fun points.

Reputation

Finally you need to make sure that you foster a decent reputation on the island. The islanders expect women to be prim, proper, submissive, yet dignified during punishment. The closer to these ideals you conform, the more respect your staff will have for you, and the harder they will work. As an outsider, you begin with 0 Reputation points.

Background **GAME STARTS HERE***

You've worked hard, damn hard for ComLondon -- and it's finally paid off. When you submitted your application to become a Project Head, you didn't think you'd get the job. You knew that you'd at least get an interview, especially after all your work on the 4G upgrades. But to win the job, and at only twenty four, was a dream come true.

Still, you can't help but feel nervous as you approach the London office for the Project Briefing. The new project has been very hush-hush, and the human resources woman on the other end of the phone seemed almost reluctant when she told you you'd got the job. Perhaps it was simple jealously, but you can't shake the nervous feeling in your stomach as you finally arrive for your meeting.

The Managing Director himself, Todd Wilkins, greets you as you enter the plush meeting room. Trisha Beaumont, the HR lady, is here too -- looking just as strained and stressed in real life as she sounded on the phone.

When you finally sit down to business, there is a momentary, awkward silence, before Todd begins.

"First of all, Di," he says warmly. "Congratulations, there were several dozen applicants being considered, but none as hard working and dedicated to the company as you have proven to be. I believe you're the best person for the job, and Trisha agrees."

You glance at Trisha. It doesn't look like she agrees, given the pinched expression on her face.

"That said," he says, in a tone that makes your stomach swirl in fear, "I understand completely if, upon hearing about the project, you wish to reconsider your acceptance. It will in no way affect any future job offers in the company..."

What does he mean? Are you being rejected? "Why would I want to refuse a promotion?" you laugh as lightly as possible, eager to avoid giving any impression of anger or disappointment.

Todd Wilkins glances at Trisha, and then looks back at you. "The project you'll be leading is on Westjack Island."

You wrack your brains ... should you know where that is?

"I'm not surprised you haven't heard of it ... it's very remote," says Trisha, covering for you. "It's a mid-Atlantic island, a little smaller than the Isle of Wight. A former British Colony -- now basically a tax haven for rich businessmen."

"Businessmen who need to be connected to the outside world," adds Todd. "They have a basic landline exchange, but no mobiles, no internet. The project is to create a 21st Century communications network. It was started two years ago, but has hit snag after snag, and has now all but stalled. We need to get mobile access running in the next twelve weeks or we get fines of millions of pounds."

"Sounds exciting," you say firmly. "I can do that."

Todd hesitates a moment, as if unwilling to dampen your enthusiasm. Trisha, seeing his difficulty, steps in.

"There's a catch -- Westjack Island is an incredibly conservative culture. The locals have ... an extremely bigoted view of modern values. In particular, the role of women on the island is very constrained. Think Britain in the nineteen thirties..."

"Or rather the eighteen thirties," murmurs Todd. "I must be frank, I would feel more comfortable giving this job to a man. In order to get the project running you'll need the respect of the locals, and..."

You rise from your chair. "Stop right there, Todd!" you cry. "This is my job, not anyone else's. I can deal with a few Neanderthal men."

"They're not Neanderthals," he warns. "They are very cultured -- but their views on women..."

Tired of Todd dancing round the issue, Trisha interrupts. "Women are spanked on Westjack Island," she says loudly, causing Todd, and yourself to blush. "You may as well know about it now. Women are spanked -- for misbehaviour, for failing to be ladylike, for ... anything. There are many rules of conduct on Westjack Island, but what it all boils down to is that pretty much any man has the right, enshrined in law, to smack a girl's bottom if he feels she deserves it. Women are expected to take it politely, and learn their lessons. Any girl not conforming to the ideals of a Westjack woman can expect a rosy backside during her stay. Guests to the island are not exempt from this rule."

You blush. A spanking? From any man who chooses to punish you? The very idea makes you feel very queer.

After a moment's more silence, Todd speaks again. "So, you see Dianne, I understand completely if you'd like to refuse the..."

"No," you say impulsively. "I'll not turn down this promotion for the men of Westjack Island or anyone else. It'll take a lot more than a smacked bottom to keep me down, Todd. I'll get that phone network up and running, no matter what!"

Now Turn to page 1.

Page 1

The small charter plane to Westjack may not be luxurious, but at least you get a chance to relax. You can't remember the last time you had a holiday, and your last role as a junior project lead had a deadline that had you working late into night. You really must find a way to restore your work/life balance!

Your ticket doesn't specify a seat, so it looks like you can sit where you please. Where would you like to sit?

Next to a professional looking woman with slicked back hair and a perfect, neat suit? Turn to page 2.

Next to a kindly, if rather rotund, looking older gentleman, dressed in worn tweeds? Turn to page 5.

In a seat by yourself so you can catch some sleep? Turn to page 31.

Page 2

The woman smiles warmly as you take your seat, obligingly moving her laptop bag from your chair and stowing it above her. Soon the plane is taking off, the rattle of its small engines vibrating pleasantly through the plane. After the short safety demonstration by the airline stewardess you begin chatting with your neighbour.

She too is a business woman, on her way to deliver a health and safety lecture to workers on the Westjack Island oil rig. Her name is Susan, and she has been to the island a number of times, and smiles when you bring up the subject of the curious customs of Westjack.

"Oh yes, they're awfully fond of smacking a girl's bottom on Westjack!" she laughs. "The men never pass up an opportunity -- mind you, neither do the women..."

"The women?" you gasp. "Surely they wouldn't be keen ... I mean ... they would know how it feels."

"True," smiles Susan. "But jealousy plays an important part. Every girl since the colony's founding has been spanked -- and the older women don't want the practice dying out. After all, if they had to put up with it whilst they were young, the modern young women of Westjack have to put up with it too."

"It sounds like chaos," you ponder. "Everyone spanking each other day and night..."

"It's not quite like that," says Susan. "The whole thing is wrapped up in tradition and honour. Not everyone can smack everyone, and spanking a girl for no reason is tantamount to disgrace in Westjack."

Would you like to change the subject and enjoy a drink with Susan? Turn to page 3.

Or would you like to press her for further details? Turn to page 4.

Page 3

Tired of discussing the weird ways of Westjack Island, you quickly order some drinks and chat about more pleasant subjects. Susan is good company, and soon the two of you are laughing merrily. You can see the old man at the front of the plane huff to himself slightly at the disturbance you are causing, but you pay him no mind.

Gain the codeword NOISY . Also, gain 1 Fun point .

Now Turn to page 32.

Page 4

"So there are rules about when someone can spank you?" you press. You feel you need to understand this culture as best you can -- if only to avoid the distress of your own spankings, if you can.

Susan looks reflective a moment. "I'm not sure I'd call them rules. Traditions, really. Generally, it is considered bad form to spank someone older than you are. This means that older women get spanked far less than younger ones. Also, you can only spank someone if you have a right to do so in some way. Property owners can spank wayward guests, bosses can spank employees, the groundsman could spank you for running on the grass, that sort of thing. Probably the exception to this is public order crimes. If you got drunk and disorderly, any member of the public could, and certainly would, chastise you for it. But generally, it's rank and age that determine the privilege of spanking."

This information could be useful. Gain the codeword KNOW .

"You seem to know a lot about it," you smile, "have you ... ever been..."

"Oh! Dozens of times!" she laughs. "Last time I did a presentation, the organiser took exception to me insisting that light bulbs be changed only when a ladder is used. He insisted that a stool or old chair was just fine. I disagreed. I was straight over his lap for five minutes of public spanking. I soon dropped the point after that..."

"That's awful!" you cry, inwardly intrigued.

"Maybe ... but in the end the engineers were using those ladders," she smirks. "Someone had to pay for all the huff and inconvenience, and that person was me. Westjack can change -- but you have to change it from within..."

Now Turn to page 32.

Page 5

The old gentleman smiles warmly as you sit next to him, nodding his head in a silent bow. Soon the plane is taking off, the rattle of its small engines vibrating pleasantly through the plane. After the short safety demonstration by the airline stewardess you begin chatting with your neighbour.

His name is Thomas Mowbray, a resident of Westjack, just back from visiting his niece in London. "What an awful, undisciplined place London has become," he says sadly. "Noisy youths and out of control young women. I always find a trip abroad magnifies my appreciation of Westjack enormously. A few good swats on the backside would have those ladies staggering out of the clubs behaving properly. What about you, ever been to Westjack before?"

"No, this is my first visit," you confess.

"Well you seem a well brought up young lady, I'm sure you'll have no trouble fitting in," he smiles kindly.

It's a long plane trip, so you'll have to pick a topic of conversation.

Will you:

Ask more about him? Turn to page 6.

Talk about your project on the island? Turn to page 33.

Page 6

He seems flattered by your enquires. "There's not much to say," he mumbles warmly. "I own a modest house on the island, with some good grounds. I keep a small staff who take up much of my time with their bickering. I can only imagine the amount of work I'll have to do when I get back home."

"What is it that you do?" you ask.

"Oh ... I am not employed, as such, I draw a revenue from my land," Mr Mowbray admits. "The work I am referring to is upon the bottoms of the disobedient young ladies whom I employ. I suspect many nights of long thrashings shall be required before they rediscover their place again."

What do you say?

"That's appalling! Beating your staff! It's medieval!" Turn to page 7.

"I'm intrigued. How exactly shall you discipline them, do you think?" Turn to page 28.

Page 7

Mr Mowbray's moustache bristles at your chiding. "Perhaps it is you who deserves a spanked bottom. To question a man on his methods of punishment is most unseemly, especially from a woman!"

You flush at such outrageous bigotry.

"Come, girl, over my knee!" he demands. "I'll show you how we reward impertinence in Westjack!"

He indicates his lap with his hand. He actually expects you to slide over his knee for a spanking! Voluntarily!

Naturally you are appalled at the very suggestion ... but a small part of you cannot help but wonder what it would be like...

Will you:

Give in to your curiosity and slide yourself over his knee? Turn to page 8.

Hotly refuse his demand? Turn to page 9.

Page 8

Perhaps it is the firmness of his voice ... he has a demeanour that is used to being obeyed. Besides, from what you have heard, being spanked in Westjack is practically mandatory -- so you may as well start getting used to the idea.

Gingerly you begin to lie across his lap, there being plenty of room thanks to your being sat at the front of the plane. You wonder what the other passenger must make of this display. Risking a glance, you can see the professional looking lady smirk slightly, before resuming typing away on her laptop.

Sensing your unfamiliarity, Mr Mowbray grasps you by the hips and hauls you across his knee until your bottom is directly beneath his gaze, and your face almost pressed to the floor. "That's the proper position," he chides.

You feel his hands reach around the band of your skirt, his thumbs reaching into your knicker-elastic. He's going to pull your skirt down, and your knickers with it!

Will you:

Allow him to continue, reasoning that as you have come this far, you may as well go all the way? Turn to page 10.

Or insist that you keep your knickers on. Turn to page 11.

Page 9

You are shocked to your very core.

"Under no circumstances, sir!" you cry hotly. "We're not in Westjack yet, and I'd appreciate it if you kept your hands off my bottom!"

Mr Mowbray looks almost as shocked as you for a moment. Seconds later he mumbles to himself and grabs his newspaper, firmly ignoring you.

Record the codeword DEFIANT .

You find a seat at the back of the plane, as far away from Mr Mowbray as possible, and keep to yourself for the rest of the trip.

Turn to page 32.

Page 10

You bite your lip as you feel your skirt and knickers slide slowly over your bottom down to your knees. You blush hotly as you feel the cool air conditioning brush over your exposed cheeks, imagining what Mr Mowbray must be seeing -- your pert, trembling buttocks bare to his gaze, and now at his mercy.

Mr Mowbray strokes his heavy hand over the globes of your bum, squeezing the buttocks appreciatively as if they were ripe fruit for sale. "Pleasant, round cheeks," he comments. "Firm -- good buttocks for cleaning or serving maid, look like they could endure substantial punishment."

You are about to respond when the air stewardess returns with a small tray of drinks. "Drink for you, Mr Mowbray?" she asks sweetly, apparently unphased by your rude and public display.

"Thank you, my dear," purrs Mr Mowbray. "If you could just leave it on the table until I've finished my business with this young lady, I'd be much obliged."

"Of course, sir," she smiles, placing a small glass of whisky on the table at the front of the cabin.

You shiver with embarrassment, your humiliation total as Mr Mowbray resumes the patient stroking of your bottom. The entire plane is going to view your spanking, except the pilot, presumably -- and even he will no doubt receive a blow by blow account from the stewardess. Lose 1 Dignity point .

"Now, my dear," says Mr Mowbray, addressing you. "Since you are new to Westjack, perhaps you would like to know what we men of Westjack expect of our penitent ladies during punishment?"

Will you?

Ask that he just gets on with it? Turn to page 14.

Listen to his guidance? Turn to page 13.

Page 11

"Now, now, my dear, let's not be argumentative shall we?" chuckles Mr Mowbray. "You're a grown up girl -- a smacked bottom is only really effective on the bare behind. I'd be wasting my time smacking you through your skirt."

He seems very insistent.

Will you:

Agree to be smacked on your bare bottom? Turn to page 10.

Compromise, and allow Mr Mowbray to spank you over your knickers? Turn to page 12.

Or quickly change your mind about the whole thing? Turn to page 9.

Page 12

"My dear," growls Mr Mowbray, in a more threatening tone. "It is not for the punished girl to decide how she is punished. Now kindly stop wriggling and let me get on with it!"

You flush slightly -- he's treating you like a naughty schoolgirl, and somehow you can't help but feel ashamed. Lose 1 Dignity point .

Will you:

Agree to be smacked on your bare bottom? Turn to page 10.

Or quickly change your mind about the whole thing? Turn to page 9.

Page 13

Mr Mowbray slowly squeezes and strokes your buttocks with his right hand as he speaks.

"During punishment it is expected that a girl maintain lady-like decorum at all times," lectures Mr Mowbray. "No cursing or swearing, which seems to be common among you English girls these days, nor are you to show any sign of defiance or rude behaviour towards your punisher. Remember that your punishers are doing you a service, and that it is very good of them to take time out of their busy schedules to instruct you in the error of your ways."

Mr Mowbray pats your bottom gently. "Politeness, then, is the most important thing. Keeping still is another. There's nothing more distracting than having a girl cringe away or wriggle appallingly. Naturally bare bottom punishment does tend to sting, and the temptation to wriggle away from the hand or implement causing you such misery is very strong. But remember -- half of the benefit of a good spanking is the teaching of discipline. The other half, naturally, is to make the poor girl think twice about repeating her mistake!"

Pondering a moment, Mr Mowbray rests his hand upon your nervous cheeks. "As for noise and calling out ... well, it varies. I don't mind it when a girl shrieks or cries out -- it means I know I'm doing a good job! A few of the stricter men of Westjack don't tolerate any noise at all -- but on the whole a punisher doesn't mind an occasional grunt or groan, as long as it doesn't become excessive!"

"Lastly," says the grand old man, shifting himself to full height, and unbuttoning his right sleeve, "there is one law that cannot -- must not be broken. Touching one's punished behind! Soothing your scalding buttocks is nothing less than cheating, and not to be tolerated by even the laxest punisher. So keep your hands away, be polite, and take your medicine like a good girl. Failure to abide by these rules will only increase your punishment. Do you understand?"

Mr Mowbray rolls up his sleeve as you consider your reply. What will you say?

"Yes, I understand." -- Turn to page 14.

"Yes, sir." -- Turn to page 15.

"What if my punisher is rude to me? Can I be rude back?" -- Turn to page 16.

"How much is considered wriggling? Can I shift a little, or do I have to remain stock still?" -- Turn to page 17.

"What if I can't help making noise?" -- Turn to page 18.

"Can I touch my bum straight after my punishment?" - Turn to page 19.

"Increase my punishment ... so ... there's a limit to how much I can be spanked?" - Turn to page 20.

Page 14

Smack! You tense as you are suddenly struck, Mr Mowbray's hand striking your bottom with a voluble crack! A little cry escapes your lips as your bottom blushes in response to this unexpected attack.

"What happened to your manners, young lady?" demands Mr Mowbray. "You shall address me as 'sir', or Mr Mowbray at all times whilst you are over my knee!"

Lose 1 Willpower point .

"Sorry ... sir!" you correct quickly, the sting on your bum causing your buttocks to quiver.

"Well," grunts Mr Mowbray, "it seems you really do deserve a good spanking. Let's see what benefit you draw from it..."

Turn to page 21.

Page 15

"Good girl!" growls Mr Mowbray, placing his left hand upon the small of your back, and raising his right hand high.

Somewhere, deep within you, you feel a sense of satisfaction and control. You imagine yourself a penitent girl about to receive her comeuppance. The thought steels you for the challenge ahead.

Gain 1 Willpower point .

Turn to page 21.

Page 16

Mr Mowbray laughs. "Certainly not! Naturally your punisher is likely to be angry with you, or they wouldn't be spanking your behind in the first place. True, I don't approve of foul language or denigrating insults in front of a lady, but you must rise above such petty insults. Your job is to demonstrate that you are sorry and seek forgiveness. Having a waspish tongue is hardly going to reduce your suffering, is it?"

"Now, are you ready to proceed?"

What will you say?

"Yes." -- Turn to page 14.

"Yes, sir." -- Turn to page 15.

"How much is considered wriggling? Can I shift a little, or do I have to remain stock still?" -- Turn to page 17.

"What if I can't help making noise?" -- Turn to page 18.

"Can I touch my bum straight after my punishment?" - Turn to page 19.

"Increase my punishment ... so ... there's a limit to how much I can be spanked?" - Turn to page 20.

Page 17

"Depends on who's punishing you -- can't go wrong with stock still," concedes Mr Mowbray.

"Ready to begin?" he asks menacingly.

What do you say?

"Yes." -- Turn to page 14.

"Yes, sir." -- Turn to page 15.

"What if my punisher is rude to me? Can I be rude back?" -- Turn to page 16.

"What if I can't help making noise?" -- Turn to page 18.

"Can I touch my bum straight after my punishment?" - Turn to page 19.

"Increase my punishment ... so ... there's a limit to how much I can be spanked?" - Turn to page 20.

Page 18

"It's all a matter of dignity!" insists Mr Mowbray. "If you're a proper English girl you'll not want to be seen whimpering and sobbing through your well-deserved spanking -- it makes you look like a spoilt brat. Even if your punisher doesn't care, it's about your own sense of pride. Do you really want the man spanking you to think he's broken your will? Have a little spunk, for goodness sake! Besides -- we'll soon find out if you're a squealer."

"Anything else, or is it time for me to redden that bum of yours?" gloats Mr Mowbray.

What do you say?

"Yes." -- Turn to page 14.

"Yes, sir." -- Turn to page 15.

"What if my punisher is rude to me? Can I be rude back?" -- Turn to page 16.

"How much is considered wriggling? Can I shift a little, or do I have to remain stock still?" -- Turn to page 17.

"Can I touch my bum straight after my punishment?" - Turn to page 19.

"Increase my punishment ... so ... there's a limit to how much I can be spanked?" - Turn to page 20.

Page 19

"Wait until you are given permission, that's my advice," ponders Mr Mowbray. "If you're not given permission, wait until your punisher leaves the room before giving your bum a good rub."

"Anything else, or are you eager to begin?"

What do you say?

"Yes." -- Turn to page 14.

"Yes, sir." -- Turn to page 15.

"What if my punisher is rude to me? Can I be rude back?" -- Turn to page 16.

"How much is considered wriggling? Can I shift a little, or do I have to remain stock still?" -- Turn to page 17.

"What if I can't help making noise?" -- Turn to page 18.

"Increase my punishment ... so ... there's a limit to how much I can be spanked?" - Turn to page 20.

Page 20

Mr Mowbray shifts slightly. It as if you have asked him a question he would rather not answer. "Well ... in fact there is a sort of ... gentleman's agreement about how much is appropriate for a given crime. A short spanking -- perhaps a dozen -- for accidental rudeness, when a lady forgets herself. Double that if they were being rude on purpose. Breaking house rules is usually punishable by the strap, between one to three dozen, depending on the severity of the offence. Poor work ... well, that's the cane -- typically a dozen for each error. They're not hard and fast rules ... more guidelines. But let's just say a fellow who caned a girl three dozen for walking on the grass would cop a lot of stick from his fellows. Let's leave it at that..."

This information could be useful. Gain the codeword SEVERE .

"You're a chatty little thing!" growls Mr Mowbray, placing his left hand upon the small of your back, and raising his right hand high. "Enough talk -- let's put our lessons into practice!"

Turn to page 21.

Page 21

Mr Mowbray does not begin immediately. Instead he makes you wait, his hand hovering above your buttocks like a vulture. The rumble of the aircraft engines vibrates through you as you consider your coming doom. How did you end up in this position? Will you be able to take it? Which buttock will he strike first? You are glad to your soul that there are so few people on the plane. Even so -- a bare bottom spanking from a man you hardly know ... why does the prospect excite you so much?

Your thoughts are interrupted by a sharp smack to your right buttock!

Smack!

If your Willpower is 4 or more, Turn to page 22.

If not, Turn to page 23.

Page 22

You wince, and emit a small cry -- but nothing else, despite the sudden, fierce burn upon your struck buttock. The temptation to grab your stung cheek is enormous, but you keep your hands firmly upon the ground, simply tensing and untensing your bum to ease the pain.

"Good girl," grins Mr Mowbray, and inside you a small spark of pride swells.

Add 1 to your Ambition.

Turn to page 24.

Page 23

"Oww!" you cry, as the sharp sting in your behind bubbles up into a furious heat. Contorting, you reach around with your left hand and cradle your poor, struck bum, horrified at the terrible burn caused by Mr Mowbray's cupped hand.

The lady at the back of the plane holds onto her laptop and leans forwards, surveying you with a withering look, as if you have just put her off her work. Lose 1 Dignity point for making such a scene.

"Silly, girl!" thunders Mr Mowbray. "Put your hands back on the floor and stick your bottom back up!"

What do you do?

Quickly obey, pulling your hand away, gripping your palms together in a tight prayer whilst raising your bum obediently? Turn to page 24.

Keep your hand pressed to your smouldering buttock to stop Mr Mowbray striking it again? Turn to page 26.

Or, if you have an Ambition of 4 or more, you can defy Mr Mowbray and leap to your feet. Turn to page 25.

Page 24

Smack! Another hard crack on your behind -- this time on your left buttock, which shudders under the impact, blushing red to join its sister in suffering.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

Mr Mowbray begins a sharp, regular smacking upon your globes, his hand cupped for maximum impact, his wrist flicking artfully to convey more force. You grip your hands together as if in prayer, trying to suppress the small grunts that surge unwillingly from your voice box at every impact. The sting rises in your bum as you endure the rising pain.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

Smack! Smack! Smack!

"Oh!" you cry, your back arching at the relentless bombardment, your bottom seeming to cry out for comfort. Desperately you try to remember that you are a grown woman, and that you mustn't be seen to be taking your punishment poorly.

If your Ambition is 4 or more, Turn to page 27.
If not, read on.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

You shuffle, you moan, you cry out. As your backside reddens little tears begin to gather in the corner of your eyes. Mr Mowbray seems unaffected by this display, and continues to strike your bottom with vigour and skill. Holding you down firmly, he continues to spank your behind without pause until more than twenty blows have struck your backside.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

Finally seconds pass without further pain to your behind, and you realise that Mr Mowbray is finished with you. You collapse into pathetic sobs, your public beating more than you can bear. You move your hand to cradle your backside, but are gently, but firmly stopped by Mr Mowbray, who holds your wrist and presses it into the small of your back. "Not yet, my dear -- allow it to burn for a little. Feel the full effect."

You weep quietly as you ponder your shame. Lose 1 Dignity point .

Finally, after two minutes of unremitting throbbing, Mr Mowbray releases your hand, which you immediately use to rub your infernally sore cheeks.

"What do you say, young lady?" asks Mr Mowbray sternly.

You swallow your remaining pride. "Thank you, sir," you blub brokenly.

Record the codeword WARM .

Turn to page 32.

Page 25

Unable to stand, thanks to your knickers and skirt being around your ankles, you furiously wriggle off Mr Mowbray's lap and slump half naked into the aisle.

"How dare you!" you snarl, furiously tugging your skirt and knickers back up under Mr Mowbray's amused gaze. "Keep your hands off me! That really hurt!"

Mr Mowbray shakes his head in amusement. "You're a silly girl -- just look at you, wriggling half naked across the plane after a single feeble slap. You'll be a laughing stock on the island if you don't pull your act together! Why don't you lie back over here and take your medicine like a good girl?"

"Under no circumstances, sir!" you cry hotly. "We're not in Westjack yet, and I'd appreciate it if you kept your hands off my bottom!"

Mr Mowbray looks almost as shocked as you for a moment. Seconds later he mumbles to himself and grabs his newspaper, firmly ignoring you.

Record the codeword DEFIANT .

You find a seat at the back of the plane, as far away from Mr Mowbray as possible, and keep to yourself for the rest of the trip.

Turn to page 32.

Page 26

"Move your hand, girl!" warns Mr Mowbray direfully.

"No!" you whimper, unable to bear so much as another tap.

Mr Mowbray sighs, grabs your wrist and firmly raises it from your crimsoning behind, planting it into the small of your back.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

Taking the choice away from you, Mr Mowbray pounds your buttocks with his cupped hand, causing you to wiggle and whimper, a furious burn rising upon your bum.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

Mr Mowbray releases you. "Now, put your hand back on the ground and get that naughty bottom in the air -- it's a long flight and I can spank you all day if I have to!"

Mr Mowbray's voice cannot be denied. Moaning softly, you quickly slap your hand back upon the ground and push you bottom up high as he demands. Your bottom throbs painfully -- but he's not done with you.

"Now," he grumbles, his hand raised above your blushing cheeks, "let's start again, shall we?"

Turn to page 24.

Page 27

Somewhere, deep within you, you remember your pride. Life is going to be very different in Westjack -- time to show what you're made of.

Wilfully you stick your bum high into the air, almost in an act of defiance. Mr Mowbray pauses, sensing your new found strength.

"That's a girl..." he mutters.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

Mr Mowbray rains blows upon your bottom, alternating his strokes evenly to each scalding buttock. Sometimes you emit a grunt at a particularly hard slap, but mostly you remain poised, your back arched, your backside presented -- gritting your teeth through whack after whack.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

In all Mr Mowbray unleashes more than twenty strokes to your sizzling behind. Despite the pain you struggle on through, an equal on the journey, accepting each stroke with as much dignity as a bare bottomed girl can.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

Finally the strokes stop, replaced by Mr Mowbray's now soothing hand. He strokes your fiery behind tenderly. "I did wonder, at first, how you were going to take it -- but it seems like you found your stride. Well -- did you learn your lesson, young lady?"

Almost with pride you purr. "Yes, sir."

Gain 1 point of Willpower . Also gain 1 Fun point . Although you can't quite admit it to yourself, Mr Mowbray's lesson was quite fun after all!

Record the codeword WARM .

Turn to page 32.

Page 28

Mr Mowbray seems surprised by the question. "Normally such a question would be considered rude -- but I can see you are merely curious. Naturally any punishment I inflicted would be proportionate to the offence, and inflicted upon the bare bottom. General disobedience can be dealt with via a firm hand spanking, but I've been known to make an example with the strap or cane from time to time."

"And the ladies ... your servants, just let you do this to them, do they?" you ask amazed. "Don't they put up a struggle?"

"They are grown ladies," laughs Mr Mowbray. "It would be beneath their dignity to complain. Remember these are Westjack women, brought up on a regular diet of bare bottomed discipline. They are not spineless English girls who babble and complain at the slightest tap on the backside."

A twinkle appears in Mr Mowbray's eyes. You're not sure, but you suspect you have just been insulted.

Will you:

Let the slur against your home country pass and discuss other matters? Turn to page 29.

Or suggest that English girls are tougher than he thinks? Turn to page 30.

Page 29

You brush aside the comment and talk to Mr Mowbray about his house, the island and other small talk. Deep within you can't help but feel you have lost a small battle. You've let this Westjack man think he can slur you and get away with it. You resolve to do better next time.

Lose 1 Ambition point .

Turn to page 32.

Page 30

Mr Mowbray raises an eyebrow. "Is that a challenge? Do you seriously believe you could take a spanking as well as a Westjack girl?"

You shuffle uncomfortably, but the fire of indignation is in your belly. "Perhaps not as well -- but well enough. If I had too..."

"Perhaps I should test your assumption here and now," grins Mr Mowbray, a serious edge to his voice.

You glance around you. "Here ... in front of everyone...?"

"There's only one other passenger on the plane," laughs Mr Mowbray. "I assure you, a Westjack girl is beaten in public quite often. Besides, that lady, the other passenger, I've seen her on the island before. She knows how matters are. Why don't I give you a warming up -- just to give you a taste of what awaits you on the island..."

You blush. "I'm not sure I..."

"I beg your pardon, my dear," says Mr Mowbray, with a slight edge in his voice. "That wasn't a question."

He indicates his lap with his hand. He actually expects you to slide over his knee for a spanking! Voluntarily!

Naturally you are appalled at the very suggestion ... but a small part of you cannot help but wonder what it would be like...

Will you:

Give in to your curiosity and slide yourself over his knee? Turn to page 8.

Hotly refuse his demand? Turn to page 9.

Page 31

You decide to avoid socialising, just for the moment, and spend time studying your brief. You make a list of priorities, attempt to memorise the names of your colleagues, and go over some of the reports left by your predecessor. You feel better prepared for your new task.

Gain 1 Progress point .

Now Turn to page 32.

Page 32

Finally, after a long flight, the plane comes in to land. You gaze out of the window to get your first peek at Westjack. The view is, at first, spoiled by a series of large oil refineries that jut out of the rolling sea somewhat rudely. The source of much of Westjack's wealth, the oil company is seen as a necessary evil by the residents of the island. The small port town of Oldwell, the capital of the island and the location of the Westjack Telephone Exchange where you will soon be working, flies into view shortly after.

The town looks as if it has been preserved from the 1940's. Ancient cars tootle along the road, broad open greens break up the town buildings, and quaint looking shops line up in an orderly queue along the high street. The airport lies just beyond -- little more than a hanger and a large house that obviously doubles as a terminal.

Your plane smoothly sets down, before taxing over towards the hanger. A small set of steps is set up, waiting for the passengers to disembark.

Glad to be out of the small plane, you step out into the open, if extremely blustery air, your fellow passengers making their way ahead of you. It's just coming towards evening, and the sun is setting over a turbulent sky.

A middle aged man in an old-style police uniform waits to welcome everyone off the plane. "Good evening, Mr Mowbray -- welcome back," he enthuses to the large gentleman passenger. Rather more stiffly he nods to the woman who joined you on the flight. "Susan," he says, nodding. The lady smiles and nods back.

The policeman walks towards you with a quizzical look on his face. "And you ... I don't recognise. I'm Constable Farley. Who are you?"

"Dianne Hathaway -- I'm the new manager at the Phone Exchange," you smile, extending your hand.

The policeman does not receive it. "Do you have your passport on you, Miss. Hathaway?" he demands.

If you have the weakness 'Disorganised', Turn to page 34.

Somewhat affronted by the policeman's rudeness you open your case and retrieve your passport for his inspection. Infuriatingly he holds up the passport to compare it to your face. Eventually he grunts and returns it to you.

"Welcome to Westjack," he grunts, indicating that you should follow the other passengers.

You stride past him haughtily. "Welcome to you too," you think, but do not say.

Turn to page 52.

Page 33

Mr Mowbray listens politely, but you get the impression he is not very enthusiastic.

"To be frank," he admits, "from what little I understand of your project, I can't see how it would change things for the better. Isolation and privacy are rare things to have on an island -- I'm not sure mobile phones would particularly help me achieve that."

You sit up enthusiastically. "It's not just phones -- you'll have access to the internet, an entire world of knowledge. Westjack is so remote, you'll be able to connect with everyone."

Mr Mowbray snarls. "Why would I want to talk to everyone? What would I talk to them about? I like things the way they are. Peaceful, organised, disciplined. I fear your idea would bring chaos."

"You'll be up to date with new ideas, you can connect culturally with a hundred nations..." you enthuse.

Mr Mowbray sits up, slighted. "What's wrong with Westjack culture?" he demands darkly.

You shuffle slightly. "Well..."

"Well, what?" he demands.

"I've heard that your treatment of women ... isn't particularly modern..."

"Are you inferring that we are cruel, mindless brutes?" snaps Mr Mowbray. "How dare you! We're more cultured than all you internet buffoons put together!"

"I didn't mean to offend..." you add hastily.

"You have!" he retorts hotly. "Come, girl, over my knee!" he demands. "I'll show you how we reward impertinence in Westjack!"

He indicates his lap with his hand. He actually expects you to slide over his knee for a spanking! Voluntarily!

Naturally you are appalled at the very suggestion ... but a small part of you cannot help but wonder what it would be like...

Will you:

Give in to your curiosity and slide yourself over his knee? Turn to page 8.

Hotly refuse his demand? Turn to page 9.

Page 34

With a small huff you open your case ... only to find the passport missing! Where could it have gone! What have you done with it now?

"Is there a problem, miss?" asks Constable Farley testily.

"I ... I can't find it in here -- that's ridiculous, it must be somewhere," you mutter.

The policeman sighs. "Could it be in one of your other bags, miss?" he asks with weary cynicism.

You exhale in frustration. "Well it must be!" you snap.

You are brought inside the terminal, the other airport staff recovering your bags from the plane's storage. In the security office you begin a tired search through every one of your bags, unpacking clothes and shoes, your toiletries and pills so that they are soon scattered across the policeman's desk.

"These your madam?" he asks dryly, holding aloft a pair of your red frilly knickers with his truncheon. "Not very decent, are they?"

You wordlessly snatch them from the policeman and continue your search. It is in vain -- you can't find the passport anywhere.

"This is ridiculous," you cry, "I couldn't have left England without it."

"Unless you snuck aboard, of course," suggests the constable darkly.

"I did not sneak aboard!" you shout, your temper fraying.

"Well, madam, the point is irrelevant, I'm afraid," says the constable. "Without a passport I can't let you out of the terminal. You'll receive a sound thrashing and be deported back to England next week on the first flight out."

You pale at the policeman's sentence. "You can't ..."

"That's the law, I'm afraid," says the policeman, although he doesn't sound very sorry. He closes the door to the office and lowers the blinds. "Since you're not a local I'll give you a bit of privacy. If you would kindly bend over the desk and hold the far edge? I'll deliver your twenty four strokes and then escort you to the cells."

You are dumbstruck. What do you do?

Will you comply with the policeman's demands? Turn to page 35.

Or refuse, demanding to see a lawyer? Turn to page 36.

Page 35

You realise you have little choice. Running away from the police would not be a good way to start your career on Westjack Island. You have little doubt that the policeman has the legal right to do what he wants to you. Swallowing nervously you turn around, and, plucking up courage, bend over the desk, still covered with your unpacked clothing. You bend right across, gripping the far edge as commanded, your face nestling in the very same red panties the constable teased you with earlier.

"Kindly raise your skirt and lower your knickers, miss," drawls the policeman, as he crosses the room to retrieve a long, wooden paddle -- kept in the office for just these sorts of occasions.

What will you do?

Beg to keep your knickers on? Turn to page 38.

Raise your skirt and lower your knickers? Turn to page 39.

Page 36

"You're an illegal alien, miss, you don't have that right," dismisses the policeman.

"It's an international obligation!" you demand.

"We're not signed up any international obligations, Miss. Hathaway -- this is an independent state," he explains. "What an awful lot of fuss you're making. It's twenty four strokes with a paddle, hardly agony! The best thing is to bend over and get on with it."

You feel terribly trapped! What do you do?

Do as the policeman asks and bend over the desk, knowing full well he is going to beat you? Turn to page 35.

Tell the policeman that you're too afraid to do as he asks? Turn to page 37.

Page 37

"Please ... constable," you blather, weeping. "I can't! I just can't! I'm too afraid!"

Lose 1 Dignity point .

The policeman sighs. "I'll make it easy for you," he sooths, at last showing you some affection. "Turn around a moment."

You swallow, but lost in your tears you obey.

"Put your hands behind your back..." he says firmly.

"Why...?" you ask uncertainly.

"Do as I say, miss!" he says firmly.

Jumping, you place your hands behind your back. Within seconds a pair of handcuffs have been clicked around your wrists. The lock is tight, and you are unable to move your arms. The policeman gently moves you towards the desk, still covered in your unpacked clothes, and slowly, but firmly pushes upon your back until your face is buried in the red knickers he teased you with earlier. You feel strangely calm, yet completely within the constables power as he directs and moves your imprisoned body.

He raises your black skirt until your knicker-clad buttocks are revealed to him. He softly folds the skirt hem to rest upon the small of your back. His fingers reach to either side of the elastic of your knickers, whereupon he sharply tugs them down your legs and down to your high heeled shoes. Your pale, naked backside glows in the dimly lit room.

"Raise the left one," he commands from behind and below you, and it takes a moment for you to realise he means your left foot. You raise your foot, the constable unhooking your knickers from it.

"And the right," he drones. You obey, your knickers now completely stripped from you. On a whimsy, the policemen screws up the knickers and then stuffs them into your mouth. "Bite down on them ... it helps," he advises.

You lock your jaw around your salty knickers, watching fixatedly as the constable retrieves a long wooden paddle from the cupboard -- presumably used upon other travellers who could not present their identification.

He strolls leisurely behind you, out of your vision. You fix your eyes dead ahead and tense.

"Legs apart, a little," he commands. Lost in his power, you obey, revealing your innermost secrets to him.

Turn to page 40.

Page 38

"Please, officer!" you beg. "I'll do everything you say ... just, don't make me take my knickers down! I understand that I must be beaten..."

"And beaten well..." he adds.

"...but at least let me keep them on! I'm not from around here -- I couldn't take it completely bare!"

"Such shameless grovelling!" sighs the policeman. "Very well -- you'll find that tiny fabric will present you with scant protection."

"Oh! Thank you, officer, thank you!" you babble gratefully.

Gain 1 Dignity point for protecting your virtue.

"Open your legs a little," he commands. "Don't worry, it's not as if I'll see anything you milksop!"

You hurriedly obey, shifting your legs open until your feet stand about a foot apart.

The policeman steps behind you, and silently raises his paddle...

Turn to page 40.

Page 39

Swallowing, you reach back and raise your skirt up, revealing your knicker-clad buttocks as you do so, folding the skirt back until it rests upon your back. You move your hands to your knickers and hesitate -- can you really lower them in front of a stranger? Can you willingly reveal your naked bottom, only to have it cruelly beaten by this mean jobsworth?

You can -- you must, you realise. Otherwise you might as well give up on your promotion now.

You arch your back, grasp the edges of your knickers between thumb and forefinger, and bravely tug them down over your buttocks to settle midway down your thighs. Your nude bum glows in the dim light of the office, open to the inspection of the armed policeman.

"Open your legs a little," he insists.

Screwing your courage to the sticking place you do so, stretching your legs so that your knickers form a tight bridge between your thighs. You try not to think about what the constable can now see from his position behind you.

You feel strangely in control of the situation. Gain 1 Willpower point .

"To business," says the constable, raising his arm high.

Turn to page 40.

Page 40

With an ominous whooshing sound, the constable swings the long paddle towards your presented bottom.

Crack!

You jolt forwards as the heavy blow impacts itself across the fattest part of your buttocks, a bruising red band prickling up on the skin.

Crack!

Remorselessly a second blow follows, impacting just slightly above, your crimsoning cheeks squashing flat before wobbling back into shape.

If you are gagged Turn to page 41.
If not, read on.

"Ahh!" you cry at the hard stroke, gripping the table edge so hard your knuckles turn white.

"Not too much noise, miss," warns the policeman sternly. "The law authorises me to punish extra noise with additional strokes." At this warning he lifts his paddle high before swinging down again.

Crack!

If your Willpower is 4 or more, Turn to page 42.
If not, read on.

The constable's stroke is so hard and cruel you cannot help but cry out again, the nasty paddle catching you aslant to create a thick parallel bar of pain. "Oh! Officer! Please!" you beg.

"I warned you, miss," growls the officer, darkly. "An extra eight penalty strokes for failing to maintain a dignified silence..."

The officer is true to his word, and without pity slaps the wooden paddle down across your buttocks an additional eight times, having you hopping and hissing in fiery pain.

Raise your Bum Status by 2 levels .

Now Turn to page 43.

Page 41

With your knickers stuffed tightly in your mouth, and your teeth clamped around the soggy material you can do little more than groan as the policeman thrashes your arse, noisily clocking up stroke after stroke. You are fortunate indeed that you cannot cry out -- you have managed to avoid additional penalty strokes that would have cost your vulnerable behind dear!

Raise your Bum Status by 1 Level .

Now Turn to page 43.

Page 42

With tremendous strength of will you manage to bite down on your lip and subdue your cries to little more than grunts and moans, even as your backside shakes and wobbles under its cruel bombardment. At least you've managed to avoid any extras!

Raise your Bum Status by 1 Level .

Now Turn to page 43.

Page 43

Crack! Crack!

Like a huge wooden metronome the paddle strikes your backside again and again, causing you to shift and bounce your bum as it blisters under the onslaught.

If you are still wearing your knickers, Turn to page 44.
If not, read on.

Your naked bottom is dancing shamefully before the leering policeman. You desperately try to keep poised, even as the paddle roughly kisses your arse, causing small waves of flesh to shudder away from the cruel impact.

If your Dignity is 4 or more, Turn to page 45.
If not, read on.

Crack!

"Ngg!" you groan, as a particularly cruel stroke bruises your right ham. You hiss, waving your backside in the air ludicrously, any hope of maintaining decorum gone.

You hear the policeman chuckle behind you -- clearly you are putting on quite a show for him. Unfortunately Constable Farley is a terrible gossip, and is sure to tell his friends on the island how you danced and jiggled before him.

Lose 1 Ambition point , and raise your Bum Status by 1 Level .

Now Turn to page 46.

Page 44

You knickers provide you with no protection, much to your disappointment. They do, however, hide your shameful holes from the policeman's leering view. Constable Farley may enjoy watching your reddening bottom dance before him, but at least he doesn't have anything salacious to tell his friends down at the station!

Raise your Bum Status by 1 Level .

Turn to page 46.

Page 45

It is less force of will than it is your sense of pride, but you manage to keep your legs straight and your bottom still, despite the constant strokes from the constable's cruel weapon. You may not be a Westjack girl, but you've shown the constable of what mettle you are made.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 Level .

Turn to page 46.

Page 46

The constable pauses a moment to mop his brow with a hanky. "Damn hot work this," he concedes. "These paddles are awfully heavy. Seems to be making good work on your arse, though."

You remain silent, your backside throbbing behind you. Surely there can't be too many to go? You are almost overwhelmed with the desire to cradle your poor, wounded buttocks in your hands.

As if reading your mind, Constable Farley adds: "Best keep your hands where they are. If it even looks like they're trying to touch your bum its extra."

If your hands are handcuffed behind your back, Turn to page 47.
If not, read on.

You hold onto the table with a dead man's grip. You wouldn't want any extras at this stage -- your bum feels beaten black and blue!

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Faster than ever, the constable pounds your backside with his paddle, seemingly eager to make you break. The temperature in your bottom is reaching boiling point ... can you really hold on?

If your Willpower is 5 or more, Turn to page 48.
If not, read on.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Your bum wobbles like jelly as the officer strikes again and again. It's just too much! Without even thinking one of your hands breaks from the table and comes within inches of touching your bumflesh.

"Stop!" roars the constable, and you do -- your hand hovering just above your sizzling bottom. "Hands behind your back -- now!" he commands.

Whimpering you obey, pulling your other hand from the table to press it against the other in the small of your back. In a smooth motion he locks your wrists in a pair of handcuffs behind your back.

"You're very lucky!" he declares. "If you managed to touch your bum you would have had to have had the whole set again. As it is, it's just another eight penalty strokes."

You moan quietly. How much more can you really take?

Raise your Bum Status by 1 Level , and Turn to page 47.

Page 47

With your hands secured tightly behind you, you couldn't touch your bum if you wanted to. Completely at the constable's mercy you have no choice but to endure every stroke the policeman inflicts.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

You groan and sob quietly, your bum beaten purple by the remorseless arm of the law -- Constable Farley showing you not the slightest compassion or mercy. In one way you are grateful however -- at least you can't incur any penalty strokes!

Raise your Bum Status by 1 Level .

Now Turn to page 49.

Page 48

In a feat that even the constable finds impressive you keep your hands firmly gripped to the table despite his constant battery of your wobbling buttocks.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Try as he might he cannot break you, and you pant through your session stock still and silent, little more than a living canvass for his stinging paddle.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

Turn to page 49.

Page 49

"Three to go," grunts the constable, swinging the paddle back, before twisting his body to impact with maximum force.

Crack! Your blistered bum shudders under the impact.

"Two," counts the policeman.

Crack!

"Uh!" you grunt, your flaming bum trembling in anticipation of the last stroke.

"And finally..." says the constable, swinging the paddle back with a whoosh!

Suddenly the door burst open. It is the stewardess -- she is panting, as if she has run a long distance. In her hand she holds a small burgundy booklet.

"Constable!" she cries joyously, "I've found the passport ... oh..."

She breaks off as she sees your punished backside, blushing slightly at her late entrance. The constable takes the passport and examines it carefully. "Where did you find it?" he asks.

"It was left in the pull down lunch tray at the back of the seat in front of her -- I suppose she must have put it down and forgot about it..."

Of course! You remember now! You specifically got out your passport and put it in front of you ... so you wouldn't forget it...

"Well," says the policeman formally. "It seems everything is now in order. It looks like you can go, Miss. Hathaway."

If you are gagged Turn to page 50.
If not, read on.

Inwardly you curse the stewardess, she got you off one lousy stroke! It was hardly worth her interrupting...

A strange thought occurs to you. Somehow it feels wrong to stop now, with only one stroke to go -- a bit of a waste.

Will you:

Ask the constable to deliver the last stroke? Turn to page 51.

Or count your blessings and get out of here? Turn to page 52.

Page 50

The policeman unlocks your handcuffs, and with a groan you push yourself up, your skirt covering your blistered backside as you do so. You pull the soggy knickers from your mouth, and stuff them into your bag.

You feel tempted to say something to the policeman ... but you've been in enough trouble as it is. You smartly take your passport from him and begin to re-pack your bags, the embarrassed stewardess helping you.

Constable Farley grins. "Welcome to Westjack, Miss. Hathaway," he says smartly, before exiting the office, leaving you and the stewardess to pack up your things.

Turn to page 52.

Page 51

"I'm due one more, officer," you say quietly, unmoving from your prone position.

The constable looks surprised. "You're due nothing, miss -- the passport has been found..."

"You said you'd give me twenty four, constable -- that was only twenty three. Do you usually go back on your word?" you ask witheringly.

The constable freezes, the air stewardess shuffles. Being so publicly challenged, he can hardly refuse.

"One more then, miss," he nods, hefting the paddle up one last time.

The constable carefully measures the paddle against your blistered globes, before slowly swinging back, rising up on to his tiptoes, and then swinging down in a blur.

CRACK!

"Nggg!" you grunt, for the blow is impressive, delivered with a strength you did not think he possessed. Your backside ignites, writhing under the awoken bruises he has struck.

"Twenty four," says the constable, a note of respect for you in his voice. "I'm a man of my word. You appear to be a woman of your word too."

You exhale sharply, clenching your buttocks to disperse the pain. "Thank you, officer," you gasp at last.

The office places the passport by your face. "Welcome to Westjack Island, miss," he says.

Gain 2 Reputation points , and raise your Bum Status by 1 Level .

Now Turn to page 52.

Page 52

A bag in each hand and one over your shoulder you make your way out of the airport terminal and into the car park. There you can see a young man with a cardboard sign "Hathaway", just opposite a black cab.

You make your way forwards, and the young cabby opens up the boot to let you put your bags in the back. He doesn't actually help you do it, or heave the bags himself, which seems somewhat unchivalrous.

"Where to?" he asks curtly.

You are surprised he does not know. "Mr Hamilton's house, please, just off the high street." Since Westjack has no hotels, guests to the island have to board with the local islanders. Apparently Mr Hamilton has played host to a number of executives from ComLondon before.

"Know the address?" he challenges curtly.

If you have the trait 'Organised', Turn to page 68.
Otherwise read on.

"Don't you know it? Aren't you local?" you press. The company led you to believe that everyone knows everyone on Westjack Island.

"So you've not even got a house number?" he drawls sarcastically.

What do you do?

Get cross with the boy, and demand he stops messing around and drive you to the Hamiltons? Turn to page 54.

Apologise and say that you do not have the address? Turn to page 55.

Page 54

"Now listen to me, boy," you snap. "I'm an important businesswoman and not to be trifled with! Don't you play dumb with me!"

If your Ambition is 5 or more, Turn to page 56.
If not, read on.

You meant to sound stern and cross, but there is something in your voice that cracks, a nervousness -- and the cabby seizes upon it.

"Don't think I like to be addressed by a woman in that tone, thanks," he says sharply. "I think I'll have to take you over my knee and show you some manners."

If you have the Codeword KNOW, Turn to page 57.
if not, read on.

"I have no intention of going over your knee, or anyone else's!" you insist hotly.

"It's that -- or you can walk two and a half miles, your choice!" he smirks.

What do you do?

Agree to be spanked, as long as he takes you straight to the Hamilton's and stops messing around? Turn to page 58.

Shun the arrogant young man and walk. Turn to page 59.

Page 55

"Look, I'm sorry, I'm new here -- I really don't know the address," you demur gently. "I'm sure we can find it ... you're not going to make me walk, are you?"

You giggle girlishly for effect.

The young taxi driver rolls his eyes in mock annoyance. "Get in," he says with a weary sigh, "let's see if we can find it..."

You give him a winning smile and hop in the taxi. Soon you are driving towards town, the night as black as pitch. Only the lights of the oil refinery can be seen -- it seems that street lighting is unheard of on the island. Eventually the town looms into view, and the headlights illuminate the old fashioned looking town. The high street is filled with old shops -- ironmongers, carpenters, small general stores -- there is not a single chain store in sight. Nonetheless, there is clearly a good deal of money here; many of the houses are large and well built, and the sheer number of shops suggests that this is not an impoverished community.

The taxi turns off the high street and begins to patrol round and round the myriad of small streets of Oldwell. You cannot help but suspect some theatrics from the taxi driver -- you rather suspect that he probably does know where he's going but is driving round pretending to be lost. The young man is so surly you decide not to bring him up on this point, even though it's now getting very late.

Eventually he pulls over next to a quaint little house with a well-tended front garden. The driver gets out and opens the door. At first you assume he is finally showing you some manners, instead he gets into the back and sits next to you.

"You've cost me a lot of time and trouble, Miss. Hathaway," he insists firmly. "I think I need to take you over my knee and teach you a lesson."

If you have the Codeword KNOW, Turn to page 60.

If not, what do you wish to do?

Accede to his demand? Turn to page 61.

Bribe him to avoid your fate? Turn to page 62.

Quickly dash out of the car? Turn to page 63.

Page 56

Your fierce tone cannot be denied -- the boy practically jumps out of his skin, as if you were a headmistress about to lash him.

"Sorry, miss -- of course, miss!" he blathers, quickly opening the door for you and letting you in.

You tut loudly and enter the taxi regally, as he scrabbles round to the front of the cab. Soon you are driving towards town, the night as black as pitch. Only the lights of the oil refinery can be seen -- it seems that street lighting is unheard of on the island. Eventually the town looms into view, and the headlights illuminate the old fashioned looking town. The high street is filled with old shops -- ironmongers, carpenters, small general stores -- there is not a single chain store in sight. Nonetheless, there is clearly a good deal of money here; many of the houses are large and well built, and the sheer number of shops suggest that this is not an impoverished community.

The taxi takes you straight to your destination, a quaint little house with a well tended front garden. The driver gets out and opens the door, unconsciously bowing as you climb out.

"My bags," you demand imperiously, and he quickly leaps to obey, taking your bags out of the boot of the car and placing them before the front door of the house.

Not waiting for a tip, the taxi driver wishes you a good evening and drives off into the night. You are relived to be on time as you knock on the door to Mr Hamilton's house.

Turn to page 65.

Page 57

You laugh at the boy. "You're not even as old as I am," you sneer. "Don't think I don't know the customs of the island. You're getting above yourself, young man!"

The taxi driver looks deflated as he sees that you are not some clueless tourist he can spank at leisure.

"Get in," he grunts in defeat. Smiling smugly, you clamber into the taxi. Soon you are driving towards town, the night as black as pitch. Only the lights of the oil refinery can be seen -- it seems that street lighting is unheard of on the island. Eventually the town looms into view, and the headlights illuminate the old fashioned looking town. The high street is filled with old shops -- ironmongers, carpenters, small general stores -- there is not a single chain store in sight. Nonetheless, there is clearly a good deal of money here; many of the houses are large and well built, and the sheer number of shops suggest that this is not an impoverished community.

The taxi takes you straight to your destination, a quaint little house with a well tended front garden. You emerge from the taxi, retrieve your bags, and struggle over to the front door. The taxi driver, upset at his missed opportunity, drives off without waiting for a tip. You are relived to be on time as you knock on the door to Mr Hamilton's house.

Turn to page 65.

Page 58

"Deal," the young man says, rubbing his hands together in glee. He opens the back door for you. Gingerly you clamber into the cab, knowing what awaits you. The taxi driver follows you in and shuts the door, sitting himself in the middle of the spacious back seat.

"Over you go," he says brightly, the excitement creeping into his voice. Having come this far you realise you have little choice now. You fold yourself over his knee, your bottom pushing out above you. The taxi driver gleefully folds back your skirt to reveal your trembling buttocks, before, as you expected, sharply tugging down your knickers to your knees so he can view the full treasure of your behind.

Smack! Smack!

He wastes little time on niceties and quickly begins a sharp, rhythmic beating of your bottom. He possesses little strength, but a good deal of enthusiasm, and you can't help but wiggle and squirm as he rapidly tans your bottom a good dozen slaps.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 Level .

If you have the Codeword SEVERE Turn to page 64.
If not, read on.

The taxi driver spanks you for some considerable time, and you yelp and jump through his rapid set, your bottom crimsoning beautifully in the dying light. You certainly feel that you are unlikely to be rude to any other Westjack men during your stay if this is the likely consequence.

Eventually he stops, presumably his hand finally tired and sore, and reluctantly allows you to rise from your prone position. Raise your Bum Status by 1 Level .

Soon you are driving towards town, the night as black as pitch. Only the lights of the oil refinery can be seen -- it seems that street lighting is unheard of on the island. Eventually the town looms into view, and the headlights illuminate the old fashioned looking town. The high street is filled with old shops -- ironmongers, carpenters, small general stores -- there is not a single chain store in sight. Nonetheless, there is clearly a good deal of money here; many of the houses are large and well built, and the sheer number of shops suggest that this is not an impoverished community.

The taxi takes you straight to your destination, a quaint little house with a well tended front garden. You emerge from the taxi, retrieve your bags, and struggle over to the front door. The taxi driver does not ask for a tip and drives off, looking smug. Glancing at your watch you see that you are a good hour late! Cursing the taxi driver for his lengthy spanking you knock on the door, hoping that Mr Hamilton is the forgiving type!

Turn to page 66.

Page 59

Retrieving your bags from the car, you spin on your heel and march towards the town, the young man open mouthed in amazement.

Raise your Dignity by 1 point.

The walk is extremely long. Soon it is pitch black, only the lights of the oil refinery can be seen -- it seems that street lighting is almost unheard of on the island. Eventually the town looms into view, and you stagger into the old fashioned looking town. The high street is filled with old shops -- ironmongers, carpenters, small general stores -- there is not a single chain store in sight. Nonetheless, there is clearly a good deal of money here; many of the houses are large and well built, and the sheer number of shops suggest that this is not an impoverished community.

Getting directions to Mr Hamilton's house from a local pub, you eventually discover a quaint little house with a well tended front garden. It is now incredibly late, and as you knock on the front door you can only hope that Mr Hamilton is the forgiving type...

Turn to page 66.

Page 60

You laugh at the boy. "You're not even as old as I am," you sneer. "Don't think I don't know the customs of the island. You're getting above yourself, young man!"

The taxi driver looks deflated as he sees that you are not some clueless tourist he can spank at leisure.

You exit the taxi and retrieve your bags, the taxi driver sullenly driving away when you are done. You make your way over to the front door and knock. You're terribly late -- you only hope that Mr Hamilton is the forgiving type!

Turn to page 66.

Page 61

The taxi driver positions himself in the middle of the spacious back seat.

"Over you go," he says brightly, the excitement creeping into his voice. Having come this far you realise you have little choice now. You fold yourself over his knee, your bottom pushing out above you. The taxi driver gleefully folds back your skirt to reveal your trembling buttocks, before, as you expected, sharply tugging down your knickers to your knees so he can view the full treasure of your behind.

Smack! Smack!

He wastes little time on niceties and quickly begins a sharp, rhythmic beating of your bottom. He possesses little strength, but a good deal of enthusiasm, and you can't help but wiggle and squirm as he rapidly tans your bottom.

The taxi driver spanks you for some considerable time, and you yelp and jump through his rapid set, your bottom crimsoning beautifully in the passenger light of the cab. You certainly feel that you are unlikely to be rude to any other Westjack men during your stay if this is the likely consequence.

Eventually he stops, presumably his hand finally tired and sore, and reluctantly allows you to rise from your prone position. Raise your Bum Status by 1 Level .

You emerge from the taxi, retrieve your bags, and struggle over to the front door. The taxi driver does not ask for a tip and drives off, looking smug. Glancing at your watch you see that you are a good hour late! Cursing the taxi driver for his lengthy spanking you knock on the door, hoping that Mr Hamilton is the forgiving type!

Turn to page 66.

Page 62

"Of course!" you cry theatrically. "I forgot your tip!"

If you have the trait 'Independently Wealthy', Turn to page 67.
If not, read on.

You rummage in your handbag and produce a twenty pound note. The taxi driver looks unimpressed. "Sorry, miss, but I can't accept a tip from a woman I'm about to rebuke," he says piously.

Well that didn't work! What do you do now?

Accede to his demand? Turn to page 61.

Quickly dash out of the car? Turn to page 63.

Page 63

You push the taxi driver over and dash past him onto the front path of the Hamilton's house. "Get your hands off me!" you cry.

The boy looks shocked. "What do you mean? I was only going to give you a quick dozen for wasting my time! What's wrong with that?"

"I don't care!" you shout defensively. "Keep your hands off my bottom or I'll scream!"

The cab driver shakes his head. "You're not going to get very far around here with that kind of attitude, miss -- around here we accept our licks, not moan about them."

Several of Mr Hamilton's neighbours stick their heads out of the window at this sudden disturbance. You can see that they look disdainfully upon you -- it's clear that they share the taxi driver's opinion about your behaviour.

Lose 1 Dignity point , and gain the codeword FAME .

The taxi driver dumps your bags at the end of the driveway and speeds off, thoroughly insulted. Trying to ignore the mutterings of the judgemental neighbours you knock on the Hamilton's door and wait. You are over an hour late -- you hope Mr Hamilton is the forgiving type!

Turn to page 66.

Page 64

As the thirteenth slap strikes your bottom, you twist round and fix the young taxi driver with a wicked stare. "What do you think you are doing?" you demand.

The taxi driver looks surprised, his hand hovering over your bottom unsurely. "Giving you a good hiding, what else?" he says defensively.

"The crime of rudeness merits no more than a dozen smacks upon the bottom, everyone knows that," you say, recalling Mr Mowbray's talk on the matter of punishment.

"Oh..." he says, a touch of nerves entering his voice. "Did I go over?"

"Yes ... are we done, or do I need to have a word with your employer?" you say sharply.

"No! That won't be necessary," says the taxi driver, quickly. "Err ... you may rise..."

"Thank you," you say, recovering your dignity (and your knickers), and rising from your vulnerable position over his lap.

Soon you are driving towards town, the night as black as pitch. Only the lights of the oil refinery can be seen -- it seems that street lighting is unheard of on the island. Eventually the town looms into view, and the headlights illuminate the old fashioned looking town. The high street is filled with old shops -- ironmongers, carpenters, small general stores -- there is not a single chain store in sight. Nonetheless, there is clearly a good deal of money here; many of the houses are large and well built, and the sheer number of shops suggest that this is not an impoverished community.

The taxi takes you straight to your destination, a quaint little house with a well tended front garden. The driver gets out and opens the door, unconsciously bowing as you climb out.

"My bags," you demand imperiously, and he quickly leaps to obey, taking your bags out of the boot of the car and placing them before the front door of the house.

Not waiting for a tip, the taxi driver wishes you a good evening and drives off into the night. You are relived to be on time as you knock on the door to Mr Hamilton's house.

Turn to page 65.

Page 65

A short time later the door opens. You see a thin, severe looking woman, in her late sixties, or perhaps early seventies regard you critically. Finally she gives you a thin smile. "Miss. Hathaway?" she asks stiffly.

"Yes -- but please call me Dianne," you smile, extending your hand.

The woman takes your hand, with just an element of reserve. "I'm Mrs. Hamilton, my husband is just in the front room. Thank you for arriving promptly. Please come in, may I help you with your bags?"

"No, no, I'm fine, thank you," you insist, unwilling to let the elderly Mrs. Hamilton struggle with your bags.

You step into the house nervously. It is spotlessly clean, wallpapered in brown flowers, with ancient looking brown furniture adorning every room. You are taken into front room, where an elderly gentleman, about Mrs. Hamilton's age, sits watching a black and white television.

"George," she says, addressing the man, "this is Dianne Hathaway. Dianne, this is Mr Hamilton, my husband."

Mr Hamilton turns to look upon you, smiles, and then stands to his full height. Even at his advanced age he stands well over six feet tall, elegantly dressed in a brown tweed suit. "Dianne, a pleasure to meet you," he enthuses, extending his hand.

You put down a bag and shake his hand, his grip firm -- almost too tight. "Mr Hamilton -- thank you for letting me stay."

"Not at all," he says. "We've had a number of young people from your company stay here over the last few years. For the most part they've been charming."

"For the most part..." grumbles Mrs. Hamilton quietly.

"Do forgive my wife -- she's in charge of keeping the place ship-shape," he grins. "She knows I like a tidy house, and what awaits her backside if she lets things slip!"

"George!" cries Mrs. Hamilton, offended.

"Barely have to so much as pat her bum, these days," he reassures you. "Forty five years of living with me means she knows my limits."

You don't quite know what to say, and so laugh along with Mr Hamilton. He fixes you with a fond, yet serious look. "I presume the company told you about the customs of these islands..."

"Umm ... yes," you say with a strained smile.

"I let my wife sort out any problematic behaviour amongst the guests, and I expect them to comply with her demands," he explains gently. "Unless of course the matter is serious, in which case it will be I who will be tending to your backside. I'm sure that won't be necessary, though, will it?"

"Of course not, Mr Hamilton," you assure him. "You'll hardly know I'm here. I've got so much work on, I imagine I'll be running late most evenings..."

Mrs. Hamilton almost chokes in horror. "You'll be home at nine o'clock, each night, young lady! And not a minute later!"

You are about to object when Mr Hamilton interrupts. "My wife's rules, Dianne -- I shall be enforcing them."

There is an awkward silence. This is a promise you are not sure you can keep. "Of course, Mr Hamilton," you say demurely. "I'm happy to follow your wife's rules."

"Excellent!" he says warmly. "I'm sure they'll be no problems. Breakfast is at seven, lunch at one, and supper at seven. We'll make you breakfast every day, but just give us a call on the phone if you want to join us for any other meals -- otherwise we'll assume you're feeding yourself."

"Yes, Mr Hamilton," you nod.

"Right! A cup of tea and then bed, I should think!" laughs Mr Hamilton, relieved that the preliminaries are over.

You laugh with him. Inside you feel more nervous -- this is one Bed & Breakfast where the rules look tightly adhered to. You'd better make sure you don't break any.

Turn to page 95.

Page 66

A short time later the door opens. You see a thin, severe looking woman, in her late sixties, or perhaps early seventies regard you critically. Finally she gives you a thin smile. "Miss. Hathaway?" she asks stiffly.

"Yes -- but please call me Dianne," you smile, extending your hand.

The woman does not take your hand. "I'm Mrs. Hamilton. And you are late," she says coldly.

You shuffle slightly at her penetrating stare. "Yes, I'm sorry, I had the most awful trouble with the taxi..." you explain.

"You'd better come in," she snaps. "It's not the done thing to have a conversation on the doorstep."

She steps aside, motioning with her head that you should enter. Picking up your bags you heave your way inside. You enter into the house nervously. It is spotlessly clean, wallpapered in brown flowers, with ancient looking brown furniture adorning every room. Mrs. Hamilton bustles you into the living room, but does not invite you to take a seat. "Wait here a moment," she says tartly. "I'll go and wake my husband. I expect he'll not be pleased to see you in so late."

With this ominous warning Mrs. Hamilton steps out into the corridor, closing the door behind her, leaving you standing nervously like a schoolgirl outside the headmaster's office. The room is antique -- an old black and white television sitting in the corner adjacent to an ancient wireless. The house doesn't look like it's been renovated for forty years or more, although you cannot fault its state of cleanliness.

After several minutes of anxious waiting you hear Mrs. Hamilton make her way slowly down the stairs and open the door.

"My husband has decided you can stay, despite the uncivilized hour you turned up," says Mrs. Hamilton briskly. "However, you're to be punished for your tardiness. I've asked him to carry out the punishment because I've been rendered rather tired waiting for you all this time."

"I see," you say, swallowing. You feared this might happen.

"Kindly remove all your clothes from the waist down," instructs Mrs. Hamilton, much to your horror. "It's an old rule in this house that ladies who earn the strap from my husband be suitably prepared. You'll show him respect by obeying that rule."

You are aghast! What do you do?

Obey Mrs. Hamilton's instruction and remove your skirt, knickers and heels? Turn to page 69.

Agree to be punished, but refuse to strip half naked? Turn to page 70.

Refuse to be punished all together -- after all, you're paying these people to put you up! Turn to page 71.

Page 67

You produce five hundred pounds from your purse and stuff it into the taxi driver's hands. It's mere chicken feed to you.

The taxi driver's eyes light up. "Thank you, miss!" he says delighted, quickly exiting the cab and helping you out.

The young man takes your bags from the back of the car and places them by the front door, giving you a small salute as he goes. You knock on the front door. You're over an hour late! You hope Mr Hamilton is the forgiving type...

Turn to page 66.

Page 68

Taking your diary from your top pocket you flick it to the right page in under a second. "It's seventeen, Orchard Rise -- think you can find that?" you ask testily.

The taxi driver looks a little deflated. "All right -- get in!" he grumbles.

Smiling smugly, you clamber into the taxi. Soon you are driving towards town, the night as black as pitch. Only the lights of the oil refinery can be seen -- it seems that street lighting is unheard of on the island. Eventually the town looms into view, and the headlights illuminate the old fashioned looking town. The high street is filled with old shops -- ironmongers, carpenters, small general stores -- there is not a single chain store in sight. Nonetheless, there is clearly a good deal of money here; many of the houses are large and well built, and the sheer number of shops suggest that this is not an impoverished community.

The taxi takes you straight to your destination, a quaint little house with a well tended front garden. You emerge from the taxi, retrieve your bags, and struggle over to the front door. The taxi driver, upset at his missed opportunity, drives off without waiting for a tip. You are relived to be on time as you knock on the door to Mr Hamilton's house.

Turn to page 65.

Page 69

Under Mrs. Hamilton's steady gaze you carefully remove your shoes, skirt, and, mortifyingly, your knickers -- sliding them down your legs, bending sharply as you do so. You stand to attention after this fearful striptease, your shirt only just covering your pudenda and the very top of your bottom.

"Fold the bottom of your shirt up," commands Mrs. Hamilton mercilessly. "Everything below the waist line must be clear."

"I'm ... not sure it will stay," you blather, desperately hoping for a reprieve, showing how your shirt quickly flops down despite your efforts to keep it folded.

"Well -- I can pin it -- otherwise you'll have to take the shirt off," explains Mrs. Hamilton gruffly.

You allow Mrs. Hamilton to secure the tails of your shirt with pins, even though it means spending several agonizing minutes standing half naked in her living room. Eventually she is finished, your shirt folded back and held in place by several sharp pins. Nodding in approval at your semi-nudity, Mrs. Hamilton instructs you to climb the stairs and knock on the last door to the left.

"My husband will be waiting for you..." she says, a satisfied smile creeping into her stony features.

You nod, and slowly exit the room, into the corridor. The stairs stretch up before you, a slight draught from the front door tickling your sex -- reminding you of your exposed status. You tiptoe unwillingly up the stairs, the steps creaking as you go, every step moving you closer to your doom.

You walk slowly across the length of the landing until you come to the last door on your left. Trembling, you knock upon the door three times.

You are kept waiting a full minute, shivering slightly in your exposure. Somehow being half naked below feels more naked than completely bare, and you wish to your soul that your first meeting with your landlord could have taken place under less vulnerable circumstances.

Lose 1 Dignity point .

You are just about to knock again, when a strong, male voice emerges from the door. "Enter," it commands. You do.

You walk into an elegant but not overstuffed study, a writing desk over by the wall with a comfortable brown chair nearby. Standing tall and impressive is an elderly man, perhaps seventy, at least six feet tall even in his twilight. He carries in his hands a long, thick, leather strap. He looks you up and down, and you feel you might wither before his steady gaze as he unashamedly takes in your nudity.

"You're extremely late," he observes. "My wife doesn't like visitors or guests in after nine. Her rules, not mine, but rules to be followed none the less. I'm glad to see you respect some of the rules of the house, at least..." Mr Hamilton indicates your half naked state. "So perhaps this lesson need not be as stern as it could have been. Have you anything to say for yourself?"

You swallow nervously. "I'm very sorry, Mr Hamilton..."

"What for?"

"For being late, sir," you add, hopefully.

"Good," he says grandly. "At least you know what you're being punished for. Because you are new to the island and probably not used to heavy punishment, I'm going to give you just two dozen strokes of the strap across your backside. They'll sting like the devil, but I warn you not to grip your backside during the punishment, or we'll start again from stroke number one. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," you confirm, desperate for the tension to end.

Mr Hamilton nods. "Good girl. Now, go to the chair and kneel on the seat, facing the chair back. Then I want you to grip your arms behind the chair, nice and low so your bottom sticks out. I shall be striking your backside quite roughly, so grip on tight."

You nod, and, shaking with nerves, obey his request, the worn leather chair luxurious on your naked legs. You reach forwards and encircle the back of the chair with your arms, pushing your bottom out widely to give him a clear target.

Somehow, obeying his commands so exactly lends you strength. You feel that as long as you do exactly as Mr Hamilton says, you will be able to get through. Gain 1 Willpower point .

All preparations complete, Mr Hamilton wraps one end of the strap around his right hand and takes the remaining length in his left, carefully aiming at his presented target. "Let us begin, then," he says ominously.

Turn to page 73.

Page 70

Mrs. Hamilton shakes her head. "Delaying the inevitable won't help -- but you English girls won't be told will you?"

Mrs. Hamilton instructs you to climb the stairs and knock on the last door to the left.

"My husband will be waiting for you..." she says, a satisfied smile creeping into her stony features.

You nod, and slowly exit the room, into the corridor. The stairs stretch up before you, thinly carpeted in brown, like much of the rest of the house. You tiptoe unwillingly up the stairs, the steps creaking as you go, every step moving you closer to your doom.

You walk slowly across the length of the landing until you come to the last door on your left. Trembling, you knock upon the door three times.

You are kept waiting a full minute, shivering slightly despite yourself. Nonetheless you feel a sense of satisfaction at having defied Mrs. Hamilton's ridiculous suggestion that you should appear half naked before a man you have never seen before -- you'll need all your determination to get through this night.

Gain 1 Ambition point .

You are just about to knock again, when a strong, male voice emerges from the door. "Enter," it commands. You do.

You walk into an elegant but not overstuffed study, a writing desk over by the wall with a comfortable brown leather padded chair nearby. Standing tall and impressive is an elderly man, perhaps seventy, at least six feet tall even in his twilight. He carries in his hands a long, thick, leather strap. He looks you up and down, and you feel you might wither before his steady gaze.

"You're extremely late," he observes. "My wife doesn't like visitors or guests in after nine. Her rules, not mine, but rules to be followed none the less. I see you have a problem with obeying rules," Mr Hamilton indicates your fully dressed state. "That's something I'll have to cure you of. Do you wish to stay in my house?"

"Yes, Mr Hamilton," you say earnestly -- without a place to stay your job is over before it's even begun!

"Then you must obey the rules -- I'm sure my wife made it quite clear how I like soon-to-be-punished ladies to present themselves and you have flouted them. You shall correct that error now."

You swallow hard. You knew you were going to be punished on your bare behind -- that was inevitable. Holding off now would only be making things worse for yourself. Besides, there is something about Mr Hamilton's cool, unyielding manner that makes him impossible to disobey.

Gingerly you remove your shoes, skirt, and finally your knickers -- Mr Hamilton not deigning to look away during your impromptu striptease. Your shirt only just covers your pudenda and the very top of your backside. You shift to attention, uncomfortable in your sudden nude vulnerability.

"Have you anything to say for yourself?" demands Mr Hamilton, after letting you tremble awkwardly before him for a full minute.

You swallow nervously. "I'm very sorry, Mr Hamilton..."

"What for?"

"For being late, sir," you add, hopefully.

"Anything else?"

You pause. "And for not dressing appropriately, sir," you add at last.

"Good," he says grandly. "At least you know what you're being punished for. Because you are new to the island and probably not used to heavy punishment, I'm going to give you just three dozen strokes of the strap across your backside -- two for being late, and one for defiance. They'll sting like the devil, but I warn you not to grip your backside during the punishment, or we'll start again from stroke number one. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," you confirm, desperate for the tension to end.

Mr Hamilton nods. "Good girl. Now, go to the chair and kneel on the seat, facing the chair back. Then I want you to grip your arms behind the chair, nice and low so your bottom sticks out. I shall be striking your backside quite roughly, so grip on tight."

You nod, and, shaking with nerves, obey his request, the worn leather chair luxurious on your naked legs. You reach forwards and encircle the back of the chair with your arms, pushing your bottom out widely to give him a clear target.

You feel as if your will is being crushed by the relentless Mr Hamilton, his inflexible nature and terrible sentencing sapping your confidence. Lose 1 Willpower point .

All preparations complete, Mr Hamilton wraps one end of the strap around his right hand and takes the remaining length in his left, carefully aiming at his presented target. "Let us begin, then," he says ominously.

Gain the codeword GRIM .

Turn to page 73.

Page 71

Mrs. Hamilton nods. She walks out into the corridor and swings the front door open. "Then get out of my house," she says icily.

"But ... I need a place to live..." you stammer.

"You can't live here -- I will not have disobedient guests. Either obey our rules or go."

Mrs. Hamilton seems adamant. What do you do?

Obey Mrs. Hamilton's instruction and remove your skirt, knickers and heels? Turn to page 69.

Leave the house forever? Turn to page 72.

Page 72

You've made a big mistake. You've kept your pride, but not your job. Despite your attempts you can find nowhere else to put you up on the island -- Mr Stevenson, your boss at the Telephone Exchange, will not let you sleep in the office.

Soon your homeless state is reported to the police, and Constable Farley has you punished and then deported from the island forever.

Back in England, Todd Wilkins, your old director, sympathises with your plight, and ensures that you are transferred back to your old job. Sadly your promotion is over. You wonder how long it will be until you are offered another...?

Your adventure ends here.

Page 73

Snap!

With a grunt you rock forwards as Mr Hamilton plies the strap directly across the centre of your bottom, the flexible leather strip biting both buttocks with equal force.

Mr Hamilton calmly collects the dangling strap with his left hand as you bounce your buttocks to disperse the pain.

"Try to keep still, Dianne -- there is dignity in suffering," advises Mr Hamilton, before letting fly with the strap again.

Snap!

You hiss as the strap impacts once more, slightly heavier on the left buttock this time, an angry crimson line blushing against your cheek. Smoothly gathering the strap, Mr Hamilton strikes your bum again.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

"Gnn! ... uh! ... Ahh!" you cry as the strap begins to paint your bottom with fire. Despite his efforts the strapping is not equal, your left buttock receiving more of a pounding than the right, causing you to instinctively sway your bottom to the left to encourage the strap to stroke untouched skin.

"Bottom still, Dianne, last warning," chides Mr Hamilton, "or I shall be obliged to add penalty strokes."

Snap! Snap!

"Oooh! Uhhh!" you moan, trying to plant your knees firmly into the leather as your arse is licked by the flaming strap.

If your Willpower is 4 or more, Turn to page 74.
If not, read on.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

"Ah! Ah! Ahh!" you cry rhythmically your bum cringing to the left at each stroke, desperate to avoid the terrible bias shown to your blistering left cheek.

"I warned you, Dianne," says Mr Hamilton sternly. "Now you will pay the penalty. An additional six strokes. I shall deliver them slowly, to give you a chance to keep your bottom still. Any movement during the penalty strokes and I shall add another six strokes. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Mr Hamilton," you groan in despair.

True to his word Mr Hamilton clocks up an extra six strokes, delivered between long pauses. You grit your teeth and take them, even as your arse fries behind you. Raise your Bum Status by 2 Levels .

Now Turn to page 75.

Page 74

Gritting your teeth you take the pain, your poor left buttock stinging terribly as Mr Hamilton continues to favour it over the right.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

You whimper through the strokes, clamping down on unnecessary noise, your bum only wobbling occasionally, and then never when the strap flies towards it to give it its due.

Snap!

"Nggg!" you groan, at a shot that slaps the very top of your backside, to caress over your back with a glide.

"Apologies, Dianne, that was a poor shot," he concedes. "I shan't repeat it, given you're doing so well."

You flush inwardly with pride. Gain 1 Dignity point , and raise your Bum Status by 1 Level .

Now Turn to page 75.

Page 75

Snap! Snap!

"Uh! Uhhh!" you groan as the final two strokes of your first dozen impact sharply upon your crimson behind. Your left buttock positively sizzles, your right only slightly blushing from the less strenuous attention it has received. You feel exhausted, your arms slippery with sweat, such that they slip further down the back of the seat, pushing your backside out further.

"Well -- that's the first dozen!" announces Mr Hamilton grandly. "Let's see how you did, shall we?"

He carefully examines your bottom, causing a slight hiss to escape your lips as he prods your left buttock. "My aim is off tonight," he concedes. "I can usually get a pretty uniform colour. Age, I suppose. I shall strike you left handed for the next set, and see if I can't rosy up the other side just as well..."

You feel faint. Another sizzling dozen? Can you really take it?

Will you?

Beg to be let off, pleading that you have learnt your lesson? Turn to page 76.

Push your bum up higher and wait for the second set to begin? Turn to page 79.

Page 76

"Please, sir!" you beg. "I simply can't take anymore, my bottom is sizzling. Please let me off. I absolutely promise that I've learned my lesson -- I'll never be late again, I promise!"

If you have the Codeword GRIM, Turn to page 77.

If your Dignity score is 2 or less, Turn to page 78.
Otherwise read on.

"Oh, come on, girl -- show some spunk!" snaps Mr Hamilton. "Your bum can easily take more! My wife could take six dozen without crying out when she was your age -- don't tell me a puny dozen is enough to crush a well-bred English girl like you?"

You wither in shame. Lose 1 Dignity point .

"Bum up for twelve more," says Mr Hamilton briskly, and, with a moan of dread, you obey...

Turn to page 79.

Page 77

"You should have thought about that before you showed up fully dressed for a bare bottom punishment!" thunders Mr Hamilton, quite cowing your whining.

"Bum up for twelve more," says Mr Hamilton briskly, and, with a moan of dread, you obey...

Turn to page 79.

Page 78

Mr Hamilton considers your pitiful, weeping form. "You English girls have little spunk and no dignity it seems," he says sadly. "But it would be a crime to reduce you further into pathetic begging. Very well -- that will be all for now..."

You sob with relief.

Turn to page 94.

Page 79

Calmly, Mr Hamilton steps to your right hand side, winding a length of the strap around his left hand. Your slippery arms slide right to the bottom of the chair back causing your half bruised backside to curve into a full moon. Carefully measuring his stroke, Mr Hamilton nods to himself, and swings low...

Snap!

You yelp, the end of the strap catching the underhang of your right buttock and sizzling into the flesh beneath, your bum wobbling comically from the crafty shot.

"Bit short, bit low," concedes Mr Hamilton. "Let's try again..."

Snap!

A more solid blow, squashing across your right cheek and half your left, your bum rising from the stroke. You give a quick shriek to control the sudden shock.

"My dear, the neighbours are trying to sleep," mutters Mr Hamilton testily. "Try to respect their wishes by maintaining a dignified silence..."

"Sorry, Mr Hamilton," you whimper.

Snap!

Another sharp blow, creeping further to the right, such that the strap end plunges into the crevice and tickles the edge of your anus.

If your Willpower is 5 or more, Turn to page 80.
If not, read on.

You give out a shriek, unable to contain yourself at the surprise and fear that your most intimate holes can be struck by the wandering strap.

"Dianne that it quite unacceptable," chides Mr Hamilton. "What on earth is the point of saying 'sorry, Mr Hamilton' if you're going to ignore me on the very next stroke?"

You pause, your racing head unable to think of anything else to say. "Sorry, Mr Hamilton," you repeat desperately.

"An extra six as punishment, then," decrees Mr Hamilton. "Nice and slow so you can prepare yourself. Not a peep out of you, mind!" he insists.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

Slow and regular, Mr Hamilton beats out your punishment strokes, and you bite down on your lip to avoid making a squeak.

If your Willpower is 3 or more, Turn to page 81.
If not, read on.

On the fifth stroke, a bruiser to both cheeks, you can't help but emit a long groan.

"An extra six on top!" declares Mr Hamilton.

"Oh! Sir! Please!" you beg.

"There's no point in grovelling girl!" insists Mr Hamilton. "Only a stiff upper lip will get you out of this one!"

Another terrible six strokes, flaming your backside, on top of the spare punishment stroke you still had not taken, are delivered with agonizing slowness over three minutes. This time you don't dare emit so much as a peep as you silently suffer your lot.

Raise your Bum Status by 3 levels .

Turn to page 82.

Page 80

You've already done so well -- you'll be damned if you're going to let Mr Hamilton thrash you any extras now! You clamp your lips shut at the stroke to your arsehole, rubbing your head hard against the chair back to distract you from the nasty sting.

Mr Hamilton doesn't seem to realise what he's done, and merrily snaps the strap down upon your backside without guilt.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

Raise your Bum Status by 1 Level .

Turn to page 82.

Page 81

These are the times that try a girl's soul! You endure the brutal strokes, biting your lip determinedly, clenching and unclenching your buttocks to reduce the sting.

Snap! Your final punishment stroke, a snappy little shot to your bruising right ham, stings you awfully, but you do not falter.

"Extra's over -- noise is now permitted within acceptable levels," advises Mr Hamilton. "I think we were on four or five ... let's call it four, just in case."

Snap! Snap! Snap!

At last able to make a sound, you groan through your set, your backside smoking hotter and hotter with each measured stroke.

Raise your Bum Status by 2 Levels .

Turn to page 82.

Page 82

Snap! Snap!

"Uh! Ngg!" you moan quietly, your right buttock now so tormented you wish Mr Hamilton would plant one or two the other side...

"And one for luck!" pips Mr Hamilton brightly, swinging quickly.

Snap!

"Uhhh!" you groan, at a final, relatively even stroke that scorches both cheeks at once.

"And that is two dozen," he pronounces happily.

If you have the codeword GRIM, Turn to page 83.

If not Turn to page 94.

Page 83

"Alas, we have not done," says Mr Hamilton sadly. "If only you possessed less stubborn pride you would be permitted to rise, after thanking me politely, of course. Instead, you face another dozen strokes."

Mr Hamilton pauses as he lets you consider this point. "Tell me, Dianne, do you still feel proud of yourself? Gripping onto my chair, half naked, your bruised bottom still to take another dozen strokes of the strap? Tell me honestly -- at no risk of additional punishment -- if you had your time over again, would you still have presented yourself fully clothed?"

You get the feeling Mr Hamilton is an honest man. What do you answer?

"Yes ... yes I would still have presented myself fully clothed..." Turn to page 84.

"No -- I've definitely learnt my lesson." Turn to page 85.

"I ... I don't know..." Turn to page 86.

Page 84

Gain 1 Ambition point . It seems that no one and nothing can keep you down!

Mr Hamilton smiles. "I admire your spirit -- perhaps you will thrive here," he ponders. "Your backside, however, shall pay a high price. I assure you; we Westjack men will not let defiance stand. As long as you are wilful, we shall chasten you. Accept that, and I suppose you can do as you wish..."

Mr Hamilton laughs, almost to himself, before looking back upon his waiting target. "For the men of Westjack, then..." he says quietly, raising his strap high above your defenceless buttocks...

Turn to page 87.

Page 85

"There's a good girl -- and a proper response," says Mr Hamilton kindly. "Accept the justice of your punishment and you shall never live in dread."

Gain 1 point of Reputation . The men of Westjack appreciate a girl who can take her punishment with due humility.

Mr Hamilton prepares the strap. "I'm glad to hear that the lesson is being learned, and learned well..." he says, raising the strap high above your vulnerable, sore behind...

Turn to page 87.

Page 86

Mr Hamilton, in a tender moment, pats your head, slick with your sweat. "That's alright," he consoles. "In time, sufficient punishment will cow your rebellious spirit -- you will obey instinctively, for fear of the strap, or going over the knee. You won't have to answer difficult questions like these in the future -- you'll know the answer in your heart, and with every tremble of your punished backside."

Mr Hamilton removes his hand and shakes his head. "Enough poetry!" he laughs. "Listen to me going on! Let's finish bruising that naughty backside of yours and send you straight to bed..."

At that, Mr Hamilton raises the strap high above your quivering bum...

Turn to page 87.

Page 87

There is a high whooshing sound as Mr Hamilton swings his strap down, hard and even.

Snap!

A formidable stroke that ignites both bruised buttocks. You shunt forwards, pushing your head to the bottom of the seat to muffle your cries. Above you your backside rises into even greater prominence, your sex and anus now on obvious display to your even handed punisher.

Snap!

"Oh!" you wail in despair at another hard stroke, a pitched fire burning in your left globe which took the greatest force. How you wish you could cradle your smoking buttocks, even if only for a moment!

Snap! Snap!

"Ah! Unnggg!" you cry and groan, as blows alternate hard between the left and right hemispheres of your arse.

"Mind that noise -- bum still," warns Mr Hamilton. "I'm going to make this next one a scorcher! I want you to take it like a statue!"

Prepared, you thrust your buttocks up to meet the blow.

If your Willpower is 5 or more, Turn to page 88.
If not, read on.

SNAP! A blow swung with a full carry through, Mr Hamilton almost spinning to increase the impact. The strap bites into your bum like a predator, enflaming your buttocks with such a sizzling collision that you are unable to hold back a mighty wail.

There is a sharp knock at the door, a woman's voice blurting through. "What's all that noise? Is that Miss. Hathaway making that awful screeching?" demands Mrs. Hamilton.

"I'm afraid so, dear," sighs Mr Hamilton. "This is turning into quite an ordeal for the poor girl."

"No reason to wake the neighbours -- I suggest a dozen penalty strokes, that should teach the snobby little..."

"Thank you, dear," says Mr Hamilton firmly. "Go back to bed, there's a good girl."

Your bum throbbing above you, you listen as Mrs. Hathaway grumbles her way down the landing and into bed.

"I apologise for my wife," sighs Mr Hamilton. "You can be assured I shall be having a word with her in the morning. On the one hand, though, she's right -- you do deserve penalty strokes. How many, Dianne, do you think you are due?"

He's actually asking your opinion! What do you reply?

Just one? Turn to 89.

Half a dozen? Turn to page 90.

A full dozen? Turn to page 91.

Page 88

SNAP! A blow swung with a full carry through, Mr Hamilton almost spinning to increase the impact. The strap bites into your bum like a predator, enflaming your buttocks with such a sizzling collision that you have to choke your cry down like a sobbing child.

"Well taken," concedes Mr Hamilton, giving you an extra few seconds to compose yourself before striking again.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

Tears dribbling down your face, your nose running, you sniffle through blow after blow on your numbing buttocks. The lashing strap roughly caresses your bumflesh, basting it raw, your choking sobs adding an accompaniment to the steady lash of the strap.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

"Just one, more -- quiet and dignified, like before..." warns Mr Hamilton, swinging back dramatically for the denouement. When it strikes you let out a humming groan, your bruised hams twitching in agony as the final fires are licked across your backside.

Snap!

"Mmmmnnnn," you groan softly, your arms collapsing from their tight hold around the chair to swing limply to the floor. You shrink into the chair, your bottom a flaming red above you.

Raise your Bum Status by 2 Levels .

Turn to page 94.

Page 89

"I ... I think just one, sir?" you dare.

Mr Hamilton is motionless behind you. "Is that your honest opinion -- given the kind of punishment you've received so far?"

"Yes, sir," you lie.

Mr Hamilton sighs. "It is only natural that a beaten girl tell fibs ... say anything to reduce her punishment," he says wisely. "Nonetheless I cannot stand dishonesty. Tell the truth and live with the consequences, that's what I say. But if you don't have the courage yourself I suppose I'll have to step into the breech."

Mr Hamilton bends down to whisper in your ear. "My wife says a dozen. Suddenly I'm inclined to agree with her." he says, sending a shiver down your spine.

Turn to page 92.

Page 90

"I think ... six, sir?" you offer, amazed that you would sentence yourself so harshly when your bum is already lashed to ribbons.

"Yes -- I would agree, that's consistent," he nods. "Good girl -- I value honesty. Any girl with honesty can't be all that bad."

Why on earth compliments from an old man with a strap should reassure you, you can't say. But his warm words towards you make you feel good about yourself. Gain 1 Dignity point .

"Six strokes for making a beastly noise -- hang on then..." he advises, taking his whipping place behind you.

You grip the chair back tightly as the first stroke of your self-declared punishment strikes your erring behind.

Snap!

You hiss through your nose as your bum warms further. The stroke could have been harder, he's going a little easier on you.

Snap! Snap!

His speed, however, increases, and the constant battery of your blistering cheeks is only endured by a series of small moans and gasps -- just quiet enough to avoid further punishment.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

Tears dribbling down your face, your nose running, you sniffle through blow after blow on your numbing buttocks. The lashing strap roughly caresses your bumflesh, basting it raw, your choking sobs adding an accompaniment to the steady lash of the strap.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

"Just one, more -- quiet and dignified, like before..." warns Mr Hamilton, swinging back dramatically for the denouement. When it strikes you let out a humming groan, your bruised hams twitching in agony as the final fires are licked across your backside.

Snap!

"Mmmmnnnn," you groan softly, your arms collapsing from their tight hold around the chair to swing limply to the floor. You shrink into the chair, your bottom a flaming red above you.

Raise your Bum Status by 3 Levels .

Turn to page 94.

Page 91

Mr Hamilton raises an eyebrow. "You agree with my wife, do you? A full dozen, twelve more on your smoking behind. What makes you think you've earned such a tariff?"

You try to think of a response -- but one blurts out from your mouth unwittingly. "Because I've been a bad girl, Mr Hamilton, and I deserve to be punished," you say breathlessly.

A tingling surge spreads through you ... somehow ... you've always longed to say those words. Gain 1 Fun point , and 2 Reputation points - self confession is a valued trait on Westjack.

Turn to page 92.

Page 92

"Twelve stroke, then," Mr Hamilton says gravely. "On top of the seven you are due, that is nineteen strokes to go."

You shiver. Nineteen strokes? That's almost as much as your original tariff!

"Since you've already woken the neighbours we may as well give them a show -- prove to them that you are truly sorry," considers Mr Hamilton. "From now call outs are acceptable, but after each stroke you must call out the number and cry 'thank you, Mr Hamilton.' That way the neighbours will realise I am punishing an errant girl rather than murdering someone. Understand?"

You take a breath. "Yes, Mr Hamilton," you say steadily.

"Bottom up, back curved, arms locked," he commands, adjusting your position. "And don't you dare even think about touching that sore bum of yours."

"No, Mr Hamilton," you promise.

Mr Hamilton nods and steps behind you, the strap wrapped around his right hand and held straight in his left. He measures his target carefully before he strikes...

Snap! A central blow, just favouring the left buttock!

"One! Thank you, Mr Hamilton!" you chant, your brief reprieve from suffering now well and truly over.

Snap!

"Two!" you grunt, the blow taking you solely upon your well bruised left cheek, "thank you, Mr Hamilton.

Snap! A blow that strikes the right buttock, nipping around your hip as it does so.

"Ah! Three! Thank you, Mr Hamilton," you cry, the right hand side blow catching you unawares.

The beating goes on, Mr Hamilton beating a groaning tune from you as he sizzles your arse with his strap. Next door, Mrs. Hamilton breaks off from reading in bed to listen to your apologetic cries, and the polite acknowledgement of your disobedience. "That will teach the snotty English cow some manners," she mutters to herself, smiling in satisfaction at the sound of your suffering.

Snap! Yet another stroke harries your behind, cruelly biasing the left buttock which feels quite purple with the constant attention it is receiving.

"Ahhh! Seventeen! Thank you, Mr Hamilton," you weep, broken beyond caring that Mr Hamilton has reduced you to a cringing wreck, your body sagging under the bombardment. Your arse is on fire, and you do not think it could get hotter if Mr Hamilton lashed you a hundred more...

"Steady on, Dianne," warns Mr Hamilton. "Bum up for two more. We're both tired, but if we are going to get through this both of us shall require stern fortitude -- don't make me whip you penalty strokes for failing to keep still."

"Sorry, sir ... Mr Hamilton," you blub, pushing your flaming bottom up high. "I'll stay still, I promise!"

"This shall determine that," says Mr Hamilton cautiously, swinging the strap down low to catch the underside of your bruised haMs

Snap!

If your Willpower is 3 or more Turn to page 93.
If not, read on.

"Uhhh!" you grunt loudly, your bouncing backside engulfed in red hot pain. "Oh, sir! Please..." you whimper, as, unable to help yourself, you cringe your bum away from the cursed strap that continues to harass your backside.

"What did I say, Dianne?" demands Mr Hamilton sternly.

"Please, Mr Hamilton, I didn't mean it!" your grovel shamelessly, sticking your bum back up quickly for him.

"What did I say?" he repeats mercilessly.

You snuffle helplessly, feeling trapped and unprotected. "You said..." you croak.

"Yes?"

"You said I would have penalty strokes if I didn't stay still," you moan in defeat.

"And did you stay still?" presses Mr Hamilton, like the god of judgement.

You pause, shuddering. "No, Mr Hamilton, I didn't," you bleat at last.

"So what happens now?"

Your arse burns behind you -- but there is no escape. "I ... have to have penalty strokes," you admit.

Lose 1 Dignity for this humiliating confession.

"Very well -- since we both agree you require penalty strokes I shall add them to your total," says Mr Hamilton calmly. "Six extra seems sufficient -- do you agree?"

"Yes, Mr Hamilton," you sob, all resistance gone.

"Then we shall keep counting until we reach twenty-five -- prepare yourself, Dianne," he warns, gathering the strap.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

You wail and count through your remaining strokes, keeping you bum still no matter how cruelly the strap licks your blazing arse. Truly you have been through the wars, and you shake, sweat and shiver as your backside's colour changes from red to an ugly purple.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

"Ahh! Twenty four! Thank you, Mr Hamilton," you cry, delirious with suffering, your face wet with tears.

Snap!

"Oh! Twenty five! That's twenty five!" you cry in joy at the final sizzling blow, which has your backside shuddering from the impact. "Thank you, Mr Hamilton!"

You sob helplessly -- but you have survived!

Raise your Bum Status by 4 Levels , but gain 1 Willpower point .

Turn to page 94.

Page 93

No power on earth could convince you to buck now. "Eighteen! Thank you, Mr Hamilton," you chant, as if it was a holy prayer -- a salvation for your searing behind.

"One more," says Mr Hamilton.

Snap!

"Hssss! Nineteen! That's nineteen -- thank you, sir!" you choke, you bum blazing from a hard stroke across both cheeks.

You shudder exhaustion -- the beating was long and hard, but you have endured.

Raise your Bum Status by 3 levels .

Turn to page 94.

Page 94

You sigh with relief as Mr Hamilton finally lowers the strap, your poor, beaten arse throbbing behind you mercilessly.

"And that is that," says Mr Hamilton with finality. "Hopefully that will serve as a lesson not to be late in future?"

"Yes, Mr Hamilton," you whimper, your lesson thoroughly learned.

Mr Hamilton nods, folding the strap away as he speaks. "Breakfast is at seven, lunch at one, and supper at seven. We'll make you breakfast every day, but just give us a call on the phone if you want to join us for any other meals -- otherwise we'll assume you're feeding yourself. Please be in by nine o'clock each night -- my wife's rules, but to obeyed, of course. Your bedroom is the first on the right as you climb the stairs. You may stand, Dianne," he adds, almost as an afterthought.

You stiffly clamber to your feet, wondering what your bruised backside must look like now. You for some reason feel a little self-conscious again, standing half naked in the old man's presence, and have to remind yourself that he has, by now, seen almost everything you have.

"For the most part my wife will see to any issues relating to discipline," he warns. "I am, however, on call should she feel you would benefit from something a little tougher. Hopefully, however, this will be the last time I have to provide you with any lessons on manners?"

You hope so too. "Yes, sir," you add for good measure.

"Off to bed now, Dianne, I'll see you at breakfast," says Mr Hamilton, at last turning from you, seating himself in the comfortable leather chair he beat you upon, and picking up his book to resume reading.

"Goodnight Mr Hamilton," you murmur, and ashamedly shuffle from the room.

Turn to page 95.

Page 95

You sleep long and well, your little bed in your little room comfortable and fresh. You are awoken by the alarm on your phone -- six thirty. You didn't want to be late for breakfast!

Lower your Bum Status by 2 Levels .

Dressing in a neat, clean suit, you make your way downstairs for breakfast with the Hamiltons. Mrs. Hamilton fusses obsessively over a filling course of eggs, beans and bacon, which Mr Hamilton receives with adequate politeness. Over breakfast you confirm with Mr Hamilton the directions to the Telephone Exchange (it's not far) and speak carefully about dry subjects such as the weather, the cost of living, and other uncontroversial things. You don't want to raise your landlord's ire at this time in the morning!

By half seven you are out of the door, the morning cool and blustery. Powerful sea breezes seem to blast across Westjack Island at all times, and you have to button up your jacket to stop it blowing in the wind.

The Telephone Exchange is a large, if unexciting, concrete building -- almost like a nineteen fifties tower block. There is a security desk but it doesn't seem to be manned during the day, just a brass plaque on the wall indicating which department is where. Over the years employees have stuck labels over obsolete or moved departments, and the signs are written in a blistering variety of different pens.

Towards the middle of the plaque is a label for 'ComLondon' (someone has made a spirited attempt at recreating the company's logo in biro). Nodding to yourself you take the small lift to the second floor.

You emerge into an office, recently converted into a large open plan area by your predecessor. It is in chaos. New and old computers sit side by side, confused techies vainly attempting to get them to share data. Piles of paper and stacks of files cover every table top. Old cups of tea and coffee litter the area. The staff themselves look flustered and disorganised. You swallow. This is your department.

You stop a young man making his way hurriedly past with a pile of old papers. "Excuse me," you say. "Could you direct me to Mr Stevenson? I understand he's in charge of the Exchange?"

"Top floor," the man says breathlessly, "but he's in a foul mood. Well ... he's in a foul mood most days, actually. Sorry, I'm Julian Bennett. You are...?"

"Dianne Hathaway," you say extending your hand.

"Oh ... the new boss!" he says, quickly grasping your hand, only to spill his documents across the floor. "Pleasure ... sorry about that..."

"What do you do, here, Julian?" you ask as you help him stack his fallen papers.

"The computers -- usually -- I'll manage the servers when the network is switched on ... but at the moment I'm helping with the licences. Well -- I think that's what I'm doing, anyway."

"You don't sound very sure," you smile.

"No one's very sure of anything," says Julian exasperated. "The last chap ... well, he was useless. Kept changing his mind about what he wanted. The project is years away from completion..."

You thrust the collected papers back into Julian's hands. "Well -- we've got twelve weeks, Julian," you say, rising. "And we are going to get this project in on time!"

Julian looks doubtful, but smiles reassuringly. "Top floor, first on the right," he says. "It's best not to keep Mr Stevenson waiting..."

He's right -- you'd best meet the client first before you get started down here, it looks like you have a long haul ahead of you. You return to the lift and press the top button.

Exiting on the top floor you make straight for Mr Stevenson's office (indicated by the shiny brass plaque on the door). At first you're not sure anyone is at home. You seem to have arrived at a little secretarial office, decorated brightly and smartly with fresh flowers. A door ahead seems to lead into the office proper.

Vip!

A sharp sound emerges from behind the door, like something cutting through the air, followed by a feminine cry.

Vip! Another stroke, thin and crisp, accompanied by a tight groan. Risking discovery, you have a quick peek through the glass window in the office door. Within you can see a young lady, mostly dressed in a suit, bent over a wooden desk. She is only mostly dressed, since her skirt is raised so that the hem rests upon her back, and her knickers stretch tightly between her knees, such that her bare buttocks are rudely exposed. Across those buttocks sharp red lines lie in perfect horizontal lines, looking blazing sore across her backside. Her bottom, in any case, shows signs of plenty of previous punishment, blue bruises and old stripes litter her otherwise wholesome and succulent cheeks.

The cause of this misery is easily identifiable. A middle aged man, dressed in a sober suit, a bristling moustache upon his lip, and a scowl so dark it quite puts the fear in you, stands just to the side of the lady, an old, long cane gripped firmly in his hand. This must be Mr Stevenson. He appears to be beating his secretary.

Will you:

Quickly look away and find a seat, until the two of them have finished their business together? Turn to page 96.

Silently observe through the window? Turn to page 97.

Enter the room briskly, as if nothing is happening? Turn to page 98.

Page 96

You quietly take a corner seat and wait, the sound of the strokes whipping through the air, and the groans of endurance from the secretary all too clear through the closed door. Still, at least you have refrained from gawping like some idiot tourist, and the thought lends you some quiet satisfaction. Gain 1 point of Dignity .

Turn to page 99.

Page 97

Since the two of them have their backs to you it feels reasonably safe to observe -- indeed, you find it hard to take your eyes off the scene. Mr Stevenson's cane seems perfectly controlled. Before each stroke he firmly taps the length of the cane across the secretary's clenching cheeks, indicating the place he intends to strike next. He taps continuously, preventing the beaten girl from telling exactly when the tap is going to turn into a stroke. When he does strike it is with a whirlwind precision, his arm sweeping back swiftly, his wrist flicking at the last moment. The cane practically bites into the secretary's bum cheeks, her buttocks clenching in sudden agony, a cry almost conducted out of her from sore bottom to her throat. The stroke is rarely more than a centimetre or two off target -- many of them are direct hits.

Gain the codeword FAMILIAR .

You wonder at the girl's endurance as you watch the cane descend a further five times into her willingly exposed cheeks. Can any job be worth this? You are so mesmerised by the twitching, cane-streaked bum that you fail to notice the sudden pause in proceedings. Has the beating ended?

Your eyes flick up -- straight into Mr Stevenson's. He's looking right at you.

Startling with fright you quickly run from the door and take a seat, out of sight of the beaten girl and her terrifying manager. In fact, you remind yourself, your terrifying manager!

You stay seated as the caning recommences, the steady strokes of the cane impacting sharply upon the secretary's still poised bum. It's a sensation you're likely to know very well before the end of the day!

Turn to page 99.

Page 98

Screwing your courage to the sticking place you knock sharply and swing open the door. Mr Stevenson lowers the cane and frowns. The secretary turns to look, her mouth agape, but does not attempt to cover her sizzling behind from your view.

"Sorry to interrupt, Mr Stevenson," you say breezily, as if you had encountered this sort of situation a hundred times before. "I'm Dianne Hathaway, the new ComLondon manager. I thought I should introduce myself before I cracked on with some work downstairs."

You extend your hand. Mr Stevenson does not take it.

"Tell me, Miss. Hathaway," says Mr Stevenson coldly, in a tone that sends a shiver up your spine. "Do they teach manners in those English schools of yours?"

"I was only..." you begin, before being sharply cut off.

"When I speak -- you do not!" booms Mr Stevenson in a voice that seems to shake the rafters. "You have interrupted another staff member's time with me. You will go outside, take a seat, and wait. When I am ready for you my secretary will bring you in. Do I make myself quite clear?"

You tremble like a terrified schoolgirl -- you have never met a more frightening man. "Yes, Mr Stevenson," you quail.

There is a moment's pause before you realise you have been dismissed. You quickly turn around and walk out the door, closing it behind you. You take a seat, out of sight of the beaten girl and her terrifying manager. In fact, you remind yourself, your terrifying manager!

You stay seated as the caning recommences, the steady strokes of the cane impacting sharply upon the secretary's still poised bum. It's a sensation you're likely to know very well before the end of the day!

Lose 1 point of Ambition and record the codeword RUDE .

Turn to page 99.

Page 99

Eventually the sounds stop, replaced by muffled voices. A few seconds later the woman emerges from the office, closing the door behind her. She appears not to have noticed you, for she immediately grabs her buttocks and sighs. Her eyes are moist, but you can't help but notice a small smirk of satisfaction upon her face.

You cough politely and she turns in shock. She looks upon you in wonder for a moment, clearly unused to a stranger in the office, before a look of realisation dawns on her. "Oh, Miss. Hathaway?" she asks, surprised.

"That's right," you confirm, rising to your feet. "You are...?"

"Jennifer Anders," she says brightly, in a beautifully clipped English accent. "I'm Mr Stevenson's secretary." She rubs her bottom instinctively.

"Are you ... in trouble, Jennifer?" you ask, curious as to the cause of her recent beating.

"Trouble? Oh! You mean with Mr Stevenson? No. Not really," she blushes. "I forgot to bring him his morning coffee -- got carried away with the post. My own silly fault, really."

You swallow. "He caned you for forgetting his coffee?" you say aghast.

"Yes," she confirms ruefully. "When I came over from England three years ago Mr Stevenson was very clear about how he disciplines his staff. Well -- his female staff anyway. First time I forgot to make him coffee it was four strokes of the cane. He promised to add one onto that total each time I forgot."

"Crikey," you say. "How many are you up to?"

"Twenty-three," she sighs. "Next time it will be twenty-four -- I wonder if I'll be able to take it? Not that I'll have any choice, of course." That same, slight smile crosses her lips.

What do you say?

"I'm surprised you keep forgetting, given how severe the punishment is?" -- Turn to page 100.

"What's an English girl doing all the way out here on Westjack?" -- Turn to page 101.

"May I see Mr Stevenson, now?" -- Turn to page 102.

Page 100

Jennifer shuffles slightly on her chair, wincing as she does so. "I wouldn't say ... I always forget, as such," she confesses guiltily. "Mr Stevenson ... he's almost an artist. Some days ... some days I just need to test myself..."

Her eyes take on an almost dream like quality. What do you say?

"For your bottom's sake, I think you should really set a messenger alert on your computer! Can I see Mr Stevenson, now?" -- Turn to page 102.

"So ... you like being caned?" - Turn to page 103.

"What's an English girl doing all the way out here on Westjack?" -- Turn to page 101.

Page 101

Jennifer shrugs. "Times are hard in England -- not many jobs for young people. Here on Westjack there's always demand for young women who don't mind working hard -- or putting up with the local custoMs"

"You get spanked a lot, do you?" you ask.

"Loads, and not just from Mr Stevenson," she says earnestly. "Shopkeepers, policemen, posties, dustmen. Any man has the right to spank you if he takes offence, and they take offence really easily in Westjack. The first person I got to know well was the chemist."

Jennifer lowers her voice and beckons you forwards. "It's really frowned upon, but the local chemist can set you up with a supply of ointment that works a treat on sore bums. If you're staying for any length of time get yourself some of that ointment! It will save you a lot of sore nights, if you know what I mean."

What do you say?

"Can I speak to Mr Stevenson now?" -- Turn to page 102.

"So -- if you're spanked all the time, how come you keep forgetting to make Mr Stevenson his coffee?" - Turn to page 100.

Page 102

"Mr Stevenson's ready for you," says Jennifer ominously, leading you towards the office door which she knocks upon politely. A few tense seconds later the booming command "Enter!" is heard, and she swiftly turns the handle and ushers you in.

"Mr Stevenson, may I present Dianne Hathaway, the new ComLondon manager," says Jennifer brightly. "Miss. Hathaway, may I present Mr Stevenson, Director of the Telephone Exchange."

You extend your hand to Mr Stevenson and he takes it firmly. You realise briefly that this is the very same hand that was thrashing Jennifer just before you came in. The thought sends a shiver down you.

"Sit down, Dianne. Jennifer you can leave us to it," he says briskly.

"Yes, Mr Stevenson," bobs Jennifer, quickly exiting and closing the door behind her.

Mr Stevenson fixes you with a fierce stare.

If you have the weakness "I'm sorry, Mr Stevenson," Turn to page 107.

If not, Turn to page 108.

Page 103

Jennifer squirms slightly, before deflecting the question back to you. "Do you?"

If you have the trait 'Lust for the cane', Turn to page 106.

What do you say?

"Of course not!" -- Turn to page 104.

"I don't know..." -- Turn to page 105.

"I've never tried it ... but I want to!" -- Turn to page 106.

Page 104

"Of course not!" you boom, slightly too loudly. Jennifer blushes in embarrassment.

"Well ... of course, no one does, do they?" she laughs hollowly.

Eager to avoid any uncomfortable pauses you ask if you can see Mr Stevenson.

Turn to page 102.

Page 105

"I ... I don't know," you say, conflicted. Looking at Jennifer, you can't help but think of her luscious bum, swaying under the cane. Her piercing cries. Is that what you want? Deep down?

Jennifer takes you aside, away from the office door. "There's a man in there who can show you," she whispers passionately. "Make him cane you, Miss. Hathaway -- and if you can take it come and see me. I can show you another world..."

She gently tugs you towards the door. "He's very proud of Westjack culture, Miss. Hathaway. Very proud. He can get quite upset if foreigners deride his culture. Just so you know."

Record the codeword TRIAL .

Turn to page 102.

Page 106

Looking at Jennifer, you can't help but think of her luscious bum, swaying under the cane. Her piercing cries. How you long to be in her place.

"I've never tried it ... but I want to!" you say with sudden passion. "I've always wondered what it's like ... what it feels like."

Jennifer takes you aside, away from the office door. "There's a man in there who can show you," she whispers passionately. "Make him cane you, Miss. Hathaway. And not just a little. Make him cane you until your face is wet with tears, until your bum stings so much you think it's on fire. Make him cane you until you can't take any more -- and if you can take it come and see me. I can show you another world..."

You flood with resolution. At last the caning you've always craved is within your grasp!

She gently tugs you towards the door. "He's very proud of Westjack culture, Miss. Hathaway. Very proud. He can get quite upset if foreigners deride his culture. Just so you know."

Record the codeword TRIAL .

Turn to page 102.

Page 107

Mr Stevenson's very presence is turning you to jelly. That fierce moustache, those penetrating eyes. The silence is agonising, combined with the promise that the slightest slip up could land you bare-bummed over the desk for a searing caning. You cannot help but avert your gaze and look into your lap.

"Look at me when I address you, girl!" he suddenly barks.

"Sorry, Mr Stevenson!" you cry, looking up into his angry eyes.

"Presumably you caught sight of that spot of bother with Jennifer earlier, yes? Frightened you might end up the same way?"

"Yes, sir," you mumble.

"Well you're damn right!" he snaps. "If you're going to be a manager here you'll have to develop some backbone. A good thrashing with the cane should teach you a thing about grace under fire. Don't you agree?"

"Yes, sir," you reply automatically. Your mouth goes dry. It's going to happen. It's really going to happen. You're going to get the cane and there's nothing you can do about it...

Record the codeword BLATHER .

Turn to page 108.

Page 108

"So," says Mr Stevenson coolly. "You came in last night. Smooth trip I hope?"

"Yes, Mr Stevenson," you say clearly, trying to shake the nerves from your voice.

"Well -- you've been here a day," he says. "Enough time to form an opinion. What do you think of Westjack? The island and its people?"

What do you say?

"It's a very beautiful island. Orderly and peaceful. The people seem disciplined and strong." Turn to page 109.

"The island has a rugged beauty -- but the people are held back by tradition. They'll need to move with the times if they're to embrace the technologies of the twenty first century." Turn to page 110.

"The island is a wind-blown dump. The people are dinosaurs. They need to be dragged kicking and screaming into the next century." -- Turn to page 111.

Page 109

Mr Stevenson nods. "You have a keen eye, and a respectful tone. That's important. Change happens slowly on Westjack island, and only with the consent of the people. Keep that in mind and you won't go far wrong."

You almost breathe a sigh of relief. Clearly there's no harm in sucking up to the boss!

Gain 1 point of Reputation .

Turn to page 112.

Page 110

Mr Stevenson's moustache bristles as you give you carefully worded critique. "That is precisely the kind of English arrogance I intend to knock out of you young lady!" he barks. "It's that attitude that creates such resentment towards change. A few solid strokes of the cane should adjust that contemptible manner!"

Oh dear ... Mr Stevenson seems very sensitive to criticism!

Gain the codeword MILD .

Turn to page 112.

Page 111

Mr Stevenson goes red in the face. "You ignorant colonial savage!" he booms. "Think English culture is so great with its greasy fish and chip shops and wildly undisciplined youth? I assure you, by the time we're finished here your backside will be so red you'll not be sitting down for a week! Perhaps that will keep a civil tongue in your head!"

You wither under this terrifying barrage. You're going to pay for this!

Record the codeword FURY .

Turn to page 112.

Page 112

Do you have one or more of the following codewords? NOISY, DEFIANT, FAME, BLATHER, MILD, FURY, FAMILIAR, RUDE -- If so Turn to page 113.

If not Turn to page 150.

Page 113

"I must be frank with you, Miss. Hathaway, your behaviour since you arrived on this island has been below my expectations," growls Mr Stevenson darkly as he rises from his chair. "Your attitude and actions have been unbecoming of a Westjack girl."

"But, sir," you splutter. "I'm not a Westjack girl! I've been brought in from outside because..."

"You're a Westjack girl now!" thunders Mr Stevenson, quite silencing you. "This project has failed in the past because outsiders like you come in, reject our culture and cause unnecessary ripples with important decision makers. Whilst you're here you shall become the very model of an obedient Westjack woman, show appropriate deference, and accept any and all beatings offered to you with poise and dignity. Do this and the locals might finally realise that the new mobile telephone system is for their benefit, not because greedy outsiders want to change everything. If you cannot do this there is no place for you here -- do you understand?"

There is no getting around it -- Mr Stevenson is your client and has overall control of this project. If you can't get on with him your promotion is over before it starts.

"Yes, Mr Stevenson," you say firmly.

Mr Stevenson nods. He walks over to the window, where several canes are kept in an umbrella stand. He chooses the very same length of wood he used to beat his secretary with earlier. You shiver in anticipation.

"As your boss it is expected that I take you in hand when you fail to meet expectations," he says ominously, flexing the supple cane in his hands. "You'll receive a dozen strokes, bare bottomed, as a warm up -- I want to see how you take the cane. After that, you'll be punished for each misdemeanour you have committed."

If you have the trait 'Lust for the cane', Turn to page 115.
If not, read on.

What do you do?

Silently agree to your punishment, rising from your chair, bending over the desk. Turn to page 114.

Apologise first for causing any trouble, then bend over the desk. Turn to page 115.

Insist that you'll not take a caning from him -- or indeed anybody! Turn to page 116.

Page 114

Attempting to hide your nerves you rise quietly from your chair. Having seen the secretary's position earlier you assume that Mr Stevenson will want you in the same place. You stand against the table, your heart beating in your ears, and bravely bend over it, grasping the far end of the desk as Jennifer did. Your bottom rounds to full bloom, highlighted by your tight black skirt.

"Skirt up, knickers down," comes the inevitable command from Mr Stevenson.

Will you:

Obey your boss' command? Turn to page 117.

Request that you keep your knickers on? Turn to page 118.

Insist that you keep your skirt on? Turn to page 119.

Page 115

Swallowing your pride and embracing your role as a penitent young woman who intends to make amends for her wrongs you stand up, lower your head in shame and speak clearly:

"Truly, sir, I'm very sorry my behaviour has caused you, or anyone else, any embarrassment," you say earnestly, wringing your hands. "I quite accept that my punishment is just, and I hope you will not hold my actions against me in the future."

Mr Stevenson nods gruffly. "That's the point of bare bottom punishment," he says. "Once it is over the air is clear and there are no grudges. I'm glad to see that you've embraced that."

You feel inwardly humiliated at your crawling -- but you have impressed Mr Stevenson. Gain 2 Reputation points , but lose 1 point of Dignity .

Attempting to hide your nerves you rise from your chair. Having seen the secretary's position earlier you assume that Mr Stevenson will want you in the same place. You stand against the table, your heart beating in your ears, and bravely bend over it, grasping the far end of the desk as Jennifer did. Your bottom rounds to full bloom, highlighted by your tight black skirt.

"Skirt up, knickers down," comes the inevitable command from Mr Stevenson.

Will you:

Obey your boss' command? Turn to page 117.

Request that you keep your knickers on? Turn to page 118.

Insist that you keep your skirt on? Turn to page 119.

Page 116

"If you intend to work in my office you will do as I say, young lady!" booms Mr Stevenson. "This is your last chance -- take your punishment like a decent Westjack girl or you are fired!"

If your Ambition is 5 or less you quickly buckle under Mr Stevenson's demands. Turn to page 114.
Otherwise read on.

What do you do?

Reluctantly bend over the desk as Mr Sullivan demands? Turn to page 114.

Or call his bluff and point blank refuse? Turn to page 120.

Page 117

He's your boss now, the client, the man who can make or break you. You cannot show weakness. Resolutely you reach behind you and slowly tug up your skirt, the tight material peeling over your backside to reveal your crisp, knicker-clad bum.

Reminding yourself that this is something that Mr Stevenson has seen hundreds of times before, you bravely reach behind again to insert your thumbs into your knicker elastic and slide them over your full behind, down past your thighs, to clutch around your knees. Your backside is now completely exposed and vulnerable to Mr Stevenson's cane.

For all that you have shown considerable bravery. Gain 1 point of Willpower as you master your courage in the face of impending, painful punishment.

Mr Stevenson nods, and then takes position behind you, flexing his cane in anticipation.

Turn to page 121.

Page 118

He's your boss now, the client, the man who can make or break you. You cannot show weakness. Resolutely you reach behind you and slowly tug up your skirt, the tight material peeling over your backside to reveal your crisp, knicker-clad bum.

"Please, Mr Stevenson," you beg. "Might I keep my knickers on? I've never been caned before, you see, and in England it's terribly shameful to show your naked..."

"Certainly not!" booms Mr Stevenson. "All punishments in Westjack are bare bottomed! It's a tradition! I can't very well tell my superiors I beat you with your knickers on -- it would be a disgrace, to you and me. Nothing must come between the cane and crisp, bare skin!"

You shiver, but having put yourself in this position you can't very well back out now. At least you tried to keep your dignity! Gain 1 Dignity point .

Reminding yourself that this is something that Mr Stevenson has seen hundreds of times before, you bravely reach behind again to insert your thumbs into your knicker elastic and slide them over your full behind, down past your thighs, to clutch around your knees. Your backside is now completely exposed and vulnerable to Mr Stevenson's cane.

Mr Stevenson nods, and then takes position behind you, flexing his cane in anticipation.

Turn to page 121.

Page 119

"Sir -- since it's my first time, might I be allowed to keep my skirt on?" you ask hopefully. "That cane looks awfully fierce..."

"You cringing milksop!" thunders Mr Stevenson. "Beat a girl over her skirt? All punishments in Westjack are bare bottomed! It's a tradition! If your colleagues were to hear how shamelessly pathetic you were you would lose all respect before you began. No, for your own sake nothing must come between the cane and crisp, bare skin!"

You cringe under his cruel assessment of your character. Lose 1 Ambition point .

He's your boss now, the client, the man who can make or break you. You cannot show weakness. Resolutely you reach behind you and slowly tug up your skirt, the tight material peeling over your backside to reveal your crisp, knicker-clad bum.

Reminding yourself that this is something that Mr Stevenson has seen hundreds of times before, you bravely reach behind again to insert your thumbs into your knicker elastic and slide them over your full behind, down past your thighs, to clutch around your knees. Your backside is now completely exposed and vulnerable to Mr Stevenson's cane.

Mr Stevenson nods, and then takes position behind you, flexing his cane in anticipation.

Turn to page 121.

Page 120

The flight back to England takes a long time, but you're glad that Todd and Trisha hold nothing against you.

"I'm frankly amazed you accepted in the first place," says Trisha upon your return to the ComLondon offices in London. "The treatment of women on that wretched island is nothing short of barbaric."

"I'm just sorry I couldn't complete my assignment," you say ruefully. "But I couldn't let that creep, Mr Stevenson, beat me like some disobedient school girl."

"Quite right," says Todd, "you made the right decision, I'm sure. You just get some rest and we'll talk about your new assignment next week. I'm afraid there's no positions for a project head currently available, but there's an office role in Surrey I think you'll be ideally suited to."

Your heart sinks. There goes your promotion! But you could hardly stay on Westjack island and let any old Tom, Dick or Harry take it out on your bottom, could you?

Could you?

Your adventure ends here...

Page 121

You shudder as you feel a sudden sharp tap on your bottom cheeks. Your legs go rigid and your backside taut. Mr Stevenson taps the cane relentlessly across the very centre of your naked bum -- firm, almost hard. Your bum blushes slightly from the repeated strikes. Is this your caning? Is this as bad as it's going to get?

If you have the codeword FAMILIAR Turn to page 122.
Otherwise read on.

Vip!

Like a pistol shot the air is suddenly parted, and the cane impacts sharply into the very same line Mr Stevenson has been so relentlessly tapping. A sharp sting bites into your bottom and you cannot help emit a cry.

If your Willpower is 4 or more Turn to page 123.
Otherwise read on.

"Ouch!" you cry, your hands flying to your stung bum cheeks. You practically leap into the air, gripping your wounded globes tightly, dancing and hopping before the bristling Mr Stevenson.

"Get back over that table at once, you clown!" roars Mr Stevenson. "Are you a grown woman? Have you no shame? Bend back over immediately!"

You can't deny the man with the cane. Gingerly you release your stinging arse and quickly return to your bent over position, gripping the end of the table. What a sight you have made!

Lose 1 point of Dignity .

Turn to page 124.

Page 122

Having patiently observed Mr Stevenson's caning style on the poor Jennifer you know that you will receive no warning when he strikes, and remain taut and anticipating with every unnerving tap.

Vip!

Like a pistol shot the air is suddenly parted, and the cane impacts sharply into the very same line Mr Stevenson has been so relentlessly tapping. A sharp sting bites into your bottom and you cannot help emit a cry.

Despite this you remain stock still, well prepared for the sneaky blow. Mr Stevenson is going to have to try harder than that to phase you!

Gain 1 point of Reputation .

Turn to page 124.

Page 123

You press your knees together and hiss, rising up onto your toes, but you remain otherwise still as your bum stings behind you. There! You've taken your first cane stroke, and didn't whimper like a girl.

Mr Stevenson nods, impressed. Gain 1 Reputation point .

Turn to page 124.

Page 124

Tap, tap, tap -- Mr Stevenson's cane resumes its firm, regular tapping against your bum cheeks, making them quiver in anticipation. He's aiming slightly higher this time, a couple of inches below your spine, but still straight and horizontal. You grip on as the seconds pass remorselessly slowly.

Vip! Finally a stroke! The cane cuts in where it promised, slicing into your bare bum so that it forms a perfectly straight line above the last stroke. You grunt in pain, but you were ready for it -- almost desperate for it.

Tap. Vip! But you weren't prepared for that! A stroke to the same place after only a single tap of the cane, it bites in imperfectly, sinking deeper into your right buttock than the left, but still stinging abominably.

If your Dignity is 4 or more Turn to page 125.
If not, read on.

Realising you cannot clutch your bottom to sooth the agonising sting, you bounce your bum provocatively, uncaring of the silly sight you are making.

Lose 1 point of Ambition .

When he has amused himself enough with your silly antics, Mr Stevenson presses the cane against the top of your bum to steady you down. Instinctively you obey, resting back on to your high heels and keeping your bum still, even as Mr Stevenson resumes his relentless tapping against your sore backside.

Turn to page 126.

Page 125

You are in pain -- but you'll be damned if you humiliate yourself further in front of your boss. Your pride kicks in and you steady yourself panting through your teeth and steadying your bum from the sudden assault.

Mr Stevenson nods quietly behind you. You are beginning to impress him. Gain 1 point of Reputation .

Turn to page 126.

Page 126

Finally your caning begins in earnest.

Vip! Vip! Vip!

Leaving pauses of only a couple of seconds between each stroke, Mr Stevenson hews into your quivering backside. You jolt, you cry, you moan, rolling your bottom between strokes to try and disperse the fiery string which is now spreading across your bum cheeks.

Vip! Vip! Vip!

Raise your Bum Status by 2 levels .

If your Willpower is 5 or more, Turn to page 127.
If not read on.

The flurry of strokes is too much, the flaming cane is more than you can bear. You reach back with your hands and grasp your searing backside, choking sobs escaping from your lips as you do so. You are expecting immediate retribution from Mr Stevenson, and are surprised when instead he gives you a few moments to compose yourself.

"I didn't really expect you to take your punishment without breaking," he says dryly. "Feel free to rub your backside for a minute, then we'll finish off your strokes."

If you have any Reputation points, lose 1 point now.

What do you do?

Take up Mr Stevenson's offer and rub your bum for as long as you are able? Turn to page 128.

Insist that he continue immediately? Turn to page 129.

Page 127

The terrible sting in your backside is almost overwhelming, but you'll not break -- you must take what Mr Stevenson is giving you. Somehow you suspect that, painful as your punishment is, this is not the worst Mr Stevenson is capable of inflicting, and you must show him you can take it.

Mr Stevenson seems impressed. "You're bearing up well," he notes, resuming the patient tapping of the cane on your bum. "That was quite a barrage. In future, though, try to keep your backside still. Other punishers may think your wriggling bum provocative."

Obeying his command you cease the wriggling of your backside. Gain 1 point of Reputation .

Turn to page 130.

Page 128

With a sigh you freely rub your naked bum under the careful watch of Mr Stevenson. You doubt that Westjack women are granted this privilege normally -- but in your sorry state you'll not turn down the offer!

Lower your Bum Status by 1 level .

True to his word after a minute has passed Mr Stevenson raps your hands away from your striped arse and commands you to once again grip the table edge. Fearing his greater wrath you obey.

Turn to page 130.

Page 129

"No, Mr Stevenson," you sniffle, breaking your hands away from your bum and gripping the far table edge. "I don't want any special privileges. You should carry on."

Mr Stevenson nods, impressed. "Your sense of fair play is admirable, even in distress. Very well, we shall continue."

Gain 1 point of Ambition .

Turn to page 130.

Page 130

Trembling with exertion, your knuckles white from gripping the table, you shudder as Mr Stevenson resumes the patient tapping of the cane upon your striped bottom. You remain still and taut, terrified that each tap will become a terrible...

Vip!

"Uh!" you cry, the stroke cutting into your lower cheeks.

Vip!

"Nggg!"

Vip!

"Ahh!" you moan, almost in relief, and the last stroke embeds itself into your scorching behind. You wilt physically, finally relaxing your body after its painful ordeal.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 Level .

"Remain in position," warns Mr Stevenson. "That was merely a warm up. Further strokes await you as punishment for your indiscretions on this island."

If you have the codeword SEVERE Turn to page 131.
Otherwise read on.

You groan, but raise your backside back up, awaiting Mr Stevenson's judgement.

If you have the codeword NOISY Turn to page 133.

If you have the codeword DEFIANT Turn to page 136.

If you have the codeword FAME Turn to page 138.

If you have the codeword BLATHER Turn to page 141.

If you have the codeword MILD Turn to page 143.

If you have the codeword FURY Turn to page 144.

If you have the codeword FAMILIAR, Turn to page 145.

If you have the codeword RUDE, Turn to page 146.

Page 131

Thinking quickly you remember what Mr Mowbray said on the plane about there being strict limits about how much you can be spanked. You can't be certain, but surely Mr Stevenson's crafty dozen that he just gave you counts against your misdemeanours somehow? But is bringing up this point worth the risk -- or will it merely increase your punishment?

If you want to point out to Mr Stevenson what Mr Mowbray said about spanking quotas Turn to page 132.

If not, you'd better grit your teeth and get on.

If you have the codeword NOISY Turn to page 133.

If you have the codeword DEFIANT Turn to page 136.

If you have the codeword FAME Turn to page 138.

If you have the codeword BLATHER Turn to page 141.

If you have the codeword MILD Turn to page 143.

If you have the codeword FURY Turn to page 144.

If you have the codeword FAMILIAR, Turn to page 145.

If you have the codeword RUDE, Turn to page 146.

Page 132

Your bare bum sticking out behind you, gripping the desk, you quickly inform Mr Stevenson what you heard on the plane from Mr Mowbray.

"According to him," you say, nervously glancing behind you, "I can only be beaten for actual misdemeanours, not just 'to see how I take the cane'. So, I think you need to disregard one of my crimes as compensation."

Mr Stevenson splutters in outrage, but catches himself before he shouts. He paces behind you for a few moments, composing himself. "I must have a word with Mr Mowbray the next time I see him -- he's quite letting the side down. But I suppose you're right. Consider one of your crimes commuted."

You may cross off one of the following codewords from your list: NOISY, DEFIANT, FAME, BLATHER, MILD, FURY, FAMILIAR, RUDE.

Now you'd better grit your teeth and get on.

If you have the codeword NOISY Turn to page 133.

If you have the codeword DEFIANT Turn to page 136.

If you have the codeword FAME Turn to page 138.

If you have the codeword BLATHER Turn to page 141.

If you have the codeword MILD Turn to page 143.

If you have the codeword FURY Turn to page 144.

If you have the codeword FAMILIAR, Turn to page 145.

If you have the codeword RUDE, Turn to page 146.

If you have none of these codewords, Turn to page 149.

Page 133

"I received a complaint from Mr Mowbray, an important landowner on the island, that you disrupted his flight back to Westjack with 'drunken, English antics'," announces Mr Stevenson grandly. "You'll receive six strokes of the cane, after which you will sign and date an apology letter to Mr Mowbray I've had Jennifer type up on your behalf. Prepare yourself."

You're not sure you like the sound of sending an apology letter to some self-important island busybody -- but the cane strokes are coming like it or not!

Vip! Vip!

Mr Stevenson strikes twice, quickly, into your defenceless behind, the cane sinking in deeply to your already sore flesh.

Vip! Vip!

You grunt at each stroke as it sears into your bum. Wasn't the opening dozen you received from this man enough?

Vip! Vip!

At least it is over quickly, you consider, as you clench your bottom madly to ease the burning sting. Raise your Bum Status by 1 Level .

You scarcely have time to recover before a piece of paper is placed in front of you by Mr Stevenson, a black fountain pen placed next to it. The message on the letter is brief:

Dear Mr Mowbray,

Please accept my humble apologies for the disgraceful behaviour you witnessed on the plane. My slack, English upbringing prepared me poorly for the higher standards of dignity and grace that is expected of a Westjack woman. Please be assured that my manager, Mr Stevenson, gave me six strokes of the cane to my naked bottom as punishment for my disorderly conduct. I shall endeavour to perform to a higher standard in the future.

Yours faithfully,

Dianne Hathaway

"Now sign," demands Mr Stevenson.

Will you:

Sign the letter as he requests, even though such a confession is acutely humiliating? Turn to page 134.

Refuse to sign, Turn to page 135.

Page 134

As galling as it is you don't want to make Mr Stevenson even more cross! You shudder with embarrassment as you sign the grovelling letter, just imagining the many ways Mr Mowbray might be able to humiliate you with it in the future.

Gain the codeword SIGNED , and lose 1 point of Dignity .

With the letter signed Mr Stevenson takes the paper and pen from your hands and puts them in his in-tray for Jennifer to action later. "I trust you have learned your lesson not to behave in a drunken manner before important Westjack men?"

"Yes, Mr Stevenson," you groan, considering the new fire in your arse.

If you have the codeword FAME Turn to page 138.

If you have the codeword BLATHER Turn to page 141.

If you have the codeword MILD Turn to page 143.

If you have the codeword FURY Turn to page 144.

If you have the codeword FAMILIAR, Turn to page 145.

If you have the codeword RUDE, Turn to page 146.

If you have none of these codewords, Turn to page 149.

Page 135

No -- this is going too far, even for Mr Stevenson!

"Sir," you say firmly. "No doubt you have free licence to cane me at will on this island of yours. But you can't apologise for me or put words in my mouth. I will choose who I apologise to, not you."

Gain 1 point of Ambition for your firm defiance!

Mr Stevenson shakes his head. "Why do new girls always take the path of most resistance?" he ponders aloud. "If you will not sign then you must be punished further. You'll take another six strokes. At least then I'll be able to look Mr Mowbray in the eye when he asks how I dealt with his complaint."

The cane sharply taps you in the overhang of your bottom cheeks. He pushes the cane upwards, forcing you up on to tip toes. You clench your teeth and ready yourself for Mr Stevenson's revenge.

Vip! A cruel stroke to that very same place, where your thighs and buttocks meet -- searing and sharp.

"Ah!" you cry, hopping slightly at the burning stroke.

Vip! Vip! Vip!

Three strokes, delivered in succession, all to your lower cheeks, with blistering speed and accuracy such that they feel like they all strike the same place. You cry and hiss at the terrible impacts.

Vip! Vip!

The last two come hard on the heels on the others, and a choking sob escapes your lips as you grip onto the table for dear life. Those last six hurt as much as the previous eighteen all together!

Raise your Bum Status by 2 levels .

If you have the codeword FAME Turn to page 138.

If you have the codeword BLATHER Turn to page 141.

If you have the codeword MILD Turn to page 143.

If you have the codeword FURY Turn to page 144.

If you have the codeword FAMILIAR, Turn to page 145.

If you have the codeword RUDE, Turn to page 146.

If you have none of these codewords, Turn to page 149.

Page 136

"Your first punishment set is for refusing to submit to an instructional spanking from Mr Mowbray, a respected landowner on the island," decrees Mr Stevenson, flexing his cane behind you. "Mr Mowbray is just the sort of person we're going to need if this new network is going to take off. Angering him only damages the project. I'm going to deliver twelve strokes of the cane to your bare arse to discourage you from rashly refusing punishment in the future."

You cast your mind back to the plane, and Mr Mowbray's not too subtle demand that you should go over his knee. If only you knew then what trouble refusing was going to get you into to -- you'd have popped yourself over his knee in a jiffy! But there's no going back now...

Vip! Vip!

Mr Stevenson strikes twice, quickly, into your defenceless behind, the cane sinking in deeply to your already sore flesh.

Vip! Vip!

You grunt at each stroke as it sears into your bum. Wasn't the opening dozen you received from this man enough?

Vip! Vip!

If your Willpower is 4 or more, Turn to page 137.
If not, read on.

What a barrage! You can't help but squeal as that last stroke sinks deep into your lower buttocks, seeming almost to lift you off your feet. You sob bitterly through your set, further lowering Mr Stevenson's respect for you.

If you have any Reputation points, lose 1 point now. If you have no Reputation points, lose 2 points of Ambition .

You have scarcely recovered when the cane sharply taps you in the overhang of your bottom cheeks. Mr Stevenson pushes the cane upwards, forcing you up on to tip toes. You clench your teeth and ready yourself for the rest of Mr Stevenson's punishment.

Vip! A cruel stroke to that very same place, where your thighs and buttocks meet -- searing and sharp.

"Ah!" you cry, hopping slightly at the burning stroke.

Vip! Vip! Vip!

Three strokes, delivered in succession, all to your lower cheeks, with blistering speed and accuracy such that they feel like they all strike the same place. You cry and hiss at the terrible impacts.

Vip! Vip!

The last two come hard on the heels on the others, and a choking sob escapes your lips as you grip onto the table for dear life. Those last six hurt as much as the previous eighteen all together!

Raise your Bum Status by 2 levels .

If you have the codeword FAME Turn to page 138.

If you have the codeword BLATHER Turn to page 141.

If you have the codeword MILD Turn to page 143.

If you have the codeword FURY Turn to page 144.

If you have the codeword FAMILIAR, Turn to page 145.

If you have the codeword RUDE, Turn to page 146.

If you have none of these codewords, Turn to page 149.

Page 137

What a barrage! You can't help but cry out as the last stroke sinks deep into your lower buttocks, seeming almost to lift you off your feet. None the less, you quickly regain poise as soon as the cane departs your blistering cheeks, with nothing but an unconscious trembling in your legs to give away your distress.

You have scarcely recovered when the cane sharply taps you in the overhang of your bottom cheeks. Mr Stevenson pushes the cane upwards, forcing you up on to tip toes. You clench your teeth and ready yourself for the rest of Mr Stevenson's punishment.

Vip! A cruel stroke to that very same place, where your thighs and buttocks meet -- searing and sharp.

"Ah!" you cry, hopping slightly at the burning stroke.

Vip! Vip! Vip!

Three strokes, delivered in succession, all to your lower cheeks, with blistering speed and accuracy such that they feel like they all strike the same place. You cry and hiss at the terrible impacts.

Vip! Vip!

The last two come hard on the heels on the others, and a choking sob escapes your lips as you grip onto the table for dear life. Those last six hurt as much as the previous eighteen all together!

Raise your Bum Status by 2 levels .

If you have the codeword FAME Turn to page 138.

If you have the codeword BLATHER Turn to page 141.

If you have the codeword MILD Turn to page 143.

If you have the codeword FURY Turn to page 144.

If you have the codeword FAMILIAR, Turn to page 145.

If you have the codeword RUDE, Turn to page 146.

If you have none of these codewords, Turn to page 149.

Page 138

Mr Stevenson considers your aching, sore backside before continuing. "Some of the residents of Orchard Rise made a complaint that a young lady caused a loud and raucous scene in the middle of the road last night. I assumed that it must have been you, as a loud English girl new to the town. The kindly Mrs. Hamilton confirmed my theory on the telephone this morning, and said that her husband was too tired to punish you further last night. She asked if I would undertake that chore, and I agreed. Six strokes of the cane, then, to dissuade you from further public spectacles."

If you have the codeword SEVERE, Turn to page 139.
If not read on.

Groaning, you raise your caned buttocks higher above the table edge, to indicate your reluctant acceptance.

Tap, tap, tap, vip! Tap, tap, tap, vip! Tap, tap, tap, vip!

Like a metronome, Mr Stevenson canes your bottom after every third, hard tap to your wounded cheeks. Knowing when the strokes will fall is a slight mercy since you can prepare yourself -- but the strokes are just as hard and even.

Tap, tap, tap, vip! Tap, tap, tap, vip!

You groan and moan as the cane bites your bum. His control of you is total and intimidating. You fear he will break his rhythm suddenly and make you cry out -- the thought unnerving you and sapping your confidence. Lose 1 point of Willpower , and raise your Bum Status by 1 Level .

Tap, tap, tap, vip!

"Uh!" you cry out at the last stroke, almost in relief that Mr Stevenson didn't surprise you. Truly he seems to be the master of his craft!

If you have the codeword BLATHER Turn to page 141.

If you have the codeword MILD Turn to page 143.

If you have the codeword FURY Turn to page 144.

If you have the codeword FAMILIAR, Turn to page 145.

If you have the codeword RUDE, Turn to page 146.

If you have none of these codewords, Turn to page 149.

Page 139

It occurs to you that Mr Stevenson is exceeding his authority by submitting you to the cane. You remember that Mr Mowbray suggested that one or two dozen hand spanks to the bare bottom was standard punishment for 'making a scene'.

The question is -- do you point this out to Mr Stevenson?

If you wish to do so, Turn to page 140.

If you'd rather play is safe, turn back to page 138 and carry on reading where you left off.

Page 140

"I'm sorry Mr Stevenson, but the cane just isn't appropriate," you insist from your vulnerable position. "Mr Mowbray pointed out that rudeness, accidental or not, is generally punishable by spanking."

Mr Stevenson is aghast that you've contradicting him. "Those are just guidelines, not hard and fast rules," he snaps, tapping the cane against your bum threateningly.

"They are gentlemen's guidelines," you insist. "Do you intend to cane me anyway?"

There is a stillness in the air as Mr Stevenson considers your challenge. "Issuing a spanking is beneath me -- I'm a company head disciplining a manager, giving you a few slaps with my hand seems hardly fitting."

"Just as caning me is hardly fitting," you insist. "So how do we proceed?"

Mr Stevenson grumbles under his breath. "You'd make a fine lawyer, Miss. Hathaway -- let's just forget that indiscretion shall we and move on?"

You smile quietly in victory. "Thank you, sir," you say.

Gain 1 point of Ambition .

If you have the codeword BLATHER Turn to page 141.

If you have the codeword MILD Turn to page 143.

If you have the codeword FURY Turn to page 144.

If you have the codeword FAMILIAR, Turn to page 145.

If you have the codeword RUDE, Turn to page 146.

If you have none of these codewords, Turn to page 149.

Page 141

"First impressions are important, Miss. Hathaway," declares Mr Stevenson. "I wasn't impressed with yours. You appear to be a mumbling, incoherent girl with little confidence or �lan."

You squirm on the table, your bottom rolling. You're not normally like that! There's just something about Mr Stevenson that turns you into wordless jelly!

"I shall have to beat confidence into you," he says ruefully, lining up his cane against your scarlet behind. "At the very least you'll know that if you fail to make good impressions with other businessmen on the island, my cane won't be far away from your arse!"

The cane is drawn away and you shut your eyes tightly, gripping on for dear life!

Vip! The cane descends with force and vigour, snapping into your midcheeks and making you howl.

Vip! Vip! Two more thirsty strokes to your mid bum, just centimetres away from each other, the blazing pain seeming to ignite your behind.

If your Willpower is 4 or more, Turn to page 142.
If not, read on.

In all twelve terrible strokes bite into your bum, Mr Stevenson's fearful cane reducing you to a sobbing wreck. During the beating you flinch, buck, writhe and spread your legs wide -- anything to lessen the cruel burning from that lashing stick! You put on quite a show for Mr Stevenson, your widely splayed legs leaving nothing to the imagination, and inwardly you shudder at the terrible sight you must be making.

Lose 1 Dignity point and raise your Bum Status by 2 levels .

"Legs together, you English strumpet!" demands Mr Stevenson at the culmination of your beating. "Hold position until commanded to rise!"

Sobbing you snap your legs shut, your sliced bum thrusting up into the air as you do so, almost tempting Mr Stevenson to inflict more suffering upon them.

If you have the codeword MILD Turn to page 143.

If you have the codeword FURY Turn to page 144.

If you have the codeword FAMILIAR, Turn to page 145.

If you have the codeword RUDE, Turn to page 146.

If you have none of these codewords, Turn to page 149.

Page 142

In all twelve terrible strokes bite into your bum. You groan and judder, but you keep your position locked and still even as the cane descends again and again into your up-thrust arse.

Mr Stevenson is impressed. "Well taken," he concedes, flexing his cane in pride. "A shame you didn't show this fortitude earlier."

Gain 1 point of Reputation and raise your Bum Status by 2 levels .

If you have the codeword MILD Turn to page 143.

If you have the codeword FURY Turn to page 144.

If you have the codeword FAMILIAR, Turn to page 145.

If you have the codeword RUDE, Turn to page 146.

If you have none of these codewords, Turn to page 149.

Page 143

"Your comments regarding my homeland were unwelcome," glowers Mr Stevenson. "I'm a patriotic man, and won't listen to criticisms by ignorant English girls. Because you are ignorant, you shall only suffer six strokes. But beware that future comments of this nature will entail stricter punishments. Now get that bottom up!"

His angry tone cannot be denied, and you thrust up your buttocks to the impatient tap of his cane.

Vip! His eagerness to make you suffer for your comments is obvious, the stroke is hard and crisp, sinking into your lower cheeks with a biting sting.

Vip! Vip! You barely have time to cry out before two more strokes have landed across your scarlet bum. The blows are not his best, delivered more in anger than cunning, but their speed and strength make it impossible to protect yourself -- there is not space enough between strokes to clasp your flaming buttocks even if you wanted to, lest your fingers be cut by the awful cane.

Vip! Vip! Vip!

Three more strokes are enough to send your backside into a spasm of fierce clenching, and you hiss through your clenched teeth in sympathy for your bottom's suffering.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 Level .

If you have the codeword FAMILIAR, Turn to page 145.

If you have the codeword RUDE, Turn to page 146.

If you have none of these codewords, Turn to page 149.

Page 144

"Your comments regarding my homeland were unwelcome," glowers Mr Stevenson. "I'm a patriotic man, and won't listen to criticisms by ignorant English girls. Because you are rude as well as ignorant, you shall suffer twelve strokes. Now get that bottom up!"

His angry tone cannot be denied, and you thrust up your buttocks to the impatient tap of his cane.

Vip! His eagerness to make you suffer for your comments is obvious, the stroke is hard and crisp, sinking into your lower cheeks with a biting sting.

Vip! Vip! You barely have time to cry out before two more strokes have landed across your scarlet bum. The blows are not his best, delivered more in anger than cunning, but their speed and strength make it impossible to protect yourself -- there is not space enough between strokes to clasp your flaming buttocks even if you wanted to, lest your fingers be cut by the awful cane.

Vip! Vip! Vip!

Three more strokes are enough to send your backside into a spasm of fierce clenching, and you hiss through your clenched teeth in sympathy for your bottom's suffering.

Mr Stevenson steadies your jogging bum with his cane, firmly planting it at the top of your sore buttocks. Swallowing, you settle down, ready for the next unforgiving barrage...

Vip! Vip!

Standing tall above you Mr Stevenson sweeps the cane down into the top quarter of your bottom, where the padding is thinnest. You squeal as he leaves two, bright, fresh crimson lines across your cheeks.

Vip! Vip! Vip!

Lowering his blows only slightly, Mr Stevenson slashes into the top half of your backside, the cruel cane singing through the air. You cannot help but wail and buck as your bum is thrashed by the sharp implement.

Vip!

One final blow, delivered with fierce strength, cuts unexpectedly low -- just above where your thighs meet your bum, and you cry out in despair. Your confidence is shaken -- and your fear of Mr Stevenson and his flashing cane has amplified cruelly. Write down "I'm sorry Mr Stevenson..." under the weakness section of your character sheet.

Raise your Bum Status by 3 levels , and lose 1 point of Ambition .

If you have the codeword FAMILIAR, Turn to page 145.

If you have the codeword RUDE, Turn to page 146.

If you have none of these codewords, Turn to page 149.

Page 145

"Finally," announces Mr Stevenson, admiring his handywork on your criss-crossed backside, "there is the matter of your peeking at Jennifer whilst she was taking her punishment. Very rude. Punishments don't have to be private on Westjack, but if a man closes the door on a punishment session, he expects his privacy to be respected."

"Sorry, Mr Stevenson," you say guiltily. "I was just ... curious..."

Mr Stevenson pauses a moment, putting his heavy hand upon your damaged bottom -- feeling the welts he has inflicted with his cane.

"Hmm ... perhaps you have taken enough," he considers. "You are, after all, only an English girl -- you'll still be a little culture shocked by our island ways. What do you say? You've six more strokes of the cane due on that inexperienced little arse of yours. Do you think you should take them, or have you had enough?"

You groan inwardly. Naturally you're tempted to take Mr Stevenson up on his offer of a reprieve -- but would it cost you his respect?

What do you say?

"No, sir -- I must be beaten my full tally." Turn to page 146.

"Please, sir -- I think I've had enough. I don't think I can take any more..." Turn to page 147.

Page 146

"Six strokes for your earlier rudeness -- then we're done," announces Mr Stevenson, whipping the cane behind you theatrically. You suck in some air and stick your bum up high. Just six more to go -- you can take it, can't you?

Vip! You are given little chance to ponder before Mr Stevenson strikes again -- dead centre along your previous welts. You grunt in pain.

Vip! A straight hard line across your glowing lower cheeks.

Vip! A sizzling shot just between his previous two strokes, a cry gurgles from your throat.

Vip! Back to the centre again! You toss your head high and cry out.

"You're a musical little creature, aren't you Dianne?" laughs Mr Stevenson, in the first joviality you have heard from him since you arrived. "See if you can't keep your mouth shut for these last two strokes..."

You resolve to try ... but calling out makes it so much easier to cope!

Vip! A firm cut to your lower buttocks!

If your Willpower is 4 or more, Turn to page 148.
Otherwise read on.

You cannot help but yelp, the pressure to keep quiet actually making harder not to scream.

Mr Stevenson tuts, shaking his head. "Silly, noisy, English girls," he says sadly, before whipping hard into the very centre of your throbbing bum again.

Vip! You unleash a terrible groan, defeated. You arse stings behind you.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 Level , and lose one point of Dignity for failing Mr Stevenson's little challenge.

Now Turn to page 149.

Page 147

You tremble your lip a bit, batting your tear filled eyes for effect, as you explain you couldn't possibly take any more.

Mr Stevenson nods -- it's just what he expected from an English milksop like you!

Lose one point of Ambition and Turn to page 149.

Page 148

You bite your lip and blast the air through your nose, but don't emit a sound. You flush with pride, even as you bum flushes red behind you.

Vip! Not even Mr Stevenson's last, hard stroke to your centre buttocks causes a whimper to pass your lips, even though you backside stings fiercely.

"Good," says Mr Stevenson, quietly impressed.

Gain 1 Reputation point , and raise your Bum Status by 1 Level .

Turn to page 149.

Page 149

Finally, Mr Stevenson lowers his cruel cane. "Well, that seems to be the end of your punishment," he declares, walking back over to his umbrella stand and carefully inserting his beloved weapon back inside. "You may thank me, then take a seat."

You're not fool enough to defy him now, with your backside throbbing behind you. "Thank you, Mr Stevenson," you say with as much earnestness as you can muster. You rise, your skirt mercifully falling over your stinging backside. You awkwardly tug your knickers up over your blazing behind, alarmed at the amount of moisture that seems to have gathered around your sex.

You flush and quickly sit down, wincing somewhat as you do so.

Turn to page 150.

Page 150

Mr Stevenson leans back in his chair and considers you for a few moments before beginning. "As you know, the Telephone Exchange has hired your company, ComLondon, to install and run a modern internet and mobile phone telephony system to cover the whole of Westjack Island. So far the project has been an expensive failure. You have a lot of work to do, and I intend to monitor you much more closely than your useless predecessor."

You shiver slightly at the thought, but nod seriously.

"The project is lagging in a number of areas," grumbles Mr Stevenson. "First and foremost I want an update presentation by the end of the sixth week. I want to be confident that you have a full handle on the project. Don't disappoint me. Get that presentation done on time!"

"Beyond that there are plenty of problems to resolve. Your predecessor got only halfway through getting the Licence Authorisations for all the districts in Westjack. It's a huge amount of work and will require a heavy amount of overtime. If we miss even one authorisation the council could suspend the project or fine us."

"We're still not sure where to put the Comms Booster tower on the east side of the island. A full survey was being conducted, but recent bad weather and technical incompetence has slowed the survey to a crawl. Without that tower being built, half the houses in Westjack will have no coverage. Consider it a priority."

"Some of your staff are useless -- I recommend you identify who they are and get rid of them. An idiot on the team can undo the work of half a dozen good employees. Speaking of good employee's, Mrs. Sandstrom, in the operators department is hording some of the best girls in the company. See if you can poach a few extra workers, God knows you'll need them."

"You've got a lot of work on your plate -- but don't forget the image of the company. A lot of very important people are hostile to this project, so it's important to present a warm and respectful face to the outside world. You might consider joining the company netball team -- we play against all the established companies on the island. It would probably be useful to represent the company at the village fete as well -- see if you can drum up some local support for the network project."

Mr Stevenson drops his voice and licks his lips. "Lastly ... you should be aware that not all is as it seems. There is a spy in the office. Confidential plans have been leaked and work has been subtly altered or destroyed. See if you can root out this problem. I have no idea whether it is a malcontent or an agent working for another company. I suspect the spy is working for the Authority, a secretive group of men who control great power on the island. Either way, they must be stopped."

You feel the time to interject is now. "Don't worry, sir," you say firmly. "ComLondon sent me because I'm the best. I'll have this project up and running on time."

Mr Stevenson nods. "You'd better, Miss. Hathaway," he glowers. "I promise you I will be on hand to motivate you should you stumble."

You swallow, and nod silently.

"You are dismissed, Miss. Hathaway," says Mr Stevenson darkly.

Turn to page 151.

Page 151

You emerge from Mr Stevenson's office with some sense of relief. He's going to be a tough man to work for. Jennifer looks expectantly at you as you close the office door behind you.

If you have the codeword TRIAL Turn to page 152.
If not, read on.

"Good meeting?" asks Jennifer innocently.

"I've had better," you concede, trying to gather your poise. "I'd best go and see the staff. Have a good day, Jennifer. And don't forget Mr Stevenson's coffee!"

Jennifer smiles goofily. "Yes, Miss. Hathaway," she says ashamedly.

Turn to page 158.

Page 152

Jennifer rises quietly from her desk. She peeks in through the glass screen of the office -- but seeing Mr Stevenson beginning one of his customary long phone calls she smiles and takes your hand.

Jennifer leads you out of the office and across the hall. Soon you arrive at a stationary room, filled from floor to ceiling with stacks of paper, pens, pencils, and toner cartridges. The single light bulb in the room is dull and grants little illumination. Locking the door behind her, Jennifer turns and smiles.

"Well -- how did it go?" she asks.

Your mouth runs dry -- you're not sure what to say.

"Don't say anything," smiles Jennifer. "Turn around, bend over, and let me inspect the damage."

She seems almost salivating at the opportunity.

What do you do?

Do as she says? Turn to page 153.

Ask to leave? Turn to page 154.

Page 153

Biting your lip in shame, you turn around and bend over slowly, resting your hands on your knees. What will Jennifer say when she sees your bum?

Peeling back your skirt, Jennifer lovingly lowers your knickers to view Mr Stevenson's work on your behind.

What is your current Bum Status?

Unblemished? Turn to page 155.

Between Warm and Throbbing? Turn to page 156.

Fiery or higher? Turn to page 157.

Page 154

"I ... I think I want to leave," you murmur quietly.

Jennifer looks crestfallen, but nods. She unlocks the door and soon you have dashed out of the stuffy cupboard. You hope the rest of the girls on the island aren't freaks like her!

Turn to page 158.

Page 155

"Oh," says Jennifer. "He didn't cane you then?"

"No," you concede.

There is a difficult pause.

"So -- why exactly are you showing me your arse, Dianne?" she asks innocently.

You flush with embarrassment. Lose 2 Dignity points .

After a few more moments you stiffly rise, and pull up your knickers. "Maybe I better go?" you offer.

"Maybe you should," agrees Jennifer, red with embarrassment. She unlocks the door and soon you have dashed out of the stuffy cupboard, mortified at your strange behaviour.

Turn to page 158.

Page 156

"Oh," says Jennifer, a touch of disappointment in her voice. "He didn't beat you too hard then?"

"It stings like the devil!" you cry. "How can you say that?"

"I mean -- it's not too bad," says Jennifer hurriedly. "For him, that is. But ... well done you for getting through it!"

You feel ridiculous, standing there with your arse in the air so this secretary can pass judgement on you.

Lose 1 Dignity point .

After a few more moments you stiffly rise, and pull up your knickers. "Maybe I better go?" you offer.

"Maybe you should," agrees Jennifer, red with embarrassment. She unlocks the door and soon you have dashed out of the stuffy cupboard, disappointed at Jennifer's under whelmed reaction.

Turn to page 158.

Page 157

"Wow!" enthuses Jennifer as she beholds your backside, a series of brilliant scarlet ridges lined up neatly from top to bottom from Mr Stevenson's nasty cane. "That man is an artist! Can I touch them?"

"Yes -- but gently, yeah?" you say, flushed with pride. Gain 1 point of Dignity .

You hiss as Jennifer strokes her fingers along the swollen track lines, marvelling at their even spacing. "Amazing ... so -- did you like it?"

"Like it?" you ask aghast, your backside still throbbing fiercely.

"I mean ... would you do it again?" presses Jennifer. "Not right now, obviously -- but when you've healed up again."

You close your eyes. What is it about this burning pain that so enthuses you with pride?

"If ... if someone -- on the island said I had to -- I would," you say cautiously.

Jennifer begins to stroke your bottom lovingly, and you have to bite your lip to hold back whimpering.

"There's a place," she says, "on Pine Street. It's a club. I'm a member. If you like this -- if deep in your soul you like this, you should come along at eight thirty at night. There's always someone there to look after your ... needs. I'll recommend you. It's not compulsory -- but if you don't do it, at least once, you'll regret it. Maybe I'll see you there?"

She removes her hands from your bum, and unlocks the door quickly. By the time you have risen and turned around she has gone.

A club. But dare you join it?

Record the codeword PRIVILLAGE , and gain 1 Fun point .

Now Turn to page 158.

Page 158 - Management Hub

You are back at your office in the ComLondon building. Lower your Bum Status by 2 levels whenever you return here.

You must now decide what you wish to do this week to try and further the project. Although your staff will continue to work on the project in your absence, what you choose below will be your main focus for the week. You can select anything from the list below, although you cannot choose the same thing twice.

What will you do?

Prepare the update presentation that Mr Stevenson requires? Turn to page 159.

Assist with the Comms Booster Survey that has been dragging for the last several months? Turn to page 274.

Try to poach a productive member of staff from another office? Turn to page 440.

Force yourself to do a big push on the Licence Authorisations? Turn to page 510.

Try to sack the deadwood employee's from the office that are holding back the project? Turn to page 530.

Try to catch the spy Mr Stevenson told you of? Turn to page 605.

Stay in the office and organise the team's workload directly? Turn to page 653.

Boost staff morale by organising a staff party? Turn to page 654.

Volunteer for the company netball team as Mr Stevenson suggested? Turn to page 662.

Represent the company at the local fete, as Mr Stevenson requested? Turn to page 720.

Attend your special club (only if you have the codeword PRIVILAGE)? Turn to page 747.

See if you can procure medical supplies to heal your frequently beaten bottom? Turn to page 781.

Page 159

Ever since your first chilling meeting with Mr Stevenson you've vowed to get this update presentation done on time. Inwardly you can't help but feel it's a waste of precious time. Any time spent wasted informing the client what you're doing is time that could be spent actually doing it. Still the consequences to your bottom of not doing it are too disastrous to even contemplate.

Summoning your senior team into a meeting you begin to assess how to put the report together. You run into an immediate snag.

"What do you mean you don't know how much we've spent on the transmitters?" you ask Phil Washington, the finance analyst.

"That data's gone missing," admits Phil sheepishly. "Along with most of the rest of the financial data."

"A lot of the early contract work is gone too," confesses Pauline Weatherly, one of the legal team.

You shake your head in wonder. "This seems to happen every time I ask for any information -- where has it gone?" you demand.

The team shuffle as you gaze at them accusingly. "There was an office clear out -- by your predecessor," confesses Phil. "He went a bit mad towards the end. A lot of stuff he said was irrelevant and we'd never need it, so he dumped it in the skip outside."

"And he foistered a lot of paperwork off onto the construction team," says Pauline. "That's Horace Jackman's team -- I don't think we've seen him in days."

"As for the other stuff -- well, it might be somewhere in the office -- stuffed into random piles about the place," suggests Phil. "I wouldn't want to be the one to track it down, mind..."

This place is in chaos! You can almost hear the whoosh of Mr Stevenson's cane descending upon your soon to be doomed bum cheeks!

No! You must act rationally and be cool under fire. That information needs to be tracked down and organised.

What do you want to track down first?

The information dumped into the outdoor skip? Turn to page 160.

The information that got sent to the construction team? Turn to page 205.

Or get your lazy team off their arses and demand they start organising the office? Turn to page 256.

Page 160

Taking Phil with you, you stroll out of the ComLondon offices and go around the back of the building, where a line of skips stand in the car park. You only hope the bad weather on Westjack Island hasn't ruined them...

You peer into each skip, but they seem oddly empty. Only a few bits of old scrap sit in one of them.

"It's not here -- where has it gone?" you cry.

"Oh dear," says Phil.

"What?" you demand.

"It's the first Thursday of the month -- that's when the skips get emptied..." he says, looking pale.

You stamp your foot in frustration. "Where's the dump? We might be able to..."

"There isn't one," admits Phil. "The island is too small -- our rubbish is transported away on container ships. It could be a thousand miles away by now."

"Or," you say, "the container ship might still be in port."

"Dianne ... don't," says Phil desperately. "You're wasting your time. The dockers will never let you on that ship. They're famously stubborn."

You gaze out towards the docks, the persistent Westjack wind blowing your hair about your face. This could be a waste of precious time.

What do you want to do?

Abandon looking for the dumped information and try to find the info elsewhere? Turn to page 161.

Set off for the docks? Turn to page 163.

Page 161

You abandon your attempt to find the dumped paperwork. There's simply no chance of finding a few lost files on such a massive container ship.

If you have the codeword LOST, Turn to page 273.
If not, read on.

Record the codeword LOST . The final report may not be complete, but you can still make the best of what you have.

If you have the codeword FOUND, Turn to page 272.

If not, it's time to look for more of that missing paperwork!

What do you want to track down next?

The information that got sent to the construction team? Turn to page 205.

Or get your lazy team off their arses and demand they start organising the office? Turn to page 256.

(You can't search for the same piece of info twice).

Page 162

The inside of the spaceship is a brilliant white, covered in flashing lights and large, chunky control panels. The all-female crew, dressed provocatively in tight spandex uniforms that hug their curves obscenely, look stunned at your sudden arrival.

"Are you alright?" asks the captain, a young woman with a shock of blonde hair and a ray gun at her side.

"Sorry..." you reply, dazed. "I think I turned to the wrong page..."

Suddenly the ship shakes violently, and the control deck is plunged into red light, claxons wailing loudly.

"Captain!" cries one of the officers. "Torpedo hit! It looks like the Star Legion have found us!"

"Shields up -- evasive manoeuvres!" barks the captain, leaping to her command chair. "Power up the weapons. We'll show those Star Legion brutes not to mess with the Space Vixens!"

You grasp onto the railing as the ship lurches into attack position.

"This is a bit retro, isn't it?" you splutter. "Is this really what the next book is going to be like?"

"I'll not take any lip from a spanked secretary!" thunders Captain Barbara, flicking chunky white switches on her command chair.

"I'm not a secretary!" you insist hotly. "My book has much more veracity than this pulp-nonsense!"

The ship thrums and vibrates as its laser-destroyers shoot lances of brilliant green light towards the attacking saucer.

"Listen, love," snaps Barbara irritably. "Why don't you turn back to page 158 and figure out where you went wrong? If you stay here much longer..."

Suddenly there is a terrific explosion, sending crew and equipment flying across the deck. The viewscreen splutters to life, and a contemptuous-looking man dressed in an equally tight uniform can be seen addressing the crew.

"Captain Barbara," he leers. "Your ship is defenceless. We are boarding your ship. Have you and your crew line up in the shuttlebay, naked and bent over for punishment. We shall thrash you, then arrest you."

"Captain Tiberius," trembles Barbara. "You can have me ... but spare my crew..."

"You are in no position to make demands -- save your pleading for the lash!" laughs Tiberius.

The viewscreen goes dark.

"Suggestions?" asks Barbara.

"We pretend to comply," suggests the helmsmen, "but keep some of the crew hidden. Whilst they are distracted with punishing us, the hidden crew sneak aboard the enemy vessel and capture it!"

"Sounds like a plan -- I'll lead the assault..." says Barbara.

"No, Captain -- Tiberius will be expecting to thrash you," explains the science officer. "I'll lead the team. You hold out as long as you can to give us the time we need..."

"How contrived..." you mutter.

"Piss off, Dianne!" snaps Barbara. "Get back to your own book!"

Hmm. Maybe it's time to leave? Turn to page 158.

Page 163

Defiantly you make your way to the docks after a long stroll through town. There are several ships in port, but only one of them could be the container ship Phil mentioned -- a huge red hulk of a ship which towers over the port authority. The company's shack-like office, The Industrial Waste and Shipping centre, sits in the shadow of the beastly ship.

You are distracted momentarily as a passing dockhand slaps you on the bum, wolf whistling as he goes.

What do you do?

Demand an apology from the brutish dockman? Turn to page 164.

Ignore him and head to the shipping office? Turn to page 165.

Try and get on board the container ship itself? Turn to page 175.

Page 164

"Hey! You! Neanderthal!" you shout at the dockman, who freezes in his tracks. "Where do you get off doing that to a passing stranger?"

The dockman, huge and muscular, full beard upon his face, looks amused. "It looked like you needed it, love," he laughs. Several other dock workers join him in a jolly laugh at your expense.

"I demand you apologise!" you snap.

The dockman scowls, he steps up to you and grabs your wrist. "I think someone needs to teach you some manners, girly," he grunts.

Ignoring your demands to let you go, he drags you over to a fat mooring post, which he seats himself on comfortably, before throwing you over his knee. Tucking your arm behind your back, he flips up your skirt casually and tugs your knickers down to your knees.

"Let me go, you big oaf!" you demand helplessly.

Smack! Smack! Smack! The dockman begins a well-practiced spanking of your newly bared bottom, much to the general cheer and delight of his comrades who watch and offer advice.

Smack! Smack! Smack! The dockman is far too strong to escape from, and you are left to dangle helplessly as he roughly strikes your bottom red with his heavy hand. Your protests are ignored and your bum reddens merrily under his firm blows.

Smack! Smack! Smack! You squeal and buck and wriggle, your blazing rear cruelly abused by this simple man and his moronic colleagues. As you struggle, face to the pavement, you suddenly see a big, black boot fill your vision. Peering up you can see that it is Constable Farley, of the island's police force.

"Anything amiss here, Roger?" asks Constable Farley casually.

"Nothing I can't handle, officer," grins the dockman.

Smack! Smack! Smack! You, however, remain unconsulted throughout your impromptu beating. By the time the dockers and policeman think you've learned your lesson, whatever that was, your bum is a sore cherry red.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level , and lose 1 point of Dignity .

Finally you are released, to gingerly tug your knickers back over your crimson behind.

"Off you go now, Miss. Hathaway," says Constable Farley sharply. "Try not to cause any more disturbances."

You huff sharply and storm away from the arrogant brutes.

What do you wish to do?

Head to the shipping office? Turn to page 165.

Try and get on board the container ship itself? Turn to page 175.

Page 165

You make your way into the grimy office of the Industrial Waste and Shipping Company. It's obviously not their headquarters, more of a tiny local branch of the company. In addition to the tools, registers, files and foul looking coffee machine you might see in any workshop, a number of not necessarily tasteful nudes are hung up on the walls, presumably for the enjoyment of the workers.

The Forman of the site, a grizzled man in his fifties, is also here. He doesn't look very busy. His feet are up on the table, and he doesn't bother rising from his chair as you enter.

"This is private property, miss," he grunts, "you'd better turn around and go home."

You ignore him. "I'm from ComLondon in town," you say firmly. "Some of our paperwork was accidentally thrown away and it's vital we get it back."

"When did you chuck it?" he asks, semi-interested.

You dodge the question. "The skips were emptied today -- it was in one of those."

"It would be in the records somewhere -- but frankly, company policy is that once the containers are on board they stay on board," he yawns. "Sorry love, you'll have to be more careful in future."

What do you do?

Point blank demand that the Forman get out of his chair and find you your missing paperwork? Turn to page 166.

Attempt to flatter the Forman into action? Turn to page 168.

Explain that the information is very important and that you can't leave without it? Turn to page 170.

Page 166

"Get off your huge, hairy arse and find me my paperwork!" you thunder. "If not my friends in the council will have you fired!"

If your Ambition is 9 or more, Turn to page 167.
If not, read on.

The Forman seems unimpressed. "You're new -- and English, you don't have any friends on the council," he says calmly. He gets slowly to his feet, and opens the third draw of his desk. From it he retrieves and old, worn looking belt.

"You are also, young lady, very rude," he says. "So, with more politeness than you seem to be able to muster -- Get over that desk and stick your bum in the air!"

You shudder -- you've learnt by now that there really is no getting out of a spanking when a Westjack man is insistent. By the laws of their culture you have been pushy and rude.

Sighing you begin to bend over the desk, but he puts a hand on your shoulder to stop you. "No," says the Forman. "On top of the desk -- like that woman there."

The Forman points to one of the posters of the naked women. The one he is pointing at has a woman on all fours on top of a table, quite naked. She buries her head in her arms so that her bum and quim stick out rudely.

"That's demeaning..." you murmer in protest.

"But that's how you'll take your belting -- now get a move on," insists the Forman.

Nodding, you crawl up on to the desk until you are roughly in the middle. You then cross your arms and rest your head comfortably on them. At least you're not naked like the poor woman in the poster.

Well ... not completely naked. You are hardly surprised when the Forman raises up your skirt and pulls down your knickers, giving him the sight he craves -- your naked bum blooming in the pale light streaming through the office window.

"What if one of you men comes in?" you plead vainly.

"Then they'll see how I deal with spoilt brats like you," says the Forman matter-of-factly.

Snap!

The Forman strikes you with the belt, the supple leather feeling sharp as it explodes against your bum skin. You grunt as a red bar begins to form across your behind.

Snap! Snap!

Twice more the belt licks your arse like a flaming tongue, jolting you as it spreads its blaze unevenly across your buttocks.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

You whimper through a set of two dozen or more strokes of that snapping belt, a steady heat building in your bum as the Forman takes out his vengeance upon you. By the end of the set the Forman is feeling much better. You feel considerably worse off, however -- your bum bruised with nothing to show for it!

Raise you Bum Status by 2 Levels.

Finally the Forman tells you to get out of his sight, a command you follow all too eagerly.

Once outside the office you must plan a course of action, what do you do?

Try and get on board the container ship itself? Turn to page 175.

Or abandon your attempt to get the dumped info? Turn to page 161.

Page 167

"Y ... yes miss!" cries the Forman, leaping to his feet, somewhat startled. He begins to rifle through the delivery notes he's received today, crudely written on carbon copy paper.

"Well -- you might be in luck miss," he says cautiously. "It looks like we took a skip delivery this morning from your office. So -- if your paperwork was in there it should still be accessible on the Wayward Son -- that's the ship that's docked here."

"Where do I find it?" you snap impatiently, keen to keep the forman on his toes.

"Looks like container H993," he says, reading his notes. "Here -- you can take this."

He shoves a copy of the waste docket into your hands. Record the codeword LOCATION .

"Trouble is, of course, I doubt they'll let you on board the ship," says the Forman ruefully. "That junk is their property now."

"Well, we'll see about that, shan't we!" you say sharply.

You spin on your heel and exit the office.

Once outside the office you must plan a course of action, what do you do?

Try and get on board the container ship itself? Turn to page 175.

Or abandon your attempt to get the dumped info? Turn to page 161.

Page 168

"I'm sure you wouldn't want to leave a lady in distress," you smile gently, perching yourself on the corner of the desk and batting your eyelids. "Just a quick look -- you could consider it your good deed for the day."

If your Dignity is 5 or more, Turn to page 169.
Otherwise read on.

The Forman sighs, shaking his head. "Look, love -- I'm on my break. After that I'm going to be really busy. Just push off would you? Do I have to take you over my knee?"

You flush, annoyed and embarrassed at your failure. Maybe you're not such a skilled flatterer as you thought. Eager to avoid any damage to your bum, you make your excuses and leave.

Once outside the office you must plan a course of action, what do you do?

Try and get on board the container ship itself? Turn to page 175.

Or abandon your attempt to get the dumped info? Turn to page 161.

Page 169

The forman blushes slightly, covering it up with a weary sigh. "Oh, alright then!" he cries dramatically. "Better than having you hanging around all day, bothering me."

The forman flicks through a few files, taking one fat folder out in particular to look through its grease-stained contents.

"Well -- you might be in luck miss," he says cautiously. "It looks like we took a skip delivery this morning from your office. So -- if your paperwork was in there it should still be accessible on the Wayward Son -- that's the ship that's docked here."

"Any idea where I could find it?" you enquire gently.

"Looks like container H993," he says, reading his notes. "Here -- you can take this."

He shoves a copy of the waste docket into your hands. Record the codeword LOCATION .

"Trouble is, of course, I doubt they'll let you on board the ship," says the Forman ruefully. "That junk is their property now."

"Well, we'll see about that, shan't we!" you smile.

You blow the forman a kiss, spin on your heel and exit the office.

Once outside the office you must plan a course of action, what do you do?

Try and get on board the container ship itself? Turn to page 175.

Or abandon your attempt to get the dumped info? Turn to page 161.

Page 170

"Please!" you beg. "I can't tell you how important this is!"

The forman raises his eyebrows. "Is that a fact?" he smiles. "Well, maybe we can come to an arrangement -- but it will cost you."

If you have the trait 'Independently Wealthy', Turn to page 171.
If not, read on.

You frown. "How much?" you ask.

"No -- you don't understand love," he laughs. "It won't cost money. It'll cost your arse. I'd love to give that posh behind of yours a good belting. Take you down a chip or two. Teach you some humility."

You hardly think that you could learn much from this crude brute ... but the thought of the alternative, Mr Stevenson's expertly plied cane descending upon your naked buttocks puts the forman's offer into perspective.

"Assuming I said yes ... what's the deal? How many, and where?" you enquire in your most businesslike tone.

The forman ponders a few moments, gazing at some of his lewd posters. "Let's say three dozen -- and you'll take it like her," he says.

The Forman points to one of the posters of the naked women. The one he is pointing at has a woman on all fours on top of a table, quite naked. She buries her head in her arms so that her bum and quim stick out rudely.

"That's demeaning..." you murmur in protest.

"But that's how you'll take your belting -- now get a move on," insists the Forman.

What do you do?

Accept his deal? Turn to page 172.

Offer to accept the spanking, but refuse to strip naked? Turn to page 173.

Refuse his deal and quickly escape the office? Turn to page 174.

Page 171

You sigh with exasperation, and in a practiced move slam two hundred pounds onto his desk. "Now just tell me where my bloody paperwork is!"

The forman seems genuinely surprised. Clearly he wasn't expecting any actual money. Unable to resist the temptation he quickly pockets the cash and starts looking through his paperwork.

"Well -- you might be in luck miss," he says cautiously. "It looks like we took a skip delivery this morning from your office. So -- if your paperwork was in there it should still be accessible on the Wayward Son -- that's the ship that's docked here."

"Any idea where I could find it?" you ask directly.

"Looks like container H993," he says, reading his notes. "Here -- you can take this."

He shoves a copy of the waste docket into your hands. Record the codeword LOCATION .

"Trouble is, of course, I doubt they'll let you on board the ship," says the Forman ruefully. "That junk is their property now."

"Well, we'll see about that, shan't we!" you smile.

You spin on your heel and exit the office.

Once outside the office you must plan a course of action, what do you do?

Try and get on board the container ship itself? Turn to page 175.

Or abandon your attempt to get the dumped info? Turn to page 161.

Page 172

You can't quite believe you're doing this. There's no way you'd ever stoop so low for information back in England. Somehow, however, you get the feeling that this sort of thing is actually rather common on Westjack Island.

Biting your lower lip, you begin to strip off your jacket, and kick off your shoes. You feel the forman's eyes burning into you as you remove every article of clothing, shamefully slipping down your skirt and unbuttoning your shirt under his keen gaze. Soon you are left only in your crisp, white underwear, your hands trembling as you try to remove them.

"Everything off, love," warns the forman. "That's the deal."

You nod, feeling humiliated to be so commanded by this lowly workman. Bravely you unclasp your bra, your youthful breasts springing free from their containment. The forman applauds.

"Nice tits, love," he says with genuine appreciation. "Now show me what else you've got!"

Aghast at his crude language you finish your humiliating strip, quickly tugging down your knickers to your ankles, and quietly kicking them into the pile of the rest of your discarded clothing. You burn in shame as the forman takes in your total nudity.

Lose 1 Dignity point for your humiliating striptease.

"Lovely -- you're a picture my love!" grins the forman, finally taking his feet off the table. "Now up onto the table to take your belting. Let's see if you're as classy under fire as you were in that suit."

Nodding, you crawl up on to the desk until you are roughly in the middle. You then cross your arms and rest your head comfortably on them. Your eyes meet the poster of the woman whose pose you are copying. You don't have to imagine the sight of your rudely upthrust arse and visible pussy lips -- you can see quite clearly how you are arranged right before your eyes!

"What if one of you men comes in?" you plead vainly.

"Then they'll see how I deal with spoilt brats like you," says the Forman matter-of-factly.

Snap!

The Forman strikes you with his belt, the supple leather feeling sharp as it explodes against your bum skin. You grunt as a red bar begins form across your behind.

Snap! Snap!

Twice more the belt licks your arse like a flaming tongue, jolting you as it spreads its blaze unevenly across your buttocks.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

You whimper through a set of three dozen strokes of that snapping belt, naked as the day you were born, a steady heat building in your bum as the Forman beats you for his pleasure. He takes his time, relishing the wriggling of your bottom as he paints your bum a brilliant crimson.

Raise your Bum Status by 3 levels .

Finally the blows stop, your boiling bum clenching to disperse the pain.

"Well taken, love," the forman concedes. "I expected more fuss -- but fair's fair. You can get down and put your clothes on -- let's see if we can find your missing paperwork."

Shaking slightly you do as he suggests, carefully clambering down from the table and re-dressing as the forman wades his way through his delivery notes.

"Well -- you might be in luck miss," he says cautiously. "It looks like we took a skip delivery this morning from your office. So -- if your paperwork was in there it should still be accessible on the Wayward Son -- that's the ship that's docked here."

"Any idea where I could find it?" you ask directly.

"Looks like container H993," he says, reading his notes. "Here -- you can take this."

He shoves a copy of the waste docket into your hands. Record the codeword LOCATION .

"Trouble is, of course, I doubt they'll let you on board the ship," says the Forman ruefully. "That junk is their property now."

"Well, we'll see about that, shan't we!" you say.

You spin on your heel and exit the office.

Once outside the office you must plan a course of action, what do you do?

Try and get on board the container ship itself? Turn to page 175.

Or abandon your attempt to get the dumped info? Turn to page 161.

Page 173

The forman laughs. "You think I'm an idiot? I've got you over a barrel. The way I see it you do it my way or your boss is likely to take it out on your arse. Am I right?"

You curse inwardly at the forman's perceptiveness. Lose 1 Ambition point .

What do you do?

Accept his deal? Turn to page 172.

Refuse his deal and quickly escape the office? Turn to page 174.

Page 174

"I don't need this!" you snap. "No wonder this island is going to the dogs! Keep your stupid secrets -- who needs you?"

Gain 1 Dignity point for refusing his impertinent offer.

You spin on your heel and exit the office.

Once outside the office you must plan a course of action, what do you do?

Try and get on board the container ship itself? Turn to page 175.

Or abandon your attempt to get the dumped info? Turn to page 161.

Page 175

The huge container ship, The Wayward Son, sits in dock before you, dwarfing every other vessel in port. You have to climb up a long set of steps to get on board, but the ship seems curiously empty, besides a few preening seagulls. There are several doors, one of which seems to have some kind of security lock upon it, and another that has been left wide open, leading further into the ship.

How do you wish to conduct your search?

Examine the locked door carefully? Turn to page 176.

Sneak into the ship and try to remain hidden? Turn to page 179.

Or abandon your search on the ship? Turn to page 161.

Page 176

The door appears to have some sort of digi-lock on it, with a number panel below for entering the code.

If you have the trait 'Knowledgeable' Turn to page 177.

If you have the weakness 'Technical Ignorance' Turn to page 178.

If not you wisely decide to leave the door alone -- clearly access has been restricted for a reason!

What do you wish to do instead?

Sneak into the ship and try to remain hidden? Turn to page 179.

Or abandon your search on the ship? Turn to page 161.

Page 177

Technically this problem should be insurmountable -- there are millions of possible combinations. Fortunately you know the difference between a live digi-lock and a dead one, and this one clearly has no power running through it. Shaking your head at the ship's woeful lack of security you swing open the door and proceed into the bowls of the ship.

Turn to page 187.

Page 178

You may as well try pot luck! You type your date of birth into the digi-lock and try the handle. Incredibly the door swings open. Talk about lucky!

Turn to page 187.

Page 179

Tiptoeing forwards you carefully make your way into the ship. The smelly, dull grey corridors are narrow, and you pass a myriad of closed doors. You have a feeling you must make your way to the cargo hold if you're to find the paper you're missing, and you descend down a set of steps as quietly as possible.

When you get to the bottom you suddenly hear a noise from further down the corridor. A door swings open, and the sound of several laughing men echo across the deck.

What do you wish to do?

Press yourself against the side of a bulkhead and wait for the men to pass? Turn to page 180.

Dive into a nearby room at random? Turn to page 182.

Page 180

You crush yourself flat against the thick door lip of the bulkhead, trying not to even breathe as the sounds of the men get closer.

If you have the trait 'Sneaky' Turn to page 181.
If not, read on.

You're spotted even before the men pass by, your open jacket flapping open inconveniently to dangle like a flag before the rough sailors.

"A stowaway!" roars one, with a combination of shock and amusement.

"Grab her!" yells another, instantly following his own command by grappling you around the waist and hauling you over his shoulder.

"Let me go!" you cry as the laughing sailors haul you off to the cargo hold...

Turn to page 191.

Page 181

You are almost afraid to blink as three brawny looking sailors pass within a few inches of your body. Remarkably not one notices you as they saunter witlessly past, lost in their conversation (something about a foolish work colleague and a latrine).

Once they have made their way up the stairs you breathe a sigh of relief and make your way further into ship.

Turn to page 187.

Page 182

You quickly swing open the nearest door and dive inside, shutting the door behind you quickly but softly. You almost gasp in surprise when you turn to see that the room is not empty. An old looking crewmember is playing solitaire with a pack of tatty cards. He looks at you with some surprise, and quickly puts his finger to his lips to quieten you.

Outside you hear the other sailors pass, laughing crudely at a joke you can't quite hear. You wait patiently, your heart thumping in your chest, as the sounds of the other men die away. Finally the old man speaks.

"You should not have come here, woman," he says flatly. "This is a dangerous boat for a lone female to be on. Come, I shall escort you off the ship..."

"Wait ... sir," you blather, "there is something on this ship I need, important paperwork that was accidentally dumped. It's absolutely vital to me."

The old man shakes his head. "You cannot have it now -- it is lost to you. Now, either you come with me or I shall drag you below to meet the captain. That is an outcome you want to avoid."

You must think quickly. What do you do?

Agree to be escorted off the ship? Turn to page 183.

Attempt to bribe the old sea dog? Turn to page 184.

Or insist on seeing the captain? Turn to page 185.

Page 183

The old sailor quietly escorts you through the massive vessel, carefully avoiding any other crew so that you are not detected. Finally you arrive back on deck near the boarding gate.

"Go now, quickly," urges the sailor.

"Thank you," you say unsurely, still cursing yourself that you didn't manage to find those papers.

You quickly dash through the gate and down the stairs, back into the harbour, leaving the ship far behind. Turn to page 161.

Page 184

If you have the trait 'Independently Wealthy', Turn to page 186.
If not you will have to bribe the old sailor with your jewellery. On this remote island it is likely to be irreplaceable! Lose 2 points of Dignity .

The sailor accepts your jewellery reluctantly. "Very well, I'll tell no one you are aboard. But you are on your own, miss! Don't say I didn't warn you."

You nod curtly, and quickly flee the room.

Turn to page 187.

Page 185

"Very well," he says ominously, rising from his chair. Quick as lighting he grabs you, and in a feat of strength you would have thought impossible in his old age you are thrown over his shoulder with a single grunt.

"Let me go! Get off me!" you cry vainly, as the sailor swings open the door. The noise soon attracts other sailors who swarm around to view the old man's captured prize.

"Looks like old Geoff's got himself a stowaway," laughs one. "Good on 'yer, Geoff!"

You are escorted by this rowdy crowd down to the cargo bay.

Turn to page 191.

Page 186

You don't even bother to count the bundle of notes you throw upon the old sailor's table.

"Perhaps you could say you never saw me?" you suggest.

The old sailor looks upon the money with open mouthed wonder. He quickly grabs the bundle and stuff's it into his pocket.

"Saw who?" he says innocently.

"That's the spirit!" you smile, quickly turning to leave the sailor's quarters.

Turn to page 187.

Page 187

Finally, after wandering the grey corridors of the ship for what feels like hours, you emerge into the cargo bay. The size of the ship's hold is truly breathtaking -- this vessel is little more than a gigantic floating warehouse, stacked to the gills with battered looking container crates.

You spot a few men at work in one corner of the ship, operating a forklift truck. It should be reasonably easy to avoid them as long as you don't draw attention to yourself.

If you have the weakness 'Clumsy', Turn to page 188.
If not, read on.

You move carefully about the cargo bay -- but where are you going? Trying to find the lost paperwork here would be like looking for a needle in a haystack!

If you have the Codeword LOCATION, Turn to page 189.

If not, you wander the cargo bay in vain for a few minutes, sticking your head in any open containers that you find. Alas, the paperwork is nowhere to be found, or at least nowhere obvious.

Remaining here as a stowaway would be foolish. Reluctantly you sneak off the ship the way you came -- empty-handed.

Turn to page 161.

Page 188

Of course, the day you don't attract attention to yourself is the day hell will freeze over. Not looking where you are going you crash into some empty wooden packing crates, which noisily echo across the hold.

The workers are attracted to the sound and quickly come to investigate.

Will you:

Flee the ship before you are found? Turn to page 161.

Or guiltily wait to be apprehended? Turn to page 190.

Page 189

You unfold the waste transfer note the forman gave you. Apparently the paper should be in container H993. You spend a few minutes quietly tiptoeing past line after line of crates, noting the numbers.

Finally you manage to find the container, a dark battered blue in colour. The door of the crate is open, a stack of boxes piled next to it, presumably for later dumping. Entering the murky container you flash your eyes over the pile of discarded metal, plastic and paper for anything that looks familiar. Finally you spot something -- a piece of paper with the ComLondon logo in the top corner jutting out of a brown folder.

Your heart in your mouth you quickly skim through the folder, and the several identical folders beneath it. This is it! Data on likely broadband routes for the new internet system.

Resisting the urge to cheer you gather up the documents and quickly make your way off the ship.

If you have the codeword FOUND, Turn to page 270.

If you have the codeword GAIN, cross it off and record the codeword FOUND -- then Turn to page 271.

If you have neither of these Codewords, record the codeword GAIN and Turn to page 271.

Page 190

"A stowaway!" roars the first sailor, with a combination of shock and amusement.

"Grab her!" yells another, instantly following his own command by grappling you around the waist and hauling you over his shoulder.

"Let me go!" you cry as the laughing sailors haul you off ...

Turn to page 191.

Page 191

You are dragged by the laughing sailors right into the centre of the ship, huge cargo containers stacked like skyscrapers surround you and the gathering crew. Word quickly gets around that a stowaway has been found, and soon the rest of the crew, all male, come to have a look at you, jostling with each other to grab you off the shoulders of the sailors who carried you down here.

You are beginning to fear for your safety when a loud roar booms over the grabbing crowd. The captain, a towering Spaniard from the looks of him, bellows loudly, pushing his way through the throng.

"What's going on here, you rats?" he snarls. "Who is this?"

"Stowaway, Captain," grunts one the braver member of the crew, "caught her skulking about the ship."

The Captain looks upon you critically. "Where are you from?" he demands.

"She's English," says one of the crew. "At least she sounds it."

"Did I ask you?" snaps the Captain. "If she's English we call the police and get her arrested. If she's local ... well ... the police will want us to deal with her ourselves. So tell me, girl, where are you from?"

How will you answer?

Tell the Captain that you are English? Turn to page 192.

Or say that you are a local girl from Westjack Island? Turn to page 196.

Page 192

With your identity as an Englishwoman revealed the Captain quickly contacts the island police whilst the crew hold you in custody. Soon the arrogant figure of Constable Farley appears, the same policeman who 'greeted' you onto the island when you first arrived.

The Constable does not bother to hear your side of the story, and instead listens intently to the captain who explains you are a stowaway, or possibly a thief, who recently snuck aboard the ship.

"Don't worry, Captain," says the Constable, shaking his head. "I know all about this one. She's a troublemaker. I'll take her into custody."

You would have preferred the term 'businesswoman', but at least this gets you out of the clutches of the grimy ship's crew. The Constable escorts you off the ship and into his rather old fashioned police vehicle.

"Well, Miss Hathaway, I expect you realise you are in a lot of trouble?" the officer says as he begins to drive you to the station.

"I wasn't stealing anything!" you insist. "I was just trying to get back company property."

"Regardless, you trespassed on that ship without permission from the owners," says Constable Farley dismissively. "The only question remains whether I should punish you or we should go to your boss, Mr Stevenson? Which would you prefer?"

What a question! Who will you allow to punish you?

Constable Farley? Turn to page 193.

Mr Stevenson? Turn to page 195.

Page 193

You consider for a few moments before answering. "I'll let you do it. But on one condition ... don't tell my boss -- otherwise he's bound to cane me no matter what punishment you give out!"

Constable Farley thinks about this for a while, driving around the town in an exaggerated loop. "I'd remain silent -- but only if it is for your long term good," he announces at last. "So, I will give you a good beating now and keep it quiet -- but you can expect other, unannounced beatings in the future. These will remind you of your crime and demonstrate that I am keeping an eye on any future criminal activity you undertake. Do you agree?"

You're not sure. This sounds an awful lot like blackmail!

Will you agree to Constable Farley's terms? Turn to page 194.

Or change your mind and insist you are taken to Mr Stevenson? Turn to page 195.

Page 194

In order that your punishment be private, Constable Farley drives you to a windswept stretch of rocky beach. The sun is going down and casts the isolated cove in a beautiful orange light.

The Constable instructs you to remove your skirt and knickers and leave them in the car, lest they be blown away in the furious wind. Soon you are draped half naked over a smooth rock, your naked, shivering bum thrust up behind you, your hair blasted into a thousand strands by the billowing wind.

Crack!

The Constable's heavy wooden paddle, which he keeps near him at all times, impacts meatilly into your shuddering backside. You quickly appreciate the Constable's choice of location as your cries are swallowed into the wind.

Crack! Crack! The relentless paddle, weighty enough to defy the wind, slaps into your vulnerable bum with a bruising force, blushing your bum a brilliant scarlet to match the setting sun. You grasp the cold, stony rock for all your worth as the long arm of the law exacts its private revenge upon your bouncing buttocks.

You're not sure how many strokes you received -- at least three dozen you are sure, before the Constable gives you permission to rise and return to the car.

Raise your Bum Status by 3 Levels , and gain the codeword HOLD .

"They'll be many more such lessons before you leave this island," warns Constable Farley, sternly. "Your backside shall face justice again and again. Just be ready for it."

You assure the Constable you will -- but inwardly you curse. You have suffered for nothing, the information on that boat is now lost for good.

Turn to page 161.

Page 195

Vip! Vip!

Mr Stevenson's cane sings into your naked backside, your squeals for mercy ignored as he inflicts stroke after stroke.

"Ignorant, stupid girl!" roars Mr Stevenson. "Being caught undertaking a criminal activity? While working for my company? I'll never live it down!"

Vip! Vip! Vip!

"Uh! Ah! Ahh!" you howl as your bum is seared with raising welts and blazing red track-lines. Mr Stevenson's punishment is swift, and his anger great, as he cuts you to the quick with his flashing cane.

Raise your Bum Status by 4 levels , and lose 3 Ambition points . It's a small island, and once people hear of your criminal past your authority will suffer almost as much as your bottom.

Finally dismissed you run from Mr Stevenson's office in tears. Your reputation is in tatters, your bum is on fire and you have nothing to show for your suffering.

Turn to page 161.

Page 196

The Captain looks suspicious. "You don't sound like a Westjack girl."

"Oh -- I am!" you insist. "I just went to school in England. But I'm Westjack, through and through!"

The crew also look doubtful, but the captain waves aside their suspicions. "We'll soon find out if she's Westjack or English when she receives her punishment for sneaking on board my ship!" he laughs, the rest of the crew laughing with him. "If she turns out to be English we'll call the police. Otherwise she'll take what we give her, like a good little Westjack girl, yes?"

"Err ... yes, of course!" you say, doubt creeping into your voice.

The captain grandly seats himself upon a packing crate, and pats his knees with a toothy smile. All about you the crew begin to laugh, anticipating your approaching spanking.

Will you:

Quickly confess that you are in fact English? Turn to page 192.

Object to being spanked by someone 'not from the island'? Turn to page 197.

Drape yourself over the Captain's lap with as much dignity as you can muster? Turn to page 198.

Page 197

The Captain laughs. "So, you are English!" he jeers, to the laughter of his crew. "No Westjack woman would compromise her dignity to complain about receiving a spanking, especially to a stranger!"

You curse that your cover was so easily blown, and due to nothing but cowardice! Lose 1 Willpower point .

Turn to page 192.

Page 198

You fearfully approach the Captain's lap, the leering crew almost jittery with anticipation. The Captain looks particularly pleased -- his standing with the crew is likely to increase greatly once he has shown how masterfully he can command erring island women.

Trying not to tremble you begin to drape yourself over the Captain's lap.

If your Dignity is 6 or more, Turn to page 199.

If not, Turn to page 200.

Page 199

With practiced grace and subservience you drape yourself elegantly over the Captain's knee, as if you were a gymnast or ballet dancer on display. Such a smooth and practiced display clearly impresses the ragged horde of seamen.

"She's clearly done this before," laughs one.

"No wonder, these island women are brought up on spanking -- keeps them in their place," opinions another.

The Captain is delighted with your presentation. "What a graceful lot you Westjack girls are," he concedes. "Even if you are a criminal stowaway. Well then, girl, let's be having that bum on display -- that's what the lads are waiting for, isn't it lads?"

There is a great cheer of approval. Clearly you have no choice but to obey if you are going to maintain your charade of being a local girl. With the same grace as you lay across your punisher's lap, you elegantly lift your skirt and smoothly lower your knickers primly to your knees.

The cheers and laughter grow louder from the raucous audience as they take in the sight of your naked bum. You flush with shame. Lose 1 point of Dignity .

No sooner are your hands away from your underwear then the Captain begins, his great calloused hand striking your bottom cheeks with speed and vigour.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

He's awfully rough, and he doesn't seem to have any intention of holding back. You valiantly try to restrain your groaning and wiggling as the Captain spanks your arse red.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

If your Willpower is 5 or more Turn to page 201.

If not, Turn to page 202.

Page 200

You awkwardly clamber over the Captain's knee, feeling thoroughly ashamed at the display you are being forced to make before the entire crew. Lose 1 Dignity point .

Once over his knee the Captain laughs, resting his hand upon your still clothed bottom. "Looks a tasty arse," he says with mock ruefulness. "Shame I won't be able to spank it. You're an English girl -- no Westjack girl would climb over a man's knee with such apish clumsiness. It's the police for you."

Turn to page 192.

Page 201

You grit your teeth and push up your bottom, determined to take everything this brutish captain can give you without any girly cries or complaint. Your fortitude costs your bottom dear.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 Level .

After a few minutes of vigorously slapping your cheeks the Captain tires. He's no Westjack man, with a lifetime of experience in punishing bottoms, and so he has exhausted himself.

"What a tough bottom you have!" he cries. "Who's next to punish this fine beauty?"

A number of men immediately volunteer, much to your distress.

"I think it's only fair that the entire crew get to smack your bum, my dear," laughs the Captain. "How else will you learn your lesson not to trespass on private property?"

Your spirits sink -- punished by the entire crew? How can you endure that?

Lose 1 Willpower point .

What do you wish to do?

Quickly admit that you are an English girl and spare your bottom more pain? Turn to page 192.

Or meekly submit to the captain's insistence that the whole crew punish you? Turn to page 203.

Page 202

You buck, cry and wriggle helplessly as the Captain fiercely pounds your buttocks with his heavy hand.

Smack! Smack!

Raise your Bum Status by 1 Level .

Suddenly the Captain stops, and chuckles. "Give that bum of yours a good rub, English girl," he laughs. "You might as well -- you're clearly no Westjack woman. No island girl would make such a ridiculous scene. Jose -- call the police, tell them we have a stowaway."

Your heart sinks, you have suffered for nothing.

Turn to page 192.

Page 203

You are passed round from sailor to sailor, each of whom takes great delight in smacking your crimson globes. Fortunately most of them are not as fierce as the captain, and only deliver a dozen or so slaps to your backside before passing you on. Even so, the by the time the last sailor has spanked you your bum is throbbing red.

Raise your Bum Status by 2 Levels .

Finally, the captain calls a halt to the proceedings. He's impressed with you, and commands the crew to give you a round of applause to celebrate your endurance. It's an odd sensation being congratulated by the very men who have just smacked your bum, but you take it in good humour.

"You Westjack girls are made of tough stuff," admits the Captain. "Sorry about calling you English earlier -- you're twice the woman any English girl is. So tell me. Why are you aboard my ship?"

You decide to stick close to the truth and explain that your boss ordered you to find the missing paperwork that was thrown out of the office by mistake. The Captain nods sympathetically. "Afraid the old man's going to take the stick to you, are you? Well, we can't have that, not after everything you've taken from us. The problem is your paperwork could be anywhere. Do you have any idea where to look?"

If you have the Codeword LOCATION, Turn to page 204.
If not, read on.

Sadly, without any idea which container might hold the lost paperwork there is no chance of finding it. After half an hour of searching the Captain declares that your search is impossible.

"Looks like your boss is going to cane you after all," he says flatly. "Now run along -- and don't come back."

Turn to page 161.

Page 204

You unfold the waste transfer note the forman gave you. Apparently the paper should be in container H993. The captain nods, and together the two of you spend a few minutes carefully examining line after line of crates, noting the numbers.

Finally you manage to find the container, a dark battered blue in colour. The door of the crate is open, a stack of boxes piled next to it, presumably for later dumping. Entering the murky container you flash your eyes over the pile of discarded metal, plastic and paper for anything that looks familiar. Finally you spot something -- a piece of paper with the ComLondon logo in the top corner jutting out of a brown folder.

Your heart in your mouth you quickly skim through the folder, and the several identical folders beneath it. This is it! Data on likely broadband routes for the new internet system.

"There you go, feel free to take what you like," says the Captain grandly as you gather up the lost paperwork.

"Thank you for your help, Captain," you say graciously, temporarily forgetting the fact you paid for this information with your bottom.

"The pleasure was all mine," the captain says.

If you have the codeword FOUND, Turn to page 270.

If you have the codeword GAIN, cross it off and record the codeword FOUND -- then Turn to page 271.

If you have neither of these Codewords, record the codeword GAIN and Turn to page 271.

Page 205

If some of the records have been transferred to the construction team by mistake you had better get them as quickly as possible. The team is headed up by Horace Jackman, who has a fierce reputation amongst his men as a slave driver. The truth is the 'construction' team are mostly just road diggers, who have looked after the physical side of the island's phone system ever since it was first installed in the fifties.

The team has been busy recently, digging up trenches to lay the new fibre optic lines for the broadband network. Eventually you manage to track Horace down during one of his rare visits to his office. He sits in his chair pouring over paperwork, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, lost in a cloud of foul tobacco smoke.

"Whoever that is it better be important," he growls before looking up at you.

If you have the Codeword FAVOUR, Turn to page 206.
If not, read on.

"Morning," you say. "I'm Dianne Hathaway -- I'm running the new mobile project."

Jackman frowns. "So you're the one who's causing all this trouble -- you know I've been working seven days a week for the last two months to get your bleedin' wireless phones working."

"We're all busy, Mr Jackman," you say curtly. "Besides I'm just trying to make sure all your hard work isn't in vain."

Horace laughs. "I doubt the Authority will ever even let you turn the bloody thing on, so don't patronise me, Miss. Hathaway."

He makes an attempt to return to his notes, but you quickly interrupt. "The fact is, Mr Jackman, I came here for a reason. My predecessor left a number of files in your offices by mistake and I need to get them back."

"Fascinating," mumbles Jackman.

"I was hoping you'd help me find them," you add icily.

Jackman huffs loudly, slamming his hands onto his desk. "I happen to be a bit busy at the moment," he hisses with great restraint. "Come back in a few months, I'll see what I can do."

"I don't have a few months!" you insist. "I need to get this paperwork now."

"You lost them -- it's your problem!" he roars, his face reddening like a cherry. "Now get out!"

What an infuriating man! He does look rather angry, though. What do you do?

Put your foot down and demand co-operation from him? Turn to page 207.

Try a meek approach -- back down, apologise for inconveniencing him and offer to accept punishment in exchange for his co-operation? Turn to page 209.

Leave the office and plan a different strategy? Turn to page 244.

Page 206

"Dianne!" he exclaims with obvious joy. "So sorry, didn't realise it was you. What a delight to see you again! How are you? Are you well? Not still sore from last time?"

Good, he seems to remember you! "I'm fine, thank you for asking, sir..." you reply meekly.

"Please, call me Horace -- I think we know each other well enough for that," he laughs. "Can I get you anything? Tea? My assistant Sophie is a lazy cow, but I'm sure I can get her to make something up for us."

"Actually, Horace, I was here for a favour," you ask cautiously.

"Name it -- if I can get it for you, you'll have it -- that's how the Club works," he says earnestly.

"Well -- my predecessor on the mobile phone project -- he left some folders here. I was wondering if I could have them back?"

Horace rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I remember," he groans. "Useless twit your predecessor. Left a bunch of contract information with us and swore blind it was ours. Nothing to do with us, of course. You'd be doing me a favour taking it back. Hang on."

Horace gets to his feet and marches over to the door, swinging it open. "Sophie!" he roars across the office, in a tone that fair puts the wind up you. "Get those ComLondon folders out of the storage room! And get a move on, you lazy tart!"

The rotund looking Sophie blusters to her feet, spilling coffee as she does so. "Yes, Mr Jackman!" she shrieks, scampering off. Inwardly you breathe a sigh of relief that Horace Jackman isn't your boss -- not that Mr Stevenson is any less frightening.

You spend a few minutes chatting idly with Horace, talking about his work schedules (very busy these days) and the competency of the island council (very poor, according to Horace). Finally the door clicks open, and Sophie enters, groaning under the weight of a large cardboard box filled with ComLondon files. You quickly examine them ... yes! These are the right ones!

"Thanks so much, Horace!" you gush. "You've really done me a favour."

"No problem, sorry you had to wait so long," says Horace, his broad smile fading as he turns to face his exhausted office girl. "What was that all about? The bleeding storage cupboard's only down the corridor! You think Miss. Hathaway has all day to wait, do you?"

"Sorry Mr ... oh!" squeals Sophie as she is suddenly upended and thrown over Horace Jackman's knee. Soon her skirt is up and her knickers are down, her backside reddening under an onslaught of rapid spanks from Mr Jackman's heavy hand.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

"I'll ... err -- leave you to it, shall I?" you say awkwardly, gathering the sequestered files and discretely leaving as Horace Jackman spanks his secretary.

If you have the codeword FOUND, Turn to page 270.

If you have the codeword GAIN, cross it off and record the codeword FOUND -- then Turn to page 271.

If you have neither of these Codewords, record the codeword GAIN and Turn to page 271.

Page 207

If you have an Ambition of 9 and a Reputation of at least 30, Turn to page 208.
Otherwise read on:

Smack! Smack! Smack!

You ruefully reflect how you have misjudged Horace Jackman as you wriggle and twist beneath his fierce spanking. No sooner had you finished your defiant demand that he drop everything to help you than you were upended over his knee. Evidentially Mr Jackman is quite used to putting difficult women back into their place, and your bottom pays a sharp penalty for your rudeness.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

Mr Jackman holds you down firmly as he beats your bum with his heavy hand. There is nothing you can do to escape his grip, as he holds your arm firmly behind your back. In fact he seems to quite enjoy the struggle, spanking you harder when you wiggle too much or almost slip out of his grasp.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

Raise your Bum Status by 1 Level .

Finally, after what must be at least twenty minutes of firm spanking, Horace allows his grip to recede.

"Now I'll repeat -- get out of my office and don't come back!" he roars.

Almost falling off his knee to escape his brutish treatment, you dash out the door, pulling your knickers up as you go to the laughter of the road diggers.

Lose 1 point of Dignity .

Clearly there's no chance of getting your hands on that paperwork!

If you have the codeword LOST, Turn to page 273.
If not, read on.

Record the codeword LOST . The final report may not be complete, but you can still make the best of what you have.

If you have the codeword FOUND, Turn to page 272.

If not, its time to look for more of that missing paperwork!

What do you want to track down next?

The information dumped into the outdoor skip? Turn to page 160.

Or get your lazy team off their arses and demand they start organising the office? Turn to page 256.

Page 208

Your firmness of voice and solid reputation across the company is something Jackman cannot ignore.

"Fine," he grumbles. "At least it will get you out of my office."

Horace gets to his feet and marches over to the door, swinging it open. "Sophie!" he roars across the office, in a tone that fair puts the wind up you. "Get those ComLondon folders out of the storage room! And get a move on, you lazy tart!"

The rotund looking Sophie blusters to her feet, spilling coffee as she does so. "Yes, Mr Jackman!" she shrieks, scampering off. Inwardly you breathe a sigh of relief that Horace Jackman isn't your boss -- not that Mr Stevenson is any less frightening.

You spend a few minutes chatting idly with Horace, talking about his work schedules (very busy these days) and the competency of the island council (very poor, according to Horace). Finally the door clicks open, and Sophie enters, groaning under the weight of a large cardboard box filled with ComLondon files. You quickly examine them ... yes! These are the right ones!

"That's them," you confirm.

"Good, sorry you had to wait so long," says Horace, turning to face his exhausted office girl. "What was that all about? The bleeding storage cupboard's only down the corridor! You think Miss. Hathaway has all day to wait, do you?"

"Sorry Mr ... oh!" squeals Sophie as she is suddenly upended and thrown over Horace Jackman's knee. Soon her skirt is up and her knickers are down, her backside reddening under an onslaught of rapid spanks from Mr Jackman's heavy hand.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

"I'll ... err -- leave you to it, shall I?" you say awkwardly, gathering the sequestered files and discretely leaving as Horace Jackman spanks his secretary.

If you have the codeword FOUND, Turn to page 270.

If you have the codeword GAIN, cross it off and record the codeword FOUND -- then Turn to page 271.

If you have neither of these Codewords, record the codeword GAIN and Turn to page 271.

Page 209

You think quickly. Your meeting with Horace Jackman has gone very badly -- clearly he objects to a strong woman bursting into his office demanding things from him. What would a Westjack girl do?

Adopting a penitent position, hands behind back, head down, you begin to simper. "I'm really very sorry to inconvenience you, Mr Jackman," you say with as much earnestness as you can muster. "I'm very new here -- I expect I've offended you without realising it. Naturally I'll accept any punishment you think appropriate, only please help me. I really need that information now."

There -- you've offered a deal. Will he take it? You wait a few uncomfortable moments as Horace considers what you've said.

Finally, after a good deal of reflection, he speaks. "You have offended me -- but a Westjack man has to be willing to forgive. Provided of course he's convinced of the offenders penitence. However, it wouldn't be appropriate to punish you here," he adds. "Your session will be long and arduous, and I'm too busy now. Come to my house at ten o'clock tonight and provided you take your punishment with dignity and appropriate humility, I'll have the files transferred to your office tomorrow."

You pause for a moment. "At ... at your house, sir? I'm not sure that's..."

"My wife will be present," says Mr Jackman testily. "Everything will be above board -- don't worry about that. So -- do you agree?"

Well -- do you?

Yes? Turn to page 211.

No? Turn to page 210.

Page 210

"No -- I must refuse, I think," you say carefully. "I was willing to take a quick spanking for those files -- but nothing would compel to visit a stranger's house alone. You can keep the files."

Horace Jackman grinds his teeth in annoyance. "I will. Now get out."

You quickly exit the office. Something tells you that you want nothing more to do with this man -- you'll have to make do without those files.

If you have the codeword LOST, Turn to page 273.
If not, read on.

Record the codeword LOST . The final report may not be complete, but you can still make the best of what you have.

If you have the codeword FOUND, Turn to page 272.

If not, its time to look for more of that missing paperwork!

What do you want to track down next?

The information dumped into the outdoor skip? Turn to page 160.

Or get your lazy team off their arses and demand they start organising the office? Turn to page 256.

Page 211

"Of course, sir," you say deferentially. "Whatever you think best."

Horace suppresses his lustful smile as quickly as he can. "Well then, ten o'clock, number eight, Clayton Road. Don't be late."

"I won't -- thank you, Mr Jackman," you assure him as you back out of the room.

You spend the rest of the working day in nervous agitation. What is Mr Jackman going to do to you? Perhaps even he didn't know when he struck this bargain, but you imagine he is spending the rest of the day planning what to do to your bottom. It can't be any worse than what Mr Stevenson will do to you if you don't get this report finished! Can it?

That night, back at the Hamilton household, you eat with little real appetite, your stomach swirling in fear. You only manage to get your food down thanks to the stern look Mr Hamilton gave you when you were about to push away your half empty plate. A thrashing from Mr Hamilton is the last thing you need right now.

Indeed, you are so agitated about your fate as you dress neatly for your evening appointment, that you seem to have cleanly forgotten one of the cardinal rules of the house.

If you have the Codeword EXEMPT, Turn to page 212.
If not, read on.

"And where do you think you're going, young lady?" demands Mrs. Hamilton, intercepting you as you make your way to the front door. "You'll not be going out at this time of night -- the neighbours will think we're running a bordello!"

What will you say?

Will you confess that you are going to be punished by a company executive? Turn to page 213.

Will you say that there is an important social gathering of managers that you are expected to attend? Turn to page 214.

Or quickly apologise to Mrs. Hamilton and make your way back to bed -- although this means you will miss your appointment? Turn to page 216.

Page 212

Fortunately, having secured permission from Mr Hamilton to attend to 'business matters' at night, Mrs. Hamilton can do little more than scowl at you as you flounce out the door to your appointment with Mr Jackson.

Turn to page 217.

Page 213

You confess that you committed a social faux pas at work earlier today, and that you are about to attend a punishment session at Horace Jackman's house.

Mrs. Hamilton seems delighted. "Excellent," she says. "It's always important to keep a young lady in her place -- especially when they're as headstrong as you are. You're to be soundly thrashed, I hope?"

You swallow. "I suppose that is up to Mr Jackman, Mrs. Hamilton," you say guiltily.

"Well -- I'll grant you permission to leave on this one occasion," says Mrs. Hamilton benignly. "However you're to show me the damage inflicted on your behind when you return -- so I know you've not been swanning off to the pub, or some other ghastly place."

"Yes, Mrs. Hamilton," you assure her.

With a broad executioner's grin Mrs. Hamilton swings open the front door for you. You wander, as you make your way into the blustery night air, if you'll ever become like your landlady - so old and embittered that the only joy you can find in life is in the suffering of others? You sincerely hope not.

Turn to page 217.

Page 214

"That's precisely the kind of thing I won't have a lady of this house getting involved in!" snaps Mrs. Hamilton. "Return to bed at once, or it will be a dozen strokes of the Scottish tawse for that disobedient rump of yours."

You swallow down your angry riposte and try to stay calm. "Really, Mrs. Hamilton -- the company can't run itself according to your private rules. I'm expected to be there and I intend to go."

Gain 1 point of Ambition for sticking up for yourself.

"Then you'll take your medicine before you go," snaps Mrs. Hamilton firmly. "Get into the kitchen, young lady!"

Alas, you have little choice but to obey. Mrs. Hamilton is your landlady, and your reputation would suffer monstrously if you were thrown out by such a pillar of the community. Trying to make as little fuss as possible you march yourself into the kitchen, Mrs. Hamilton following closely behind, as if guarding you.

"You can bend over the sink," commands Mrs. Hamilton abruptly, pointing at the full basin, still greasy with the half finished washing up. "I suggest you stay still -- unless you want dinner all over your nice, clean suit."

What a devious cow! Gingerly you bend yourself over, pulling your jacket tightly around you so that it does not flop into the slimy water. Mrs. Hamilton, unimpressed with your slow speed puts her hand on your back and pushes you down -- you only just manage to grab onto the far edge of the basin in time to prevent your face becoming immersed. Your arms are all too near the filthy pans that threaten to deposit sauce all over your best jacket! You had better stay stock still if you're going to avoid disaster.

Behind you Mrs. Hamilton briskly pulls up your tight skirt over your upthrust buttocks. In a contemptuous mood she roughly tugs your knickers down, so that they drift down your legs to your ankles, to nest atop your high healed shoes.

Opening the cupboard, Mrs. Hamilton takes down her favoured disciplinary tawse -- a two tailed belt of Scottish leather which she weighs heavily in her hands. "Twelve strokes, as hard as I please," grunts Mrs. Hamilton. "I'd be disappointed if you're not wincing when you sit down at whatever posh party you office girls intend to get up to."

You sigh. If only she knew -- this whipping is just the orderve for a rough night of cruel punishment.

Snap! You hiss through your teeth as the tawse strikes, its twin tails impacting roughly over your bottom. Mrs. Hamilton's whipping strength cannot be denied -- perhaps it is her contempt for youth and freedom that gives her such power?

Snap! Snap!

"Uh!" you cry out throatily, desperately trying to absorb the impact on your bottom into your locked arms, your eyes flashing in panic as your elbow twitches near the saucepan.

"Noisy tart," mutters Mrs. Hamilton. "I'm barely tickling you..."

Snap! Snap!

You bum reddens and judders under the blows as Mrs. Hamilton swings her arm widely to get maximum force out of her strokes. Your knees twitch, and you watch in horror as your body shudders ever closer to the sink water.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 Level .

If you have a Willpower of 5 or more, Turn to page 215.
If not, read on.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

Mrs. Hamilton continues to batter your arse with the wicked tawse, your poor backside flaming under the treatment. One poor blow, a scorcher to your thighs due to a too low swing, catches you off guard and you cringe. The front of your jacket descends into the water, staining it with grease, just as your elbow smears itself into the saucepan and its slimy juices.

Lose 1 Dignity point -- now you'll have to turn up to Mr Jackson's house in a stained suit!

Snap! Snap! Snap!

Mrs. Hamilton finishes her rough treatment of your bum, her blows weakening somewhat as she nears the end. It seems she can no longer deal out a truly testing session at her age, and you sense some regret from her that she has only managed to redden your bum somewhat.

"Now go!" she barks. "But if I hear you've made a disgrace of yourself I'll be fetching my husband."

With this final warning she hangs up her tawse and marches back to the living room to finish her television programme.

You wonder, as you make your way into the blustery night air, if you'll ever become like your landlady - so old and embittered that the only joy you can find in life is in the suffering of others? You sincerely hope not.

Turn to page 217.

Page 215

Snap! Snap! Snap!

Mrs. Hamilton continues to batter your arse with the wicked tawse, your poor backside flaming under the treatment. One poor blow, a scorcher to your thighs due to a too low swing, catches you off guard. The temptation to cringe away from the stinging tawse is almost unbearable -- but you dare not move! One sudden jolt would ruin your suit and leave you open to Mr Jackman's cruel humour.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

Mrs. Hamilton finishes her rough treatment of your bum, her blows weakening somewhat as she nears the end. It seems she can no longer deal out a truly testing session at her age, and you sense some regret from her that she has only managed to redden your bum somewhat.

"Now go!" she barks. "But if I hear you've made a disgrace of yourself I'll be fetching my husband."

With this final warning she hangs up her tawse and marches back to the living room to finish her television programme.

You wander, as you make your way into the blustery night air, if you'll ever become like your landlady - so old and embittered that the only joy you can find in life is in the suffering of others? You sincerely hope not.

Turn to page 217.

Page 216

You couldn't possibly take two beatings in one night -- the risk of breaking down and weeping before another manager is too great. To hell with the paperwork! You'll just have to make a note in your report that Horace Jackman refused to surrender relevant documentation. Perhaps that will cause him some trouble? Knowing how the misogynistic management culture works on Westjack no doubt Mr Stevenson will find some way to turn the facts against you ... but that's a problem for another day.

If you have the codeword LOST, Turn to page 273.
If not, read on.

Record the codeword LOST . The final report may not be complete, but you can still make the best of what you have.

If you have the codeword FOUND, Turn to page 272.

If not, it's time to look for more of that missing paperwork!

What do you want to track down next?

The information dumped into the outdoor skip? Turn to page 160.

Or get your lazy team off their arses and demand they start organising the office? Turn to page 256.

(You can't search for the same piece of info twice).

Page 217

You shiver in the cold night air as you turn on to Clayton Road. The walk to your oncoming punishment is mercilessly brief, and Number Eight, with its small, neat garden is easy to locate.

Having come this far there seems to be no point in backing out now. You stride up to the front door and rap on the knocker, trying to suppress the nervous fluttering in your belly. The door is soon opened by a strong but attractive woman in her mid-forties, dressed immaculately in an evening gown.

"Miss. Hathaway?" she asks politely.

"Yes ... that's it -- Dianne Hathaway..." you mutter nervously.

You are suddenly unsure of what to say. Has Horace briefed his wife on the reason for your coming tonight? If not, how do you introduce yourself? 'Hello, Mrs. Jackman, I've come to be spanked by your husband!'?

Fortunately the awkwardness passes swiftly. "Do come in," Mrs. Jackman says warmly. "You must be freezing out there."

Stepping aside to let you into the narrow hallway, Mrs. Jackman politely asks you to remove your shoes.

"My husband is such a beast," she exclaims as you remove your footware. "Fancy making a young woman walk the streets alone at night just for a little spanking."

She clucks her tongue as she takes your coat, her eyes examining the curve of your body. "He certainly has an eye for pretty young things, mind you. English, aren't you?" she asks suddenly.

"Yes," you reply.

"This must all seem very weird to you, I'm sure -- but there's a lot of dignity in being spanked," Mrs. Jackman says matter-of-factly, now leading you towards the living room. "My old teacher, Mrs. Hardacre, always told us that if a young lady can take her licks without making a fool of herself she's worth more than the whipper. And you know what -- she's right."

Chatting all the way, Mrs. Jackman escorts you into the living room, lit cosily by a warm fire. You startle slightly as you enter. There is someone else here.

"Hi, Dianne," smiles Jennifer, Mr Stevenson's secretary. "I heard you'd annoyed the big man -- here to take your licks, are you?"

"Jennifer!" you exclaim. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh -- it's a bit embarrassing" confesses Jennifer, blushing slightly. "Mr Jackman says he put a file in the internal mail at work for Mr Stevenson's attention. It never arrived. He says I lost it..."

Mrs. Jackman clucks her tongue again -- a habit you are rapidly finding quite annoying. "Now, now, Jennifer -- I do hope you're not saying my husband is a liar, are you? That's not showing much penitence and submission is it?"

Jennifer's face falls. "Oh no! I didn't mean that! It's just I don't think I saw the file, perhaps I did lose it ... I wouldn't want to contradict Mr Jackman!"

Mrs. Jackman laughs, sitting down and inviting the two of you to do the same. "Oh, Jennifer -- no wonder you get into so much trouble. If you'd have just accepted responsibility and bent over the desk Horace would have given you a few swats and that would be that. Instead you just had to go and argue with him."

"I know! I know!" giggles Jennifer.

This surreal girl talk is only increasing your nerves. These women are laughing away, but as far as you can see this is no laughing matter. This evening is going to end with sore bottoms -- yours and Jennifer's. Why is she so merry about it?

"Would either of you like a drink before we crack on?" smiles Mrs. Jackman.

"Not for me, thanks," says Jennifer. "I'd rather get it all over with if it's okay with you."

"Dianne?"

"No -- no, nothing," you say, trying to smile like Jennifer.

"Right -- well, my husband likes his victims warmed up, so ... Dianne - why don't you pop yourself over my knee and I'll give you a quick pre-spanking to get you ready?"

You stiffen. Now the wife wants to beat you as well! What do you do?

Ask if it's normal to get a 'pre-spanking' from your punisher's wife? Turn to page 218.

Agree to be spanked by Mrs. Jackman? Turn to page 219.

Refuse -- after all, the deal was that Mr Jackman would spank you? Turn to page 220.

Page 218

Mrs. Jackman looks uncomfortable with the pointed question. "Well -- I wouldn't know what other households do. But a quick spanking from the lady of the house has always been the tradition in my husband's house."

"But is it normal?" you press. "I have a reputation to think of. When you've been punished by other men, have their wives spanked you as well?"

"Not as such, no..." confesses Mrs. Jackman.

"So why would it be appropriate for me to submit myself to you like that?" you demand.

"Because ... because my husband trusts me," blathers Mrs. Jackman. "To help him undertake his tasks. He's quite happy to let me spank his guests if it's appropriate."

This seems a rather thin reason.

What do you do?

Agree to be spanked by Mrs. Jackman? Turn to page 219.

Refuse -- after all, the deal was that Mr Jackman would spank you? Turn to page 220.

Page 219

You knew when you entered this house that you were going to end up with a bruised bottom. It might be as well to let Mrs. Jackman have her due.

You stand up and walk over to Mrs. Jackman's proffered lap. You bend over gently, Mrs. Jackman helping you reach a comfortable position. "Would you lift your skirt and drop your knickers for me, Dianne?" she asks politely. "It's all bare bottom punishment on Westjack Island."

Yes ... you'd gathered that by now. Having shown your bum to plenty of men you don't really mind showing it to another woman ... or women. Jennifer is, after all, still in the room watching intently. Fair's fair, you suppose -- after all, you've seen her bottom all marked and caned, why shouldn't she see yours spanked?

With your clothing suitably raised (and lowered), Mrs. Jackman pats your bum and presses down between your shoulders, your hair sweeping the old carpet as you are forcibly bent over. Your backside rises into full bloom. Subconsciously licking her lips Mrs. Jackman raises her hand.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

With sharp, swift spanks to your exposed cheeks, Mrs. Jackman unleashes a torrent of hot slaps to your shifting buttocks. Individually the blows aren't that strong, but they are very frequent, building up into a small fire of pain that blossoms all across your bum.

"Do stop wriggling, Dianne, there's a good girl," chides Mrs. Jackman, never ceasing to whack your cheeks with her blurring hand.

"Should I hold her down, Mrs. Jackman?" offers Jennifer.

"Oh! That would be sweet of you -- yes please, Jennifer!"

Smack! Smack! Smack!

Holding onto your hands and gazing into your eyes, Jennifer holds you firmly in place as Mrs. Jackman spanks your naked bum. Jennifer watches your expressions as the fire builds and dissipates across the broad island of your behind, whispering reassurances when you wince -- chiding you when you wriggle.

If your Ambition is more than 5 you find Jennifer's attitude painfully patronising. Lose 1 Dignity point . If your Ambition is 5 or less you actually find Jennifer's words quite reassuring. Gain 1 Willpower point .

Smack! Smack!

Finally, unannounced, your spanking comes to an end. Your bottom feels very evenly sore. Raise your Bum Status by 1 Level .

"Well done, Dianne -- not bad for a mainlander," smiles Mrs. Jackman, helping you up from your stretched position. "Jennifer's turn now. I expect you'll enjoy watching her receive what you've just got?"

Sensing a trap you quickly profess that you wish Jennifer no harm.

"Don't be daft, Dianne," laughs Jennifer as she slides herself over Mrs. Jackman's knee. "It's only natural you'll want to see me suffer as much as you. Why don't you hold on to me like I did you? See if I make as big a fool of myself as you've just done?"

Cheeky imp! With barely disguised glee you quickly kneel down by Jennifer's head, grasping her arms once she has finished tugging her knickers down to her thighs.

There's not much doubt Jennifer takes her licks rather better than you did. It takes a couple of minutes for Mrs. Jackman to wipe the smirk off her victim's face, despite spanking her faster and harder than you have just experienced. You get the feeling that this is not the first time Jennifer has been punished in this household, and you feel acutely like an outsider despite your intimate view of the proceedings.

Gratifyingly, towards the end, her bum blushing as red as a strawberry, Jennifer finally begins to break and pull against you, groaning and quietly begging for mercy. Not long after this shameful grovelling Mrs. Jackman does indeed halt the punishment.

"It's important a girl is properly tested," announces Mrs. Jackman to no one in particular. "Far too many men only punish to sate their anger, not for the good of the lady. A good punisher spanks slightly more than a girl thinks she can take."

Jennifer exchanges a private glance with you, rolling her eyes sarcastically at this haughty wisdom. Fortunately Mrs. Jackman doesn't see it.

Once everyone is standing Mrs. Jackman clicks her tongue. "Well -- that's everyone warmed up," she says, her brow slightly speckled from the exertion of beating two grown up ladies. "I suppose it's time for you to meet my husband..."

Turn to page 221.

Page 220

Folding your arms tightly and rising to your feet you make it perfectly clear to Mrs. Jackman that you have no intension of receiving any kind of 'optional' beating from her.

Gain 1 point of Dignity for this firm stand, and gain the codeword PRIDE .

Mrs. Jackman's face falls and takes on a stony expression. "I see," she says icily. "Clearly you are one of those conservative girls who think only men deserve the privilege of spanking a woman. I must confess I find your attitude very outdated -- but very well. Come, I'll take you to my husband."

Mrs. Jackman rises, but she is quickly intercepted by Jennifer. "Lydia," she says. "I don't have any objection to..."

"That's very kind, Jennifer dear," snaps Mrs. Jackman, "but I'm not really in the mood anymore. Now, follow me, please."

Mrs. Jackman opens the door and walks out into the hallway.

You sigh. "I suppose I'm going to suffer for this in a moment," you confide to Jennifer.

Jennifer shrugs. "We'll see -- come on, we don't want to be late. That will really make Horace mad!"

Turn to page 221.

Page 221

Mrs. Jackman leads you and Jennifer into the kitchen, which like most Westjack kitchens is kept immaculately clean (presumably on pain of punishment). She opens a black wooden door, beyond which lie a set of stairs that descend into gloomy light.

"My husband converted the cellar into a place where he can discipline women without disturbing the neighbours," explains Mrs. Jackman. She blushes. "I'm afraid he found me rather noisy to begin with..."

She begins to descend the stairs, beckoning you to follow. You descend with Jennifer into a surprisingly comfortable red chamber, luxurious deep pile carpets pleasant on your bare feet. A couple of sofas, a small card table with a bottle of white wine upon it, and a cabinet make up the ordinary furniture, but your eyes are drawn to more prominent pieces...

Two stocks, almost medieval looking, designed to secure the head and hands, stand proudly erected just off centre in the room. Standing tall, grinning broadly, between the stocks is Horace Jackman, wrench in hand from having just made the finishing touches to his masterpieces.

You swallow nervously. This is a little more intense than you thought.

"Well, well, well -- two English girls in one night," he laughs. "I'm glad you made it. I have to say I half expected you, Dianne, to find yourself conveniently unavailable. I'm glad I was proven wrong. As you can see I've made many preparations to ensure the two of you thoroughly learn the lesson of humility -- but first we can start with your apologies. Let's start with you, Jennifer -- what do you have to say to me?"

Jennifer clears her throat, steps forward, placing her hands penitently before her, lowering her head in mock shame. "I'm truly very sorry I mislaid your important documents for Mr Stevenson," she says earnestly. "I should have paid more attention to my work, and not argued with you when you pointed out my mistake."

"Good girl," says Mr Jackman in a patronising tone. "Of course I can never be sure if you English girls are speaking from the heart or just telling me what I want to hear. Perhaps I'll make you repeat your apology at the end of your punishment and see. Now you, Dianne. What do you have to say to me?"

What do you do?

Refuse to apologise -- just point out that you have an agreement to be punished in exchange for the documents? Turn to page 222.

Try and copy Jennifer's style as best as you can, looking earnest and wistful? Turn to page 223.

Fall to your knees and beg his forgiveness for your earlier rudeness? Turn to page 224.

Page 222

"Look, Horace," you sigh. "We have a deal. You can spank me -- I get the papers. But I'm not a damn actress, I'm not going to lie to you about feeling sorry -- because I'm not."

Gain 1 point of Ambition .

Horace laughs throatily. "I like it -- you don't bullshit me. But you will be sorry, Dianne," he warns darkly. "You will be sorry..."

Turn to page 225.

Page 223

Horace Jackman watches in delight as you murmur out your apology in a childish voice, accepting the full blame for being difficult and letting him know that you are truly, truly sorry.

Horace Jackman claps his hands sarcastically. "Someone get that girl an Oscar!" he laughs. "Actually, don't. I didn't believe a word of it. You need to polish up on your acting skills, love."

You try to cover your mistake. "But, Mr Jackman, I really am very..."

"...stupid," finishes Mr Jackman, "if you think I'll fall for that. But don't worry, you will be genuinely sorry soon enough."

Lose 1 Dignity point for this awkward humiliation.

Turn to page 225.

Page 224

You hear Jennifer gasp in amazement as you drop shamelessly to your knees and begin to beg Mr Jackman for forgiveness. You plead with him not to treat you too harshly whilst accepting totally the full fault of the matter was yours. You sense that the women in the room feel you have gone too far, sacrificing your woman's dignity too much for the pleasure of Mr Jackman. Lose 1 Dignity point . Horace, however, finds the display most appealing.

"At last an honest apology!" he declares. "If you'd have done this in my office I would have let you have those files, no spanking necessary. But since I've gone to all this trouble, I'm afraid you'll have to suffer something. I'm sure you understand."

"Of course, Mr Jackman," you whine earnestly. "Naturally, I wouldn't want to deprive you of your right to punish me."

"Good girl -- up on your feet!" he cries. "It's time we got started..."

Gain the codeword GROVEL .

Turn to page 225.

Page 225

"Now, stand to attention!" barks Mr Jackman. "Hands behind back, shoulders back, chest out. Hup!"

Jennifer immediately enters the poise, her breasts thrusting forward as she shunts her shoulders back. Caught up in the moment you immediately copy her.

"Now," says Horace, swaggering up and down in front of the two of you. "This will be a full on disciplinary punishment. Once I begin there will be no option to back down. My wife will be present to make sure everything is seemly and correct."

He indicates his wife upon the sofa. She has cracked open the bottle of wine and has poured a glass for herself and her husband. She curls herself up in the sofa to make herself comfortable for the oncoming spectacle.

"In a moment," says Horace, "you will be secured tightly in the stocks and flogged soundly upon your naked bottoms. First, however, you will strip entirely naked. This is a full judicial punishment and therefore appropriate."

If you have the codeword NAKED Turn to page 228.
If not, read on.

"Naked!" you cry in horror.

"That's right -- completely nude, everything off," clarifies Horace.

"I couldn't possibly..." you begin, but you are cut off by Jennifer.

"It's alright, Dianne," says Jennifer reassuringly. "It's quite normal for a woman to be whipped nude here, especially if the punishment is long."

"It's very sensual," adds Mrs. Jackman, "it creates a bond between the whipper and the punished. Your every struggle, every motion during the punishment can be observed. It forces you to think about your deportment and makes the whole event less seedy."

"Besides, I'm telling you to do it!" barks Horace. "Come on! Kit off!"

Your head spins. Can you really strip yourself entirely naked so this man can ogle at your body as he beats you?

What will you do?

Follow Jennifer and Mrs. Jackman's advice and strip off? Turn to page 226.

Or point blank refuse to do so? Turn to page 227.

Page 226

Your throat is too choked with emotion to say anything, so you just nod numbly. Beside you Jennifer begins to remove her own clothing, starting with her blouse -- removing it with no-nonsense, practiced ease.

You have never taken your clothes off in public. You find the task acutely shameful. Slowly removing your work jacket first, you fold it up and place it neatly on the ground next to you. You remove your skirt next, reasoning that your top at least covers your knickers for a few precious seconds as you do so.

Still under the accusing eyes of your audience you slowly pull off your top, leaving you in your underwear. Which to remove first? You suppose dignity demands that you reveal your breasts first, and you unclasp your bra with trembling fingers that delays the final release of your round tits delightfully.

Just the knickers to go. Trying to suppress your tears you swiftly tug your knickers down and clamber out of them, your naked buttocks rolling and generous breasts bobbing as you complete the manoeuvre.

You've never felt less ready, more vulnerable or nervous. Lose 1 point of Ambition , Dignity and Willpower as your small audience drink in your nakedness.

Beside you Jennifer has already finished, standing proudly naked, her small breasts jutting forwards, her eyes taking in your own nudity to slake her curiosity.

"Well -- with the formalities out the way, let's get the two of you locked up," grins Horace, seemingly addressing his comments to your shyly covered boobs.

Gain the codeword NAKED .

Turn to page 229.

Page 227

"No -- that's too far," you say to Horace. "You can whip me, but I won't strip for you."

Horace shrugs. "If you won't strip, I won't whip. And you can forget about ever finding those documents."

"Fine," you say, defiantly. "You're not worth it. I'll show myself out."

You spin on your heel and march smartly up the stairs.

"Give my regards to Mr Stevenson!" laughs Horace as you exit the cellar. You shudder -- your bum is going to pay a heavy price for this. But at least Horace Jackman won't get to see it.

Gain 1 Ambition point .

To hell with the paperwork! You'll just have to make a note in your report that Horace Jackman refused to surrender relevant documentation. Perhaps that will cause him some trouble? Knowing how the misogynistic management culture works on Westjack no doubt Mr Stevenson will find some way to turn the facts against you ... but that's a problem for another day.

If you have the codeword LOST, Turn to page 273.
If not, read on.

Record the codeword LOST . The final report may not be complete, but you can still make the best of what you have.

If you have the codeword FOUND, Turn to page 272.

If not, its time to look for more of that missing paperwork!

What do you want to track down next?

The information dumped into the outdoor skip? Turn to page 160.

Or get your lazy team off their arses and demand they start organising the office? Turn to page 256.

(You can't search for the same piece of info twice).

Page 228

The command isn't unexpected -- being experienced in the ways of Westjack Island the moment you saw how much trouble Horace had gone to you knew you would end up naked. No big deal.

You quickly begin to strip your clothes off, your eyes catching Jennifer as you do. She's racing you. The two of you immediately start to compete, pulling off your clothes as fast as possible. You give a squeal of delight as you manage to dispense with your clothes first, pushing Jennifer impishly as she still struggles to remove her knickers.

Your mutual giggling is cut short. "All right, all right!" barks Horace. "Atten -- sion!"

Still trying to suppress a giggle, you and Jennifer stand side by side naked, your twin sets of breasts bouncing with your mirth much to the evident delight of Mr Jackman.

Turn to page 229.

Page 229

Mr Jackman strolls over to the left hand stocks and lifts a heavy iron bolt from its fastening. He opens the stock, holding the upper beam high. He looks directly at you.

"Dianne, you first," he commands, sending a shiver down your naked body. "Stand two feet away from the base of the stocks, bend over and put your neck in the big hole, and your wrists in the little holes."

You've come this far ... at least Jennifer is going to be suffering with you. You step forwards and bend over gingerly into the wooden stocks. The base on the neck hole is padded, which is a small relief. There is similar, albeit less generous padding on the arm holes, and you rest your wrists upon them awkwardly as you try to balance.

"Make sure your wrists are dead centre -- you don't want this catching..." warns Horace as he begins to close the stocks shut.

Clunk! The pressure tightens around your neck as the padding from the top of the hole meets with the bottom. It's hardly throttling, but it is tight. On your wrists you cannot feel so much as a centimetre of room in their padded holding so tight is the grip of the merciless stocks. Horace quickly slides the bolt in place and secures it, leaving you totally trapped! That's it -- you'll stay in these stocks until Mr Jackman has finished with you.

The great wooden headpiece of the stocks prevents you from looking behind you. You can see only the chipped red wall in front of you and, if you turn your head, the other stocks. From this twisted position you watch silently as Jennifer lowers her head vulnerably into her own stocks. As soon as she is in position she is swiftly locked in place with heavy clunk, Mr Jackman snapping the locks closed around the headpiece so she is as trapped as you are. You can only see Jennifer's head and half the top of her naked body. You swallow heavily as you observe how her small breasts dangle helplessly below her, realising that your own, heavier breasts will be just as acutely visible to Mr Jackman and his voyeuristic wife. Clearly, if you should bounce, sway or make a fuss, your naked boobs will bounce comically for their amusement. You make a silent vow to be still.

"Now then," booms Mr Jackman behind you, slapping your naked bottom to get your attention. "Just because you are in a stock doesn't mean I don't expect good poise! Place your feet about a foot apart, rise up on tiptoes and stick that bum well up! I want a nice, clear, steady target to aim at. Are you listening as well, Jennifer?"

There is a loud smack, and a small cry. "Yes, Mr Jackman!" shrieks Jennifer, caught off-guard by the crafty slap to her poorly presented behind.

Opening your legs as little as you think you can get away with, you rise up onto your tiptoes, curve your back and push your bottom right out, your anus and sex lips now clearly visible to your audience. You hear a coo of delight from the sofa behind you. "What a magnificent behind," admits Mrs. Jackman breathlessly. "No wonder my husband was so keen to give you a good hiding!"

"Strictly for her own good, of course," adds Mr Jackman hastily. "This is just good business practice. You can't let girls get all bossy and argumentative -- they have to know who's in charge."

Mrs. Jackman laughs. "I'm sure in this case you are mixing business with pleasure -- but you're quite right, dear. We mustn't forget that it was a serious lack of manners that put these girls in this position. I'm sure they'll know who's in charge by the end of this!"

Mr Jackman makes his way over a cupboard -- you can't see what he's rummaging for, but you can guess that it is likely an implement for your poor, defenceless behind. How you wish you could twist round and see -- being locked in place makes you feel completely out of control.

If your Ambition is 7 or more this loss of control saps your confidence and unnerves you. Lose 1 Willpower point .

"What do you think, dear," Mr Jackman asks his wife. "The heavy strap or the pigskin flogger?"

"Hmm ... the flogger I think -- let's make a meal out of them," purrs Mrs. Jackman. "That beastly strap will end things too quickly. Not that the flogger's much more lenient."

You have an aching desire to see both of the implements so you can judge for yourself. However your opinion is not sought, and soon Mr Jackman returns the strap to the cupboard, whisking the pigskin flogger through the air ominously. It makes a heavy whooshing sound, and you can't help but flinch your buttocks as Mr Jackman practices with the weapon noisily through the air.

"I don't often get to punish two beautiful backsides at once," he ponders, still slicing the air with his flogger. "How about making it a game? The girl who bears up best to her punishment gets let off a bit early. She who wiggles the most gets extra. Sound good?"

You quickly gaze at Jennifer, who seems to shrug her shoulders. Clearly she doesn't mind -- it's your decision.

If you wish to play this game Turn to page 230.

If you'd rather you both received the same punishment, Turn to page 241.

Page 230

"Excellent!" cries Mr Jackman. "I always like to encourage fun at work. My wife will be the impartial arbiter of this match. Right then -- you were sentenced to four dozen each. Instead you'll take three dozen each, and the loser takes an extra two dozen. Now that's something to play for! Right then, bums up!"

You take a deep breath and rise to your full height on tiptoes, your bottom sticking out -- a round and juicy target. To your right Jennifer does the same. Behind you Mr Jackman's eyes flicker between the two gorgeous bums he has in his power. He whisks the flogger down...

Splat! You jolt as what feels like a hundred tiny strips of leather snap against your bottom. You let forth a cry at the unusual sensation, your right buttock taking the majority of the force of the blow.

Splat! To your right you watch as Jennifer's face grimaces. Her body shakes a little, her breasts giving away her distress by wobbling slightly beneath her.

"Definitely a point to Jennifer," opinions Mrs. Jackman, sipping her wine delicately behind you. "Do try to remember your poise, Dianne!"

You steel yourself for another. Beating Jennifer, clearly a girl used to regular bare bottom punishment, isn't going to be easy...

Splat! Splat!

"Uh! Oh!" you cry at the unexpected, crafty second stroke, as it sears across your behind. You bottom is visibly lifted by the upwards stroke, to bounce gaily back into place, kissed red by the cruel pigskin flogger. And to think, this was the softer of the two implements! What cruel bruising would have been inflicted with the heavy strap?

Splat! Splat! Two strokes of the flogger snap against Jennifer's bumskin, but this is not enough break her poise. What iron is this girl made of that, even locked naked in a stock, all hope of reprieve gone, she can still endure such a public beating from this cruel alpha male?

Splat! Splat! Splat! You mutual beating goes on, and you try your best to remain ladylike and poised, your body taut on aching tiptoes as the fiery flogger bastes your backside. By the end of the first dozen Mrs. Jackman confirms what you suspected.

"Well -- Jennifer is well in the lead. I think you can look forward to a jolly sore bottom tonight, Dianne!"

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

You must somehow gain an edge ... but how?

Will you:

Drop yourself from your tiptoes and go onto flat feet? Mr Jackman won't like it, but you may be able to endure you beating better without the aching strain? Turn to page 231.

Try to distract Jennifer with some mean facial expressions, in the hope that this will put her off her game? Turn to page 232.

Beg Mr Jackman to whip you harder, as if you are enjoying it, hoping this will intimidate Jennifer? Turn to page 234.

Or play it straight, keep poise, and just get on as best you can? Turn to page 235.

Page 231

In a conscious decision you drop to the balls of your feet as the flogger descends mercilessly upon your behind. Splat! Splat!

Your new position is indeed easier to hold, but it cuts no mustard with the Jackman's. "Back on your tiptoes, you English tart!" bellows Mr Jackman, as he finishes painting Jennifer's behind with his latest set.

"I can't -- it's too painful!" you complain. "You already have me in these beastly stocks. Aren't you happy?"

Splat! Splat!

"Undignified harlot!" he swears as he swots your backside again with his angry flogger.

Splat! Splat!

He focuses exclusively on your behind for half a dozen strokes, trying to get you to behave. You stubbornly remain down on your heels, absorbing his strokes with a defiant silence even as your backside blazes behind you.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

Eventually he returns to beating both your bottoms equally, ending with an unbroken chain of strokes to poor Jennifer's behind so that your tallies are even. She shrieks and howls through her lot, but even this is not enough to save you.

"Despite Jennifer's noise and your silence I think we can say Jennifer is still far in the lead," concludes Mrs. Jackman wisely at the culmination of your second dozen. "At least she understands instructions and tries her best. Now back on your tiptoes and bum up, Dianne. You might just be able to pull through and win if you get your act together ... though I doubt it."

This is dispiriting news -- but what else can you do? Reluctantly you climb back up onto aching toes, raising your scorching backside above you for the last twelve strokes ... you hope...

Turn to page 236.

Page 232

This is a brutal game -- you'll have to play mean. Waiting until you and Jennifer are a few strokes in to your second dozen, you suddenly press your tongue against your bottom lip and leer at Jennifer. You do this just as a particularly hard stroke cracks into her bottom. Splat!

If your Ambition is 6 or more Turn to page 233.
If not, read on.

Perhaps you just like Jennifer too much, or maybe the long beating has weakened you, but Jennifer mistakes your half-meant withering glare as joke, and giggles as the blow impacts against her bottom. Her spirits rallied, she arrogantly wiggles her bum high above her, as if to tease Mr Jackman. Taking the challenge he unleashes three strokes on the trot against her snide backside -- but even this is not enough to break her impeccable poise.

You do not fare so well. Dispirited that your intimidation has failed, you cry out in despair as Mr Jackman evens the tally with a bombardment of four strokes against your helpless backside.

Splat! Splat! Splat! Splat!

"Uh! Oh! Ah! Ahh!" you groan, the furnace in your behind growing hotter and hotter.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

"Well done, Jennifer!" coos Mrs. Jackman. "You're well on your way to victory. Come on, Dianne! Are you a grown woman? Take your well-earned blows with some fortitude! I know you can do better!"

You'll have to -- Jennifer is now well in the lead. A straight race of endurance awaits you...

Turn to page 236.

Page 233

Jennifer is unable to understand your sudden meanness, and the despair you provoke breaks her perfect poise.

"Ouch!" she cries, physically wriggling, her boobs bouncing, one leg cocking behind her as if to shield her bum from its cruel barrage.

"Bad girl!" snaps Mr Jackman. "Leg down -- back on tiptoes -- bum up!"

Jennifer hurriedly obeys, her face flushed with shame. Pursuing his advantage, Mr Jackman whips down again.

Splat!

"Ahhh!" she wails, her spirits still unready for another stroke so soon. She hops her bum, her tits bouncing wildly as she jolts in the rattling stocks that so cruelly pinion her.

"Oh, dear..." sympathises Mrs. Jackman quietly as she watches this undignified display.

Mr Jackman nods, pleased with himself, before resuming your punishment with his slashing flogger.

Splat! Splat!

Heartened at your little victory you barely shudder, even as the tiny leather strips scratch your backside in their heavy mass. So it goes for the rest of the second dozen, Jennifer whimpering and still recovering her wits, you heroically enduring whatever Mr Jackman can throw at you.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

"Well," says Mrs. Jackman breathlessly. "The tide has turned. It now seems Dianne is in the lead. Do try to keep up, Jennifer, you're lack of control is a little ... disappointing."

Jennifer glares at you, as you quietly smirk -- unseen by your mean punisher.

Turn to page 239.

Page 234

You endure a few strokes to build up momentum, concentrating on the fierce sting in your behind, before finally crying out: "Yes! Oh, God, yes! Again! Harder ... please, Mr Jackman!"

Jennifer looks at you, startled. As a big, tough, intimidating manager, this is the last thing she would have expected from you.

Splat! Mr Jackman obeys, slamming the flogger's many tendrils into your quivering backside with all his might. You gasp and judder, your breasts shaking under the impact, and unleash a howl from your soul.

"Oh! Thank you, sir!" you cry, clunking the back of your head against the back of the stocks as you throw your head back, your bum stinging wildly. "Please! Again! Please ... I can't wait..."

"You'll have to," grunts Mr Jackman, inwardly pleased with your sudden lasciviousness. He moves onto Jennifer, whipping fiercely down into her presented buttocks ... but he is thinking of you as he does so.

Jennifer takes it with all the poise you could expect, but she continues to look upon you in wonder.

"Is it my turn? Please say it's my turn!" you beg shamelessly. "Please whip me, Mr Jackman. Hard -- like before. No, harder! I need it!"

Mrs. Jackman seems stunned into silence at your outrageous display. Lose 1 Dignity points as you shamelessly grovel for your strokes.

Mr Jackman, however, has no complaints to make about your behaviour...

Snap! Snap! Snap! He cracks the flogger deep into your scarlet cheeks, exulting at your every cry and shameful begging for more. Although you do not hide your pain, you know that Mr Jackman is extracting every ounce of pleasure he can from flogging your willingly presented buttocks.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

How cold and clinical, then, his beating of Jennifer seems. She takes her strokes well and with dignity, but she somehow senses she is not the winner of the round.

"That was very powerful, my dear," concedes Mrs. Jackman. "I'm going to say you've pulled ahead of Jennifer there -- but I think we've heard enough noise from you. I want to see if you can take the rest of your punishment with more lady-like decorum. Jennifer -- do try harder."

You shake in your victory. You've made a total fool of yourself -- how will you look Jennifer in the eye again? And yet you know, deep within you, that those words were not faked. Somewhere inside you wanted Horace Jackman to beat you hard, and cruelly. What is happening to you on this island?

Turn to page 239.

Page 235

You refuse to cheat or beg or dissemble. If you're going to lose you may as well lose honestly. But it really looks like you're going to lose...

Splat! Splat!

You and Jennifer grunt and groan in alternation as the wicked pigskin flogger reddens your backsides with its inevitable rhythm. Sometimes you can match Jennifer for noise emitted. Sometimes you can restrain your wiggling, like her. But to do both at the same time, and for as long as she can ... well -- you are an amateur against a professional.

Splat!

"Oh!" you groan volubly, at a particularly low stroke to your bum, the greedy fingers of the flogger caressing your sex lips. Your toes ache with the constant strain of holding you taut. If only you'd attended ballet classes like your mother told you!

"Not so noisy, dear, there's a good girl," advises Mrs. Jackman, taking another sip of wine. "And you're shaking. Try to re-double your efforts. Jennifer, you're doing very well."

Lose 1 Willpower point -- it seems even your best effort isn't good enough for Mrs. Jackman!

As the beating reaches the conclusion of the second dozen you notice a slight change. There is an increase in noise from Jennifer, a greater amount of shaking from her small boobs. Indeed, her very expression looks much more focuses and tired. She's weakening!

Splat! But then again so are you, you ruefully reflect as you try and suppress a howl at a powerful stroke that that seems to sink into your bum like a hundred stinging wasps.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

"Well done, Jennifer -- still in the lead!" declares Mrs. Jackman fairly. "But careful, Dianne is catching you up. You don't want it to be your backside that takes the two dozen extra!"

There's still hope ... just. Turn to page 236.

Page 236

So this is it -- the final dozen. Jennifer is still ahead of you, having put on a powerful performance. Somehow though you suspect the length of the beating is wearing her down. If she's anything like you, she'll be aching from the stocks, her calves and toes with be lancing with pain, and her bum a throbbing, stinging orb of fire. If you can get stronger as she get weaker, you might just pull through...

Splat! Splat!

Mr Jackman renews his bombardment, evenly splitting his strokes, watching carefully for your flinches and moans. You are so achy and tired ... if only you could stand for a moment, cradle your flaming bum ... you know you could get through it.

Mr Jackman, however, grants scant mercy. Splat! Splat! Splat! His cracking flogger never ceases its pounding of your bum cheeks. Beside you Jennifer cries out, and you too are sorely tempted...

If your Willpower is 9 or more Turn to page 237.
If not read on.

Splat! An uneven blow -- the tendrils of the flogger plunge into your bum crevice and snap at the mouth of your arsehole. It is enough. Your body physically cringes in the stocks -- your leg shoots out, your bum hops, your breasts bounce wildly. You howl out in virtual defeat at the unfair blow which would surely tax the patience of a saint!

Splat! Splat! Mr Jackman inflicts a double blow on Jennifer's burning buttocks to even out pain, but it is too little, too late. By the time he returns the flogger to your arse you are sobbing in misery.

Splat!

"Uhhhh!" you moan aloud, even at this comparatively light blow, ruining your chances forever. Jennifer sails through her set, allowing herself the occasional indulgent cry, certain in her victory. By the time Mr Jackman has finished with your bum, you are a cringing, ruined wreck.

"Victory for Jennifer!" cries Mrs. Jackman, applauding wildly. "Well taken, Jenny -- doubt I could have done better myself!"

"Thanks, Mrs. Jackman!" replies Jennifer breathlessly, clenching and unclenching her bum to disperse the fiery pain of her beating.

You feel a heavy, rough hand on your backside. "Commiserations, Dianne," leers Mr Jackman, feeling the raising bruises on your punished behind. "Two dozen more for you. But then again -- that's the name of the game, right?"

You hang your head in despair. "Yes, Mr Jackman," you reluctantly concur.

Jennifer is released from her stocks so she can join Mrs. Jackman on the sofa. You put on quite a show -- already bested and weakened you can offer little resistance as Mr Jackman flogs your bottom vigorously. Behind you the girls cheer whenever he lays a particularly strong blow upon your bottom -- splat!

After two dozen strokes you are drooling, unable to wipe your mouth as you babble and cry. Your bum feels aflame as Mr Jackman teaches you the lesson in manners he so fervently desires. You admit -- you're unlikely to treat Mr Jackman with anything less than total respect in the future, knowing how well and cruelly he can beat a woman who defies him.

Lose 1 Ambition point , and raise your Bum Status by 2 levels .

Finally your whipping ends, but you are left to hang in the stocks for a half an hour or so. Your bruised bottom, lashed from top to bottom, serves as the primary subject of conversation as Jennifer and the two Jackman's drink wine and relax after their trying evening.

Eventually you too are released, virtually flopping into the sofa with exhaustion. From this moment on the Jackman's are perfect hosts, fetching you a stiff drink, blankets, and even massaging your aching shoulders helping you to recover from your ordeal. The Jackman's seem pleased with you even in your failure.

"So -- you lost," shrugs Mr Jackman. "At least you lost with style! We Westjack men appreciate a game girl." Gain 1 point of Reputation .

Though you were defeated you still feel alive and invigorated. Westjack Island may be a trying experience, but it's definitely not dull! Gain 1 Fun point .

Turn to page 240.

Page 237

Splat! An uneven blow -- the tendrils of the flogger plunge into your bum crevice and snap at the mouth of your arsehole. It is a terrible shock and you shudder and make to howl out ... but you hold back. Some inner reserve of strength holds you back. You must win this contest!

You are dazed and breathless. One more stroke will send you over the edge ... fortunately Mr Jackman does not notice your weakened state. Perhaps he didn't even notice his unchivalric blow to your bumhole, for he moves seamlessly onto Jennifer whipping his flogger down with all the mercy of a fanatic whipping an apostate.

Splat! "Ahhh!" comes the cry you've longed to hear. Jennifer breaks at last, cringing visibly in the stocks, her tits bouncing with the sudden jar.

"Bad show, Jennifer," tuts Mrs. Jackman.

And with that the contest flies in your favour. Your morale is instantly boosted, such that even a cruel blow to the very tops of your buttocks cannot make you more than hiss in complaint, whilst Jennifer continually whimpers and judders with every blow across her aching globes.

By the end of the third dozen you are drenched in sweat and exhausted -- Jennifer is sagging and moaning, her body visibly surrendering to your superior endurance. But who will Mrs. Jackman pick as the winner?

If you have the codeword PRIDE, Turn to page 238.
If not, read on.

"Victory for Dianne!" cries Mrs. Jackman, applauding wildly. "What a close contest -- but you really pulled away into the lead. Well done English girl!"

"Thank you, Mrs. Jackman," you reply breathlessly.

You hear a loud slap, and a squeak from Jennifer. "Commiserations, Jennifer," leers Mr Jackman, feeling the raising bruises on her punished behind. "Two dozen more for you. But then again -- that's the name of the game, right?"

Jennifer sniffles. "Yes, Mr Jackman," she admits miserably.

You are released from the stocks, your neck aching painfully. You swiftly grasp your burning buttocks, kneading them to disperse the agony of your beating. Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

Mr Jackman pours you a glass of whiskey while Mrs. Jackman massages your neck patiently. "Now we get to watch a show," giggles Mrs. Jackman, rubbing your bare shoulders. "Just imagine -- it could have been your bum up there now, fearfully awaiting twenty four more agonising strokes. Instead we get to laugh and cheer as Horace puts Jenny through her paces. More whisky?"

As promised Jennifer puts on quite a show. Her resistance tamed and all hope lost, she groans through her extra strokes, whimpering and jolting, her bottom performing a rhythmic dance as Mr Jackman beats out the time. You reflect on how foolish you would have looked, up there in the stocks, cringing and weeping, and feel proud that you have borne yourself with grace under fire. Gain 2 points of Dignity and gain 3 Reputation points .

Even after the whipping Jennifer is left in the stocks, her up-thrust bottom a portrait you comment on whilst you drink wine with the Jackman's. You become rather tipsy, but your new friends are perfect hosts, and you have a splendid evening gossiping and drinking. You may gain 1 Fun point .

Turn to page 240.

Page 238

"Hmm," considers Mrs. Jackman carefully. "It was a very close thing. But I think I'll have to give victory to Jennifer. She's a little more sporting than Dianne -- who frankly needs taking down a peg or two."

That bitch! She's still sore at your refusal to let her spank you earlier this evening. Well -- it looks like you're going to be the sore one now...

"Thanks, Mrs. Jackman!" replies Jennifer breathlessly, clenching and unclenching her bum to disperse the fiery pain of her beating.

You feel a heavy, rough hand on your backside. "Commiserations, Dianne," leers Mr Jackman, feeling the raising bruises on your punished behind. "Two dozen more for you. But then again -- that's the name of the game, right?"

You hang your head in despair. "Yes, Mr Jackman," you reluctantly concur.

Jennifer is released from her stocks so she can join Mrs. Jackman on the sofa. You put on quite a show -- already bested and weakened you can offer little resistance as Mr Jackman flogs your bottom vigorously. Behind you the girls cheer whenever he lays a particularly strong blow upon your bottom -- splat!

After two dozen strokes you are drooling, unable to wipe your mouth as you babble and cry. Your bum feels aflame as Mr Jackman teaches you the lesson in manners he so fervently desires. You admit -- you're unlikely to treat Mr Jackman with anything less than total respect in the future, knowing how well and cruelly he can beat a woman who defies him.

Lose 1 Ambition point , and raise your Bum Status by 2 levels .

Finally your whipping ends, but you are left to hang in the stocks for a half an hour or so. Your bruised bottom, lashed from top to bottom, serves as the primary subject of conversation as Jennifer and the two Jackman's drink wine and relax after their trying evening.

Eventually you too are released, virtually flopping into the sofa with exhaustion. From this moment on the Jackman's are perfect hosts, fetching you a stiff drink, blankets, and even massaging your aching shoulders helping you to recover from your ordeal. The Jackman's seem pleased with you even in your failure.

"So -- you lost," shrugs Mr Jackman. "At least you lost with style! We Westjack men appreciate a game girl." Gain 1 point of Reputation .

Though you were defeated you still feel alive and invigorated. Westjack Island may be a trying experience, but it's definitely not dull! Gain 1 Fun point .

Turn to page 240.

Page 239

So this is it -- the final dozen. You feel that you're a little ahead of Jennifer - you suspect the length of the beating is wearing her down. If she's anything like you, she'll be aching from the stocks, her calves and toes with be lancing with pain, and her bum a throbbing, stinging orb of fire. If you can get stronger as she get weaker, you might just pull through...

Splat! Splat!

Mr Jackman renews his bombardment, evenly splitting his strokes, watching carefully for your flinches and moans. You are so achy and tired ... if only you could stand for a moment, cradle your flaming bum ... you know you could get through it.

Mr Jackman, however, grants scant mercy. Splat! Splat! Splat! His cracking flogger never ceases its pounding of your bum cheeks. Beside you Jennifer cries out, and you too are sorely tempted...

If your Willpower is 7 or more Turn to page 237.
If not read on.

Splat! An uneven blow -- the tendrils of the flogger plunge into your bum crevice and snap at the mouth of your arsehole. It is enough. Your body physically cringes in the stocks -- your leg shoots out, your bum hops, your breasts bounce wildly. You howl out in virtual defeat at the unfair blow which would surely tax the patience of a saint!

Splat! Splat! Mr Jackman inflicts a double blow on Jennifer's burning buttocks to even out pain, but it is too little, too late. By the time he returns the flogger to your arse you are sobbing in misery.

Splat!

"Uhhhh!" you moan aloud, even at this comparatively light blow, ruining your chances forever. Jennifer sails through her set, allowing herself the occasional indulgent cry, certain in her victory. By the time Mr Jackman has finished with your bum, you are a cringing, ruined wreck.

"Victory for Jennifer!" cries Mrs. Jackman, applauding wildly. "Well taken, Jenny -- doubt I could have done better myself!"

"Thanks, Mrs. Jackman!" replies Jennifer breathlessly, clenching and unclenching her bum to disperse the fiery pain of her beating.

You feel a heavy, rough hand on your backside. "Commiserations, Dianne," leers Mr Jackman, feeling the raising bruises on your punished behind. "Two dozen more for you. But then again -- that's the name of the game, right?"

You hang your head in despair. "Yes, Mr Jackman," you reluctantly concur.

Jennifer is released from her stocks so she can join Mrs. Jackman on the sofa. You put on quite a show -- already bested and weakened you can offer little resistance as Mr Jackman flogs your bottom vigorously. Behind you the girls cheer whenever he lays a particularly strong blow upon your bottom -- splat!

After two dozen strokes you are drooling, unable to wipe your mouth as you babble and cry. Your bum feels aflame as Mr Jackman teaches you the lesson in manners he so fervently desires. You admit -- you're unlikely to treat Mr Jackman with anything less than total respect in the future, knowing how well and cruelly he can beat a woman who defies him.

Lose 1 Ambition point , and raise your Bum Status by 2 levels .

Finally your whipping ends, but you are left to hang in the stocks for a half an hour or so. Your bruised bottom, lashed from top to bottom, serves as the primary subject of conversation as Jennifer and the two Jackman's drink wine and relax after their trying evening.

Eventually you too are released, virtually flopping into the sofa with exhaustion. From this moment on the Jackman's are perfect hosts, fetching you a stiff drink, blankets, and even massaging your aching shoulders helping you to recover from your ordeal. The Jackman's seem pleased with you even in your failure.

"So -- you lost," shrugs Mr Jackman. "At least you lost with style! We Westjack men appreciate a game girl." Gain 1 point of Reputation .

Though you were defeated you still feel alive and invigorated. Westjack Island may be a trying experience, but it's definitely not dull! Gain 1 Fun point .

Turn to page 240.

Page 240

The next day you receive your reward. True to his word Horace Jackman is in your office first thing, a stack of paperwork standing proud upon your desk.

"As it transpires," he grins, "it seems the paperwork was in our cleaner's cupboard all this time."

"I see," you say. You know you should be angry, but just thinking how much trouble you've managed to avoid from Mr Stevenson plasters a smile over your face from ear to ear.

"Hopefully you've learned that by keeping one's manners and being patient you can be rewarded," Horace pontificates odiously. "But that bad behaviour only results in a very sore bottom."

You smile. It's all a game really for Horace Jackman. All he wants are pretty bottoms to beat and a little respect. Besides he serves a cracking wine. "I've learned my lesson very well -- thank you, Mr Jackman," you say clearly.

At that Mr Jackman departs, leaving you to your haul...

If you have the codeword FOUND, Turn to page 270.

If you have the codeword GAIN, cross it off and record the codeword FOUND -- then Turn to page 271.

If you have neither of these Codewords, record the codeword GAIN and Turn to page 271.

Page 241

"Shame," concedes Mr Jackman. "I thought you English girls had a sense of humour. But very well. You've both been very bad girls, and your punishment will reflect that. You'll take four dozen strokes with the pigskin flogger each. The stocks will make sure you don't go anywhere -- and since you entered my house willingly, knowing you were to be punished I don't intend to stop your beating until it's complete. Cries for mercy will not be acknowledged. Do you understand?"

You lock eyes with Jennifer. "Yes, Mr Jackman," you trill together.

"Good," he says. "Maintain the correct deportment. I will repeat strokes that are taken poorly -- so stay on tiptoes."

You take a deep breath and rise to your full height on tiptoes, your bottom sticking out -- a round and juicy target. To your right Jennifer does the same. Behind you Mr Jackman's eyes flicker between the two gorgeous bums he has in his power. He whisks the flogger down...

Splat! You jolt as what feels like a hundred tiny strips of leather snap against your bottom. You let forth a cry at the unusual sensation, your right buttock taking the majority of the force of the blow.

Splat! To your right you watch as Jennifer's face grimaces. Her body shakes a little, her breasts giving away her distress by wobbling slightly beneath her.

"Nicely taken Jennifer," opinions Mrs. Jackman, sipping her wine delicately behind you. "Do try to remember your poise, Dianne!"

You steel yourself for another. Getting beaten with Jennifer will at least increase your mutual sense of camaraderie!

Splat! Splat!

"Uh! Oh!" you cry at the unexpected, crafty second stroke, as it sears across your behind. You bottom is visibly lifted by the upwards stroke, to bounce gaily back into place, kissed red by the cruel pigskin flogger. And to think, this was the softer of the two implements! What cruel bruising would have been inflicted with the heavy strap?

Splat! Splat! Two strokes of the flogger snap against Jennifer's bumskin, but this is not enough break her poise. What iron is this girl made of that, even locked naked in a stock, all hope of reprieve gone, she can still endure such a public beating from this cruel alpha male?

Splat! Splat! Splat! You mutual beating goes on, and you try your best to remain ladylike and poised, your body taut on aching tiptoes as the fiery flogger bastes your backside. More than once you drop accidentally onto the balls of your feet under a particularly harsh blow -- only to be reprimanded by Mr Jackman and his wife, a repeated stroke immediately kissing your backside.

You and Jennifer cry and moan through a set that seems to go on and on. There is no question of escape or willpower seeing you through. You will be beaten to your full measure whether you like it or not -- the stocks keeping both of you firmly immobilised. Behind you Mrs. Jackman sips delicately from her wine glass, observing your discomfort with no small amount of pleasure.

"They writhe so beautifully darling," she says to her husband as you groan your way through your third dozen. "You are a bottom artist, my dear."

"It's my favourite canvass, dear," grunts Mr Jackman, unleashing another cruel stroke upon your helpless bottom.

Splat! Splat! Splat!

If you have the codeword GROVEL, Turn to page 242.

If your Dignity is 7 or more, Turn to page 243.
If not, read on.

Defenceless and exposed, you wriggle and bounce your bum under the cruel bombardment of Mr Jackman's flogger. You could take three dozen ... just. But four dozen sends you over the edge of caring. Soon your legs have slipped wide apart, giving a frankly obscene view to your punisher and his wife. Your writhing, sensuous buttocks, drenched in sweat, undulate with the fiery strokes, your bumhole winking at Mr Jackman as if teasing him. Lashed, sobbing and moaning, Jennifer and you are reduced to very sorry pieces of work. Having seen you so broken and base you wonder how you'll ever look Horace Jackman in the eye again!

Lose 2 points of Ambition .

The final stroke (delivered twice due to his objections over how you took the first one) sinks into your buttocks like a mass of flaming, biting snakes. The tendrils of the whip, upon departing your scorching behind, reveal your arse blistered and bruised under the relentless onslaught.

Raise your Bum Status by 4 levels .

"Now girls," demands Mr Jackman, "are you sorry? Truly sorry?"

"Yes, Mr Jackman," you chant miserably in unison.

Mr Jackman lets you experience the pain in your backsides for a full fifteen minutes before finally releasing you from the stock. Under the close gaze of the Jackman's you get dressed, thank them for their time, and then quietly leave the house, feeling achy and more than a little sorry for yourselves.

Turn to page 240.

Page 242

You whimper and sob under Mr Jackman's cruel strokes -- but eventually the torment comes to an end. For you at least.

"I think that will do for you, Dianne," says Mr Jackman archly. "Since you demonstrated to me earlier how sorry you were, and since you have obviously been whipped to tears, I believe that is enough."

You sigh in relief, your backside feeling like a flaming bruise. Raise your Bum Status by 3 levels . However in the days afterwards you come to rue your weakness. Mr Jackson has given you a fear of the lash -- something no Westjack girl can afford to have! Lose 1 point of Willpower .

"You, however, Jennifer shall not be so lucky," he decrees. "Your so called apology was weak and feeble, and I doubt it was truly heartfelt. You shall endure the full four dozen!"

Jennifer sags in her restrains, the fires of her hope extinguished. It takes several sharp commands from Mrs. Jackman to "pull yourself together, girl!" before she unwillingly takes to her tiptoes again.

Splat! Splat! Splat!

You can do nothing but gaze in sympathy as Jennifer's face contorts under the skilled blows of Mr Jackman. She whimpers, chokes and sobs, but she manages to endure, finally almost collapsing with exhaustion as Mr Jackman decrees your mutual punishment to be over.

"Now girls," demands Mr Jackman, "are you sorry? Truly sorry?"

"Yes, Mr Jackman," you chant miserably in unison.

Mr Jackman lets you experience the pain in your backsides for a full fifteen minutes before finally releasing you from the stock. Under the close gaze of the Jackson's you get dressed, thank them for their time, and then quietly leave the house, feeling achy and more than a little sorry for yourselves.

Turn to page 240.

Page 243

Your teeth are set on edge in a rictus of agony -- but all you have left is your pride, and you'll be damned if you let Mr Jackman break you. On agonising toes you keep your bum defiantly aloft, thrust upwards for every blow Mr Jackman cares to inflict on it. Though your legs tremble in taut strain and you shoulders ache from the restricting stocks Mr Jackman cannot whip away your deportment no matter how wickedly he thrashes you with his pigskin flogger.

Gain 1 point of Willpower .

The final stroke sinks into your buttocks like a mass of flaming, biting snakes. The tendrils of the whip, upon departing your scorching behind, reveal your arse blistered and bruised under the relentless onslaught.

Raise your Bum Status by 4 levels .

"Now girls," demands Mr Jackman, "are you sorry? Truly sorry?"

"Yes, Mr Jackman," you chant miserably in unison.

Mr Jackman lets you experience the pain in your backsides for a full fifteen minutes before finally releasing you from the stock. Under the close gaze of the Jackman's you get dressed, thank them for their time, and then quietly leave the house, feeling achy and more than a little sorry for yourselves.

Turn to page 240.

Page 244

Well there's more than one way to skin a cat! Mr Jackman has practically admitted he has the documents somewhere in his department -- that means someone needs to collect them! Perhaps it's time to get a bit sneaky, prowl into the Construction department in the dead of night and steal those documents back?

Hmm ... very risky. You don't know the Telephone Exchange as well as the other employees -- perhaps you could get one of them to do it for you?

If you have the codeword AGENT Turn to page 245.
If not, read on.

Who would you like to task with sneaking into Horace Jackman's office and stealing back the paperwork?

Phil Washington, the Finance Analyst? Turn to page 246.

Pauline Weatherly, from the Legal Team? Turn to page 248.

Or are you determined to sneak in yourself? Turn to page 252.

Page 245

There is, of course, an ideal candidate. You quickly pop upstairs to see Jennifer, Mr Stevenson's secretary. She was pretty good at spying on you -- you imagine spying on Mr Jackman will be easy.

"Remember that favour you owe me?" you ask her, as you stride into her office, Jennifer just in the middle of making another coffee for her cruel-handed boss. "It's time for me to cash it in."

"Oh," says Jennifer, blushing. "I suppose I did agree to do something for you. What do you want?"

You explain to Jennifer about Mr Jackman's hording of your department's vital documents and she visibly relaxes. "Oh! That'll be easy!" she enthuses. "Leave it to me -- by tomorrow you'll have your documents."

True to her word the next morning you find a large number of ComLondon files stacked up on your desk. Glancing eagerly through them you see that they do indeed contain the information on the project that you were looking for. A small note accompanies the files.

"All yours," it reads. "Small problem with security -- sore bottom. Now you owe me!"

You smile -- sneaky little tart deserved it! At least it wasn't your bottom on the receiving end for a change!

If you have the codeword FOUND, Turn to page 270.

If you have the codeword GAIN, cross it off and record the codeword FOUND -- then Turn to page 271.

If you have neither of these Codewords, record the codeword GAIN and Turn to page 271.

Page 246

If you have a Reputation score of 30, Turn to page 247.
Otherwise, read on.

Taking Phil aside you make your request that he steal into Mr Jackman's office and get the documents. He is appalled at the very suggestion.

"That would be completely unethical!" he cries. "I can't side with a woman over a man; the other fella's would kill me! I'd become a pariah!"

"This is your team, Phil!" you insist. "There's so little time left ... I need everything to go right if I'm going to get this project up and running!"

"No -- no way!" he says firmly. "You can't order me to do anything illegal -- you're my boss, I accept that. But this is just plain wrong..."

Phil strides out the room, grumbling about women managers as he goes. You feel vulnerable and abandoned. Lose 1 point of Ambition .

Clearly there's no chance of getting your hands on that paperwork!

If you have the codeword LOST, Turn to page 273.
If not, read on.

Record the codeword LOST . The final report may not be complete, but you can still make the best of what you have.

If you have the codeword FOUND, Turn to page 272.

If not, it's time to look for more of that missing paperwork!

What do you want to track down next?

The information dumped into the outdoor skip? Turn to page 160.

Or get your lazy team off their arses and demand they start organising the office? Turn to page 256.

Page 247

Taking Phil aside you make your request that he steal into Mr Jackman's office and get the documents. He looks shocked and nervous at your request.

"Please, Phil!" you beg. "It's the only way to get it -- we'll never get this project done if we're not prepared to take a few risks!"

Phil carefully considers your request. "If it were any other woman, I'd turn you down straight," he admits. "But you ... we all know what you've been through -- how you support the team and how respectful you are of our culture. We can't allow that gorilla, Jackman, to ruin the entire project -- I'll do it!"

True to his word the next morning you find a large number of ComLondon files stacked up on your desk. Glancing eagerly through them you see that they do indeed contain the information on the project that you were looking for. You call Phil in and ask how he managed to obtain them.

"I play cards with the security guard when I work late," he says matter-of-factly. "I told him how Mr Jackman had stolen the documents, and he didn't seem to think that was right. So he unlocked the office for me and helped me find the files."

"Wonderful!" you exclaim. "You won't get into any trouble?"

"Nah!" smile Phil. "Horace Jackman can hardly claim he was robbed -- they're your files. Besides the security guard's not telling. It's all in the bag."

You give Phil a grateful hug, and begin to find a more secure place for the recaptured documents.

If you have the codeword FOUND, Turn to page 270.

If you have the codeword GAIN, cross it off and record the codeword FOUND -- then Turn to page 271.

If you have neither of these Codewords, record the codeword GAIN and Turn to page 271.

Page 248

If your reputation is 20 or more, Turn to page 249.
If not, read on.

You haven't even finished explaining what you want before Pauline turns you down flat. "No way," she says firmly. "Not getting involved."

"Pauline, those documents are vital!" you insist.

"This is manager stuff, nothing to do with me," she says shaking her head.

"We've all got to take ownership of this project!" you demand. "Otherwise it'll never get done."

"Oh, please!" she says crossly. "You're just the latest in a line of English managers who come here thinking they can change the world, getting all us girls spanked when you convince us to step out of line! Well you can forget it. I won't do it -- and neither will anybody else."

Pauline strides out the room, grumbling about women managers as she goes. You feel vulnerable and abandoned. Lose 1 point of Ambition .

Clearly there's no chance of getting your hands on that paperwork!

If you have the codeword LOST, Turn to page 273.
If not, read on.

Record the codeword LOST . The final report may not be complete, but you can still make the best of what you have.

If you have the codeword FOUND, Turn to page 272.

If not, it's time to look for more of that missing paperwork!

What do you want to track down next?

The information dumped into the outdoor skip? Turn to page 160.

Or get your lazy team off their arses and demand they start organising the office? Turn to page 256.

Page 249

You patiently explain to Pauline exactly what you want from Mr Jackman's office. "I'd go myself, but I just don't know my way around like you do ... besides I think he might be watching me."

Pauline shifts in her seat uneasily. "Wow -- it's a lot you're asking," she says nervously. "But I already know you've taken your fair share of flack working on this project. I can't guarantee I'll be able to get it..."

"You can't guarantee you'll wake up in the morning!" you insist, remembering a passage from a long ago learned managerial book. "But we have to risk it ... this project's so behind. I need your help."

Pauline nods. "I'll do it!" she says, with a little sparkle in her eyes.

That evening you lie in bed, nervously wondering how Pauline is getting on, sneaking into the office...

Count how many Codewords you have.

If the number is even, Turn to page 250.

If the number is odd, Turn to page 251.

Page 250

True to her word the next morning you find a large number of ComLondon files stacked up on your desk. Glancing eagerly through them you see that they do indeed contain the information on the project that you were looking for. Pauline was successful.

"That was the most terrifying night of my life!" confides Pauline, later that day over lunch in the staff canteen. "I was almost caught by the security guard doing his rounds. God knows what would have happened if he'd caught me!"

"But you did it -- you're wonderful!" you enthuse.

If you have the codeword FOUND, Turn to page 270.

If you have the codeword GAIN, cross it off and record the codeword FOUND -- then Turn to page 271.

If you have neither of these Codewords, record the codeword GAIN and Turn to page 271.

Page 251

You wait anxiously in your office for Pauline the next morning, eager to hear how she did last night. Your face falls as you see her enter ... a security guard in tow. Alfred, a man some sixty years old with an impressive grey moustache, has been the security guard for the Telephone Exchange for many years.

"Sorry to trouble you, Miss. Hathaway," he says, indicating a very sorry looking Pauline. "I had some trouble with one of your staff last night. Caught her sneaking around the construction office. Just to let you know I dealt with the matter last night in the security office, a spanking of some ninety minutes upon her bare bottom. Thought you should be informed."

"Thank you, officer," you say politely, your heart hammering in your chest. "Pauline! I'll deal with you later!"

"Sorry, miss!" squeaks Pauline, taking her cue to dash from the room.

The security guard remains standing in your office. "Was there anything else, Alfred?" you ask innocently.

"Yes, miss," he admits ruefully. "I'm afraid under interrogation young Pauline made a full confession. Naturally, it's standard procedure to inform Mr Stevenson of the results of that interrogation. It doesn't put you into a very flattering light I'm afraid, miss."

You swallow -- that meek bitch spilled the beans! "I'm sure," you gulp, "I'm sure you'd rather deal with the matter yourself? As a matter of professional pride?"

Alfred puts on an expression of mock surprise. "If you say so, miss," he exclaims. "But I'm afraid I'll have to be just as harsh to you as I was to Pauline."

"Well," you say, defeated. "Hopefully I'll benefit from the experience, yes?"

"I hope so, miss," says Alfred, a sparkle in his eyes.

Soon you are bent over Alfred's knee, your skirt up, your knickers pulled down to your ankles. Alfred is sitting in your office chair, your chair, smacking the bottom of a manager who must earn five times what he does. But on Westjack Island such things are irrelevant when a spanking is decreed!

Smack! Smack! Smack!

For over ninety minutes Alfred smacks your squirming bottom, holding you down tightly so you cannot wriggle out of his grasp. Outside your office all work stops as your team gathers outside our office door to hear their manager get her bottom smacked.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

It's not a particularly cruel spanking, bar its length, but it is exquisitely humiliating. You can only imagine what this is going to do to your authority with the team. Lose 1 point of Ambition and raise you Bum Status by 2 levels.

Finally Alfred's hand tires -- clearly spanking two young women in one day has exhausted him. He gives you permission to rise and, remembering your team are just outside listening, thank him politely for your spanking. Gain 1 point of Reputation for remembering the niceties of spanking lore.

"You're welcome, miss," he says grandly. "I'm glad we have that matter settled. I hope the rest of your day goes better!"

So do you. It can hardly get worse. None of your team have done a scrap of work all morning. Lose 1 Progress point .

Clearly there's no chance of getting your hands on that paperwork now security is involved!

If you have the codeword LOST, Turn to page 273.
If not, read on.

Record the codeword LOST . The final report may not be complete, but you can still make the best of what you have.

If you have the codeword FOUND, Turn to page 272.

If not, its time to look for more of that missing paperwork!

What do you want to track down next?

The information dumped into the outdoor skip? Turn to page 160.

Or get your lazy team off their arses and demand they start organising the office? Turn to page 256.

Page 252

There's simply no one you can trust in your department to get this done. Once again you'll have to risk all and do it yourself!

That night, as work comes to an end in the office you bid everyone a good night, grab your coat and make your way to the lifts. But instead of going downstairs you go up to the top floor and hide in Mr Stevenson's stationary room. Sitting in the dark you hear the building go gradually quiet as the last people leave and the lights are switched out. It is eight o'clock before you dare move -- surely no one in Westjack works this late into the evening!

You carefully creep downstairs, lit only by the dying light of the day, and into the construction worker's office. Nothing is locked, and gaining access is easy. Somewhere in this untidy office must be kept the ComLondon files you need. But where do you start?

Your thoughts are suddenly disturbed by the sound of the door behind you opening. You quickly dive for cover.

If you have the trait 'Sneaky' Turn to page 254.

If not Turn to page 253.

Page 253

With poor dexterity you dive for cover, only to crash into a table in your sudden haste, sending a mass of pens and pencils scattering from their plastic holder. Immediately a beam of torch light illuminates you.

"Who's there?" demands a deep, gruff voice. Gazing past the glaring light you can see the outline of Alfred, the night security guard. He must have been on one of his patrols when he spotted you. "Miss Hathaway! Is that you?"

"Oh ... Alfred!" you cry. "You startled me! I was just looking for some files I left behind..."

"But this isn't your office -- it's Mr Jackman's, isn't it?" declares the security guard, helping you to your feet.

"Yes -- I just left some files here, that's all..." you say breezily.

If your Dignity is 8 or more, Turn to page 255.
If not, read on:

Alfred shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Miss Hathaway, but I'll have to report this to Mr Stevenson. He's been talking about spies being in the building. I thought he was just paranoid -- but now I see you sneaking about I'm not so sure!"

"No!" you almost yell, your hand flinching towards your bottom. "Not him ... I'm sorry. Please don't tell Mr Stevenson. I was just going to play a little prank on him, that's all. Take a wheel off his office chair or something. He was absolutely horrid to me today."

The security guard looks on you sternly. "That's hardly the behaviour of a decent young woman, or an honest one. I think you'll need to come over my knee before I turf you out!"

You wet your lips nervously. "If I do ... can we forget about Mr Stevenson?" you bargain.

"Provided you take your spanking like a good girl, I should think so," agrees Alfred. "I often think Mr Stevenson is far too harsh on the girls with that wicked cane of his. A good bare bottom spanking is all a girl really needs to keep her in line."

As if to demonstrate his philosophy Alfred sits upon a nearby office chair, indicating his lap with his right hand. Well ... you'll just have to make the best of a bad situation.

Soon you are bent over his knee, your naked bottom rudely up-thrust behind you -- skirt and knickers folded neatly upon an adjacent chair as he instructed you. Alfred strokes your prominent cheeks for a few minutes, feeling out his target before he begins.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

Soon Alfred's heavy hand is swiftly descending upon your buttocks, the heavy slaps immediately blushing your cheeks a rich scarlet. With his other hand he presses firmly down upon your middle back, keeping your head low and submissive.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

Having been beaten with so many implements, you startle as you re-discover just how painful an old fashioned spanking can be. It's not so much the pain as the speed, the lack of recovery time between spanks, that makes you writhe and buck unwillingly across his knee.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

Alfred holds you firmly down, your scarlet bum cheeks trembling with each impact. You are unsure exactly how long he holds you in place, perhaps as long as half an hour, as he relentlessly pummels your behind with his palm.

Smack! Smack!

Finally the blows stop, and Alfred curtly commands you to rise. You do so, rubbing your behind with his consent very ruefully. Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

Once you are dressed Alfred swiftly escorts off the premises, scolding you all the way. You do not hear -- so demoralised are you at the loss of your precious paperwork. Clearly there is no way to get it back now!

If you have the codeword LOST, Turn to page 273.
If not, read on.

Record the codeword LOST . The final report may not be complete, but you can still make the best of what you have.

If you have the codeword FOUND, Turn to page 272.

If not, it's time to look for more of that missing paperwork!

What do you want to track down next?

The information dumped into the outdoor skip? Turn to page 160.

Or get your lazy team off their arses and demand they start organising the office? Turn to page 256.

Page 254

You swiftly dive behind a table, as quiet as a church mouse. A beam of torchlight passes over you but does not linger. It is Alfred, the night Security Guard. He is simply on one of his routine patrols and does not spot you. Soon the door is closed behind him. Good -- you should now be undisturbed for many hours.

You begin an exhaustive search of the office, almost despairing as you find no trace of the files. Finally, taking a long shot, you search in the corridors outside the office -- only to find the ComLondon Files sitting in an open box by the goods lift.

Suppressing a whoop of delight you quickly transfer the files to your own office and then swiftly exit the building. At least if your career as a manager doesn't work out you might be able to get a job as a thief!

If you have the codeword FOUND, Turn to page 270.

If you have the codeword GAIN, cross it off and record the codeword FOUND -- then Turn to page 271.

If you have neither of these Codewords, record the codeword GAIN and Turn to page 271.

Page 255

You flash Alfred a winning smile and your most innocent look. The old fool is completely taken in. "Well -- let me help you find it. This building gets awfully cold at night and I wouldn't want you hanging around."

You smile -- this is perfect, now there will be two of you searching for the files! Describing the ComLondon logo, you ask Alfred to search one side of the office whilst you search the other. You are looking for a long time; Alfred has to take a toilet break in between searches. This proves to be profitable however.

"Found them!" cries Alfred on his return to the office, a large box of files in his hands.

"They weren't in the loo, were they?" you cry, appalled.

"Not quite -- but just outside the goods lift in the corridor. I think these are what you're after, anyway..."

Quickly rifling through the box you see a number of files with the bright blue logo of the ComLondon company. He's found them! You whoop in delight and kiss Alfred on the cheek. The old security guard seems quite flustered, but rather flattered.

You quickly store the files in your office before returning home to get some sleep.

If you have the codeword FOUND, Turn to page 270.

If you have the codeword GAIN, cross it off and record the codeword FOUND -- then Turn to page 271.

If you have neither of these Codewords, record the codeword GAIN and Turn to page 271.

Page 256

Ever since you arrived at the Telephone Exchange the office has been in chaos. Things are misfiled, teams don't sit together, and information is stored haphazardly in hundreds of isolated storage cupboards. Just looking at the place, spilling over with loose paperwork and dozens of tea cups makes your blood boil. They'd never put up with this in the London offices at ComLondon!

Almost certainly some of the missing files will be located here, in this mess of an office. But what's the best way of finding them?

Will you:

Issue a thunderous confrontation to the team, demanding they clean the place up at once? Turn to page 257.

Tell the team that as a 'team building exercise' the office is going to be cleaned up and the files found? Turn to page 262.

Chide a random member of staff about the state of the filing, hoping this will prompt the others into cleaner habits? Turn to page 264.

Page 257

"Right, you lot!" you roar out across the office one day. "This place is a tip! An utter tip! I can't work in these conditions and I'll be surprised if you can either! We're going to clean this place up, right now! We're going to get everything organised and put together!"

If your Ambition is 7 or more, Turn to page 258.
If not, read on.

Your team don't exactly leap to their feet. There is a great deal of grumbling and moaning, especially from the male members of the team. Reluctantly they start stuffing old vending cups into bins, shuffling paper into neater stacks, and otherwise tidying the place with great sloth and little enthusiasm.

Getting them to change their filing systems proves fruitless however. "Look, Miss. Hathaway," complains Giles Thompson, one of your data handlers. "I know where everything is. If you start shifting things into new places they'll be chaos."

"Well -- you can't tell me where those ComLondon files are, can you?" you say pointedly.

"Not my department," he shrugs.

"Nothing is anyone's department!" you cry. "That's the problem with this place! That's why we're going to use a centralised data storage area so we can all find what we're looking for."

"That sounds great, miss, really great," breezes Giles. "I'll get on that as soon as I have the time."

But of course that time is never found. You overhear some of your team say, none too quietly, that they can't be fired by you as you are just the subcontractor, not their actual boss. All around you your orders are being slighted by your team and you feel an impending sense of hopelessness. Lose 1 Willpower point .

You are losing control of the team. What will you do?

Summon Mr Stevenson to command them to obey your orders? Turn to page 259.

Decide to let the matter drop quietly to minimise further damage to your authority? Turn to page 261.

Page 258

Your sharp tones and inflexible demeanour cannot be denied. Your team know better than to disobey a direct order.

All that day the team fervently clean and re-organise the office. The process is exhausting, seemingly tonnes of paperwork has been misfiled in the wrong place. It is, however extremely fruitful. A number of times you hear people remark about how they thought they had lost various pieces of work until discovering it at the bottom of someone else's draw.

Halfway through the day, the office floor literally covered in stacks of collated paper, the files you were searching for are found. Beaming brightly Christine Salomand, one of your dozens of office admins, presents a huge box full of ComLondon files. Checking through them you see that they do indeed contain some of the information you are looking for.

The whole exercise has been very profitable. Gain 3 Progress points , as your team are now working in a much more organised environment.

If you have the codeword FOUND, Turn to page 270.

If you have the codeword GAIN, cross it off and record the codeword FOUND -- then Turn to page 271.

If you have neither of these Codewords, record the codeword GAIN and Turn to page 271.

Page 259

You have no choice -- your authority will be permanently damaged if you cannot make your staff obey your orders. Storming out of the room on a made-up pretence, you take the lift to the top floor and make your way into Mr Stevenson's office reception. Jennifer, his secretary, upon seeing your grave expression, immediately calls Mr Stevenson.

"You can go in," says Jennifer, after exchanging a few words over the phone with her boss. "Good luck..."

Swallowing slightly, you swing open the door as confidently as possible. Behind his desk, his moustache twitching in irritation, Mr Stevenson's eyes penetrate you.

"I wasn't expecting you, Miss. Hathaway," says Mr Stevenson, his voice rising into a query. "What is the purpose of this visit?"

If you have the Weakness 'I'm sorry Mr Stevenson...' Turn to page 260.
If not, read on.

"Mr Stevenson, I'm afraid I'm having some trouble with the staff," you say as clearly as possible.

"What kind of trouble?" presses Mr Stevenson.

"They ... are refusing to obey instructions," you admit reluctantly. "I'm trying to get the office organised -- but a lot of the staff seem to be, well, ignoring me. I'm sorry to trouble you with this, but unless I can get their co-operation I don't see how I can get this project completed."

Mr Stevenson puts his head in his hands and groans. "Trust London to send me a manager who can't manage!" he moans, sending a chill down you. Lose 1 point of Ambition .

After a few moments he raises his head. "I'll sort them out, right after I sort you out," he says darkly. "I think you know my methods for dealing with failure now, don't you Miss. Hathaway?"

You nod. You expected nothing less.

Mr Stevenson rises from his desk and makes his way over to the umbrella stand. He selects a length of long, semi-flexible bamboo from the stand and addresses you. "You can take them over the table -- bend over, knickers down."

Biting your lip you quickly raise your skirt and slide your knickers down your long legs to gather at your ankles. Swiftly, before he can turn and see your displayed sex, you bend across the table, gripping the other end for support. You sincerely hope what you're about to receive will be worth it.

Mr Stevenson swishes the cane through the air in front of you, a deep whoosh sounds as it cut the air cleanly. "I seldom use the bamboo these days," ponders Mr Stevenson. "It lacks the density of a good rattan and is more inclined to split. It's on a whim that I use it on you now. A good caner must always be willing to re-experiment with his tools, and not fall into laziness."

He walks around the table and out of your sight, the sound of his footfalls heavy to your ears. You feel a sudden sharp tap on your proffered backside. "Bum up!" he declares curtly, the cane sliding itself below the underhang of your buttocks and pushing up to give you impetus.

You rise up onto your tiptoes and push your bottom up high, hoping this will please him. "Curve your back in!" he commands again, this time whipping the cane in a sharp tap into the small of your exposed back. You inhale sharply -- the blow was not strong, but it does sting abominably on this non-padded portion of your flesh. Soon your bottom is rounded into a beautiful three-quarter moon, the cheeks blossoming to full ripeness -- totally exposed to the cane.

Tap, tap, tap.

You cling on, buttocks trembling, waiting for the first strike...

Vip!

You grunt, the blow unexpectedly high, as it cleaves into your upper buttocks an inch or two below the spine. The stiff bamboo leaves a burning red slice across the tops of your cheeks.

Vip! Vip!

Two more strokes to the tops of your buttocks have you hissing, and you long for the cane to kiss you lower, where your padding is thicker and the blows might not be as telling.

Vip!

A firm stroke to your centre cheeks, delivered with more power to compensate for its more generous position leaves you hopping, the crimson line it leaves harsh against your pale bum-skin.

Vip! Vip! Vip!

In all Mr Stevenson delivers two dozen cruel strokes to your rear cheeks. You yelp and groan, but acquit yourself fairly well to his swift regimen of blows. By the end your buttocks are criss-crossed with a number of fiery lines, and you are sure you will be sitting uncomfortably for several days afterwards. Raise your Bum Status by 3 levels .

Gain 2 points of Reputation -- your endurance under the cane does not go unnoticed by your strict employer.

Only minutes after your punishment you are back in your office, Mr Stevenson's terrifying voice yelling out dire warnings to your frantic staff. Upon his command (and after several beatings to some of the slower members of staff) they quickly begin the re-organisation you demanded earlier.

All that day the team fervently clean and re-organise the office. The process is exhausting, seemingly tonnes of paperwork has been misfiled in the wrong place. It is, however extremely fruitful. A number of times you hear people remark about how they thought they had lost various pieces of work until discovering it at the bottom of someone else's draw.

Halfway through the day, the office floor literally covered in stacks of collated paper the files you were searching for are found. Beaming brightly Christine Salomand, one of your dozens of office admins, presents a huge box full of ComLondon files. Checking through them you see that they do indeed contain some of the information you are looking for.

The whole exercise has been very profitable. Gain 3 Progress points , as your team are now working in a much more organised environment.

If you have the codeword FOUND, Turn to page 270.

If you have the codeword GAIN, cross it off and record the codeword FOUND -- then Turn to page 271.

If you have neither of these Codewords, record the codeword GAIN and Turn to page 271.

Page 260

You open your mouth to speak, but little more than a squeak comes out. Oh, why does this man turn you to jelly? All you can think of is the imminent agony of the bare bottomed caning he will invariably subject you to for failing to keep control.

"Come on! Spit it out, you useless girl!" snaps Mr Stevenson irritably. "Must I thrash a confession from you?"

"Mr Stevenson ... I'm afraid ... I'm afraid I'm having some trouble with the staff," you tremble, your eyes locked onto your shoes.

"What kind of trouble?" presses Mr Stevenson.

"They ... are refusing to obey instructions," you admit reluctantly. "I'm trying to get the office organised -- but a lot of the staff seem to be, well, ignoring me. I'm sorry to trouble you with this, but unless I can get their co-operation I don't see how I can get this project completed."

Mr Stevenson puts his head in his hands and groans. "Well no wonder they ignore a lickspittle girl like you -- someone who can't even look their boss in the eye when they've messed up!"

You quickly look up to face him, but you cannot control the trembling shakes the man produces in you. "Trust London to send me a manager who can't manage!" he moans, sending a chill down you. Lose 1 point of Ambition .

After a few moments he raises his head. "I'll sort them out, right after I sort you out," he says darkly. "I think you know my methods for dealing with failure now, don't you Miss. Hathaway?"

You nod. You expected nothing less.

Mr Stevenson rises from his desk and makes his way over to the umbrella stand. He selects a length of long, semi-flexible bamboo from the stand and addresses you. "You can take them over the table -- bend over, knickers down."

Biting your lip you quickly raise your skirt and slide your knickers down your long legs to gather at your ankles. Swiftly, before he can turn and see your displayed sex, you bend across the table, gripping the other end for support. You sincerely hope what you're about to receive will be worth it.

Mr Stevenson swishes the cane through the air in front of you, a deep whoosh sounds as it cut the air cleanly. "I seldom use the bamboo these days," ponders Mr Stevenson. "It lacks the density of a good rattan and is more inclined to split. It's on a whim that I use it on you now. A good caner must always be willing to re-experiment with his tools, and not fall into laziness."

He walks around the table and out of your sight, the sound of his footfalls heavy to your ears. You feel a sudden sharp tap on your proffered backside. "Bum up!" he declares curtly, the cane sliding itself below the underhang of your buttocks and pushing up to give you impetus.

You rise up onto your tiptoes and push your bottom up high, hoping this will please him. "Curve your back in!" he commands again, this time whipping the cane into a sharp tap into the small of your exposed back. You inhale sharply -- the blow was not strong, but it does sting abominably on this non-padded portion of your flesh. Soon your bottom is rounded into a beautiful three-quarter moon, the cheeks blossoming to full ripeness -- totally exposed to the cane.

Tap, tap, tap.

You cling on, buttocks trembling, waiting for the first strike...

Vip!

You grunt, the blow unexpectedly high, as it cleaves into your upper buttocks an inch or two below the spine. The stiff bamboo leaves a burning red slice across the tops of your cheeks.

Vip! Vip!

Two more strokes to the tops of your buttocks have you hissing, and you long for the cane to kiss you lower, where your padding is thicker and the blows might not be as telling.

Vip!

A firm stroke to your centre cheeks, delivered with more power to compensate for its more generous position leaves you hopping, the crimson line it leaves harsh against your pale bumskin.

Vip! Vip! Vip!

In all Mr Stevenson delivers three dozen cruel strokes to your rear cheeks. You sob and whimper through your set, your will utterly broken by your heartless employer. By the end your buttocks are criss-crossed with a number of fiery lines, and you are sure you will be sitting uncomfortably for several days afterwards. Raise your Bum Status by 4 levels .

Lose 1 point of Willpower -- Mr Stevenson is making you doubt that you can endure even well-deserved punishment.

Only minutes after your punishment you are back in your office, Mr Stevenson's terrifying voice yelling out dire warnings to your frantic staff. Upon his command (and after several beatings to some of the slower members of staff) they quickly begin the re-organisation you demanded earlier.

All that day the team fervently clean and re-organise the office. The process is exhausting, seemingly tonnes of paperwork has been misfiled in the wrong place. It is, however extremely fruitful. A number of times you hear people remark about how they thought they had lost various pieces of work until discovering it at the bottom of someone else's draw.

Halfway through the day, the office floor literally covered in stacks of collated paper the files you were searching for are found. Beaming brightly Christine Salomand, one of your dozens of office admins, presents a huge box full of ComLondon files. Checking through them you see that they do indeed contain some of the information you are looking for.

The whole exercise has been very profitable. Gain 3 Progress points , as your team are now working in a much more organised environment.

If you have the codeword FOUND, Turn to page 270.

If you have the codeword GAIN, cross it off and record the codeword FOUND -- then Turn to page 271.

If you have neither of these Codewords, record the codeword GAIN and Turn to page 271.

Page 261

You put on a brave face, trying to pretend that your team's meagre efforts were what you wanted all along -- but no one is fooled. Your team now realise you are a soft touch and that they can run rings around you. Lose 5 points of Reputation .

Needless to say the files are not found.

If you have the codeword LOST, Turn to page 273.
If not, read on.

Record the codeword LOST . The final report may not be complete, but you can still make the best of what you have.

If you have the codeword FOUND, Turn to page 272.

If not, its time to look for more of that missing paperwork!

What do you want to track down next?

The information dumped into the outdoor skip? Turn to page 160.

Or get the files missing in the Construction Office? Turn to page 205.

Page 262

Calling the team together and addressing them warmly you let them know that today is going to be a little bit different. Everyone is going to pull together and sort out the office! You stress to the team that the idea is to have fun while doing it, and that there is going to be music and take away fish and chips to make the whole task seem less arduous. Along the way, you suggest, they'll probably come up with the ComLondon Files which will save everyone a lot of work!

The team aren't fooled, just glancing wearily around the office they can see how much work is required. If your Reputation score is 25 or more, Turn to page 263.
If not, read on.

Your team don't exactly leap to their feet. There is a great deal of grumbling and moaning, especially from the male members of the team. Reluctantly they start stuffing old vending cups into bins, shuffling paper into neater stacks, and otherwise tidying the place with great sloth and little enthusiasm.

Getting them to change their filing systems proves fruitless however. "Look, Miss. Hathaway," complains Giles Thompson, one of your data handlers. "I know where everything is. If you start shifting things into new places they'll be chaos."

"Well -- you can't tell me where those ComLondon files are, can you?" you say pointedly.

"Not my department," he shrugs.

"Nothing is anyone's department!" you cry. "That's the problem with this place! That's why we're going to use a centralised data storage area so we can all find what we're looking for."

"That sounds great, miss, really great," breezes Giles. "I'll get on that as soon as I have the time."

But of course that time is never found. You overhear some of your team say, none too quietly, that they can't be fired by you as you are just the subcontractor, not their actual boss. All around you your orders are being slighted by your team and you feel an impending sense of hopelessness. Lose 1 Willpower point .

You are losing control of the team. What will you do?

Summon Mr Stevenson to command them to obey your orders? Turn to page 259.

Decide to let the matter drop quietly to minimise further damage to your authority? Turn to page 261.

Page 263

For anyone else your team would probably grumble, sulk and drag their feet. However your team know and trust you. You've never betrayed them, you've respected the rules of the island, know how to take your punishment with quiet dignity and have always put them first. They are only too keen to show you their appreciation.

All that day the team fervently clean and re-organise the office. The process is exhausting, seemingly tonnes of paperwork has been misfiled in the wrong place. It is, however extremely fruitful. A number of times you hear people remark about how they thought they had lost various pieces of work until discovering it at the bottom of someone else's draw.

Halfway through the day, the office floor literally covered in stacks of collated paper the files you were searching for are found. Beaming brightly Christine Salomand, one of your dozens of office admins, presents a huge box full of ComLondon files. Checking through them you see that they do indeed contain some of the information you are looking for.

The whole exercise has been very profitable. Gain 3 Progress points , as your team are now working in a much more organised environment. Also gain 1 Fun Point , as your team's enthusiasm has lifted your spirits.

If you have the codeword FOUND, Turn to page 270.

If you have the codeword GAIN, cross it off and record the codeword FOUND -- then Turn to page 271.

If you have neither of these Codewords, record the codeword GAIN and Turn to page 271.

Page 264

Early that morning you stalk the office, tutting at random team members who have particularly filthy desks. The boys have the worst examples, but there are also several girls in the office who have filthy coffee cups and unsorted piles of paper hanging loose about the place.

You've been thinking all morning about how to best make an impression on your team. Although you feel reluctant, maybe spanking one of the team members might prove that you mean business? Such an act would be abhorrent in London, but you might actually be eroding your reputation by not doing it here.

Naturally you wouldn't be able to select a man ... that would be unacceptable here. But perhaps a woman ... do you have the courage to do it? Is it wise to even try?

If you would like to pick a random victim, Turn to page 265.

Otherwise you'll have to abandon your attempt to find the documents.

If you have the codeword LOST, Turn to page 273.
If not, read on.

Record the codeword LOST . The final report may not be complete, but you can still make the best of what you have.

If you have the codeword FOUND, Turn to page 272.

If not, its time to look for more of that missing paperwork!

What do you want to track down next?

The information dumped into the outdoor skip? Turn to page 160.

Or get the files missing in the Construction Office? Turn to page 205.

Page 265

After a few moments of strolling round the office looking menacing you finally find your potential victim. Marjorie Wallace, well known for letting her desk get scrappy during the day, has piles of paper stuffed into every corner, tray and filing cabinet she has. She has even joked recently that most managers would 'give her a whopping' if they saw her desk in such a clutter. She's the one.

"Marjorie!" you snap. "Is this an office or a pig sty? The state of your desk is disgraceful!"

Marjorie looks shocked at your unexpected venom and instantly goes on the defensive. "It's always clear at the end of the day, Miss. Hathaway!"

"Then why is it that it takes you ten minutes to find anything?" you thunder aloud, your employees shifting nervously in their chairs, the entire office watching. "Why is it we can't even find our own files when even Mr Stevenson is breathing down our necks? It's just not good enough! It's time I taught you a lesson, Westjack-style!"

Marjorie goes pale. A low murmuring fills the office.

"Julian!" you cry out to the friendly computer specialist who first welcomed you to the office. "Fetch a cane. There's one in my office."

"Yes ... yes, miss," stutters Julian, immediately bolting from his chair to obey you.

Marjorie is not a fiery employee -- that's why you chose her. She gracefully rises from her chair and places her hands before her penitently. "I ... I didn't realise I was offending you, miss," she sniffles. "May I ask how many you intend to give me?"

You hadn't really thought about it. "A dozen will do, as it's a first offence."

"A dozen!" cries Marjorie, her eyes flashing in alarm. Was that too many? It's too late to back down now.

"Your mess is inhibiting my work," you bark loudly, finally feeling that you are getting into role. "And my work is the business of this company. You'll take twelve -- and that will double if I find your desk cluttered with junk in the future."

Marjorie, trapped by convention, cannot appear to object and maintain her hard won reputation. "Of course, miss. Where would you like to ... take me?"

"Well," you ponder aloud, "I would have preferred over your desk. But since that's impossible you'll have to bend over your chair."

Julian arrives, red faced, with the cane clutched in his gentle hands. You thank him and take it. It's your official rattan cane, three feet long, smooth and undamaged, inherited from your predecessor. You wonder how often he used it...

In the brief time that you have examined it Marjorie has already bent over her office chair, her skirt pulled over her back, her knickers down to her thighs. Her bottom is now rudely on display to the whole office, faint blotches scattered across random places of her large bottom. My goodness these Westjack girls are well trained! It makes your own submission look slow and awkward by comparison.

If you have the codeword TRAINED Turn to page 266.
If not, read on.

Copying what you think is the correct stance for a caner, you step behind Marjorie, spreading your legs apart and tapping the cane firmly across the centre of her buttocks -- your target point. You'll have to make this good, or the office will lose respect for you rather than fear you.

If your Ambition is 5 or more, Turn to page 267.

If not, Turn to page 268.

Page 266

Fortunately, your thorough training in the cane shines through. Determined not to be flashy, but to be utterly thorough, you whip the cane down upon Marjorie's up-thrust buttocks with strength and confidence.

Vip!

"Ouch! One, miss!" she cries, counting automatically, even though you did not instruct her to. The effect is rather nice, as is the brilliant crimson stain creeping across her bottom. You decide not to correct her as you swing the cane down for another stroke.

Vip!

"Nngg! Two, miss!" whimpers Marjorie, her buttocks visibly shifting as another bright track line flames up on her poor, unprotected bottom.

Across the office the girls and boys wince as you inflict stroke after merciless stroke across Marjorie's crimsoning backside. The women are definitely getting the message -- get this office tidy or this will happen to you. Even the men are nervous ... as an English woman would you be able to thrash even them if you so choose? Having seen your handiwork most are unwilling to risk it.

Vip! With a business like flourish you snap the cane into Marjorie's thigh crease, the poor girl raising up on tiptoes to absorb the stroke. "Oh! Oh! Twelve, thank you, miss!" she groans, trying to supress the welling tears in her eyes.

You swish the cane dramatically through the air as you turn to face the rest of the office, their eyes transfixed on Marjorie's cane-sliced bum. "As for the rest of you -- I want this office tidied, and those missing ComLondon files found, now! Otherwise I'll be practicing my skills on your behinds!"

You don't have to tell them twice. Gain 1 Ambition point for using your hard earned skills so effectively.

Turn to page 269.

Page 267

Vip!

"Ouch! One, miss!" cries Marjorie, counting automatically, even though you did not instruct her to. The effect is rather nice, as is the brilliant crimson stain creeping across her bottom. You decide not to correct her as you swing the cane down for another stroke.

Vip!

"Nngg! Two, miss!" whimpers Marjorie, her buttocks visibly shifting as another bright track line flames up on her poor, unprotected bottom.

Across the office the girls and boys wince as you inflict stroke after merciless stroke across Marjorie's crimsoning backside. The women are definitely getting the message -- get this office tidy or this will happen to you. Even the men are nervous ... as an English woman would you be able to thrash even them if you so choose? Having seen your handywork most are unwilling to risk it.

Vip! With a business like flourish you snap the cane into Marjorie's thigh crease, the poor girl raising up on tiptoes to absorb the stroke. "Oh! Oh! Twelve, thank you, miss!" she groans, trying to supress the welling tears in her eyes.

You swish the cane dramatically through the air as you turn to face the rest of the office, their eyes transfixed on Marjorie's cane-sliced bum. "As for the rest of you -- I want this office tidied, and those missing ComLondon files found, now! Otherwise I'll be practicing my skills on your behinds!"

You don't have to tell them twice.

Turn to page 269.

Page 268

Right from the start it goes wrong. As you swing your arm you feel a sudden stab of conscience -- is it really right for Marjorie to suffer so cruelly over such an insignificant offence? This sense of pity weakens your hand and the blow lands with a pathetic ... swit!

Initially, Marjorie says nothing. It takes her a few moments to realise that the feeble blow was her first stroke, and not a measuring tap against her naked buttocks. "Oh ... one, miss," she says, almost sounding disappointed. Her buttocks are unmarked.

The next few strokes are better, with some even managing to redden her behind a little. Halfway through you sweep your arm back for a corking shot to her middle buttocks, but fear you might hurt the girl too much and pull away, only for your cane to soar high over her buttocks, to the stifled laughter of your employee's.

And that's it -- they can see you're a wimp at caning. You should never have tried it if you couldn't pull it off. Now discipline is going to be impossible. Lose 1 Dignity point and 5 points of Reputation.

You finish your set, some of the strokes even quite painful, but you've lost the crowd. Most of the office have gone back to work by the time the last stroke is given. Marjorie herself seems unflustered by her treatment, politely rising and thanking you for her punishment.

Determined to put the whole humiliating episode behind you, you quietly drop any hope of finding the missing files in your office and return to your desk to brood.

If you have the codeword LOST, Turn to page 273.
If not, read on.

Record the codeword LOST . The final report may not be complete, but you can still make the best of what you have.

If you have the codeword FOUND, Turn to page 272.

If not, its time to look for more of that missing paperwork!

What do you want to track down next?

The information dumped into the outdoor skip? Turn to page 160.

Or get the files missing in the Construction Office? Turn to page 205.

If you have searched both these places, Turn to page 272.

Page 269

All that day the team fervently clean and re-organise the office. The process is exhausting, seemingly tonnes of paperwork has been misfiled in the wrong place. It is, however extremely fruitful. A number of times you hear people remark about how they thought they had lost various pieces of work until discovering it at the bottom of someone else's draw.

Halfway through the day, the office floor literally covered in stacks of collated paper the files you were searching for are found. Beaming brightly Christine Salomand, one of your dozens of office admins, presents a huge box full of ComLondon files. Checking through them you see that they do indeed contain some of the information you are looking for.

The whole exercise has been very profitable. Gain 3 Progress points , as your team are now working in a much more organised environment. Also gain 3 Reputation points . Your team respect a strong leader who can punish wayward behaviour in the style they are used to.

If you have the codeword FOUND, Turn to page 270.

If you have the codeword GAIN, cross it off and record the codeword FOUND -- then Turn to page 271.

If you have neither of these Codewords, record the codeword GAIN and Turn to page 271.

Page 270

Taking stock of all your paperwork you discover, with joy, that every single missing piece of reporting is intact and in your possession! You might just escape Mr Stevenson's cane after all!

For the rest of the week you compile a total progress report, complete with charts, spreadsheets, and write-ups of every aspect of the project. Even the most demanding manager couldn't find fault with it! Breathing a sigh of relief, you personally hand deliver the report to Jennifer, Mr Stevenson's secretary, who promises to pass it on to him the next morning.

The report will also be useful to you, as it will help you avoid duplicating any existing work. Gain 12 Progress points !

Record the codeword COMPLETE .

Now Turn to page 789.

Page 271

Well, you're getting there! Now it's time to search somewhere else for those files.

Which files will you attempt to find? (you cannot search the same place twice)

The information dumped into the outdoor skip? Turn to page 160.

The files missing in the Construction Office? Turn to page 205.

Or is it time to sort out your own office and find the files there? Turn to page 256.

If you have searched all three locations Turn to page 272.

Page 272

Hmm. You've tried your best, but you haven't managed to find all the information you need. When writing the report for Mr Stevenson there are numerous holes in the information -- it looks far from complete. You'll do your best to blind your boss with a multitude of spread sheets and diagrams. You only hope it's enough.

Still ... some of the report might be useful.

If you have the codeword FOUND gain 6 Progress points -- the report only has a few missing details.

If you have the codeword GAIN gain 3 Progress points -- the report is still useful despite the many holes in the details.

Now Turn to page 789.

Page 273

You are now missing at least two sets of paperwork! Whatever you do now your efforts are doomed to end in a solid caning from Mr Stevenson. Downhearted you miserably compile the best report you can, knowing full well it is full of holes and unknown info.

Cross off the codeword LOST and record the codeword BLANK .

Now Turn to page 789.

Page 274

Gathering your technical team together in your office, you lay out a large map of Westjack Island which shows the position of every telephone booster on the island. Your predecessor never resolved a crucial telephone blind spot on the sparsely populated eastern end of the island. Currently, if you flicked the switch now, a quarter of the island would be unable to access mobile phone transmissions. However, there is now only time to construct one more booster before the project is due to start.

"What are our options?" you ask Julian Bennett, your tech supervisor.

"Well ... there's three locations we've rounded it down to," he says unsurely. "There's Graham's Mount, but that location is quite inaccessible, especially this time of year. The Mowbray Estate is built on a hill that might provide good coverage. Or we could just stick the thing smack in the middle of Midway Farm, which is the most central point of the blind spot."

You carefully consider your options.

If you have the trait 'Knowledgeable', Turn to page 275.

If not, which location would you like to choose?

Mowbray Manor? Turn to page 276.

Graham's Mount? Turn to page 363.

Midway Farm? Turn to page 358.

Page 275

You haven't worked in the mobile phone industry for the last four years and picked up nothing! Clearly Graham's Mount would provide the best coverage, since it overlooks the entire blind spot. After that Mowbray Manor, built on its tall hillside covers most to the area missed out. Midway Farm would be awful -- since it occupies a dip in the land which would block signals. The only question remains which is the most practical option?

Which location would you like to choose?

Mowbray Manor? Turn to page 276.

Graham's Mount? Turn to page 363.

Midway Farm? Turn to page 358.

Page 276

Mowbray Manor is the largest private house on the island. Mr Mowbray himself is considered the most upright citizen on the island -- the very model of firm and respectable manhood. He is well known to have many servants, and he employs a good proportion of the island's population. Not a man to upset, then.

You and a small team of engineers led by Julian approach the manor dressed in your best suits. Your office has already called the manor to arrange a meeting with the famous Mr Mowbray, and you fervently hope that negotiations can be completed quickly -- there's so little time left to get this project sorted!

The manor itself is a large Georgian style affair, with massive, well-tended gardens and a number of smaller outhouses surrounding it. A number of servants, most of them female, are busying themselves with weeding, grass cutting and other maintenance duties whilst the weather is good. Several of the servants look up with undisguised awe at your approach -- they are not used to seeing a power-dressed woman in a suit.

Coming out to meet you on the gravel path that leads to the manor is Mr Mowbray himself, flanked by a couple of butlers and a maid dressed in a rather excitingly tight black and white uniform. Mr Mowbray is somewhat portly and thin haired, dressed casually in tweeds. You wonder what he makes of you?

If you have the codeword WARM Turn to page 277.

If you have the codeword SIGNED Turn to page 278.

If you have the codeword DEFIANT Turn to page 281.

Otherwise Turn to page 284.

Page 277

"Dianne, my dear, what a pleasure!" he beams, opening his arms wide. Taking your queue you slip into a tight embrace, Mr Mowbray hugging you tightly to his chest.

"And it's a pleasure to see you, sir," you beam, happy to maintain his good graces.

He releases you from his crushing hug and holds you affectionately by the shoulders. "Not still sore from your treatment at my hands, I hope?" he grins. "I've quite lost track of time. I have no idea how long ago that was."

"Too long," you insist, flirtingly. "Besides, I'm afraid other men from your naughty island have brutalised my bottom since, so your marks have quite faded. Could I introduce Julian and his team? I suspect you know why I'm here..."

"Here about those blasted telephone masts of yours, yes?" says Mr Mowbray, darkening somewhat. "I've seen them spring up like bamboo all across the island."

"I won't lie to you -- that is why I'm here," you say firmly. "Would it be alright if Julian and his team had a little look around while you and I had a chat?"

Mr Mowbray grumbles. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt -- but don't even think about building anything without my permission!"

"Wouldn't dream of it," you smile, taking Mr Mowbray by the arm.

The old man almost seems to blush with pleasure, and smartly escorts you inside the house as Julian and his team prepare to survey Mr Mowbray's land.

Turn to page 285.

Page 278

"Well," grins Mr Mowbray, "if it isn't my penitent little English woman. I received your letter from Mr Stevenson. Here to apologise in person, are you?"

You shuffle slightly. This is so embarrassing. "I do apologise for my inappropriate behaviour," you say, trying to maintain eye contact with Mr Mowbray. "I've learnt a great deal since coming to this island about good manners..."

"I read that you got the cane for it -- a solid six strokes ... I'd love to see the evidence," he laughs.

If Mr Stevenson has caned you this week or last week, and your Bum Status is at least 'Sore' you can show Mr Mowbray your marks if you wish by turning to page 279.

If it has been too long, or you have healed too well, or you simply don't want to show Mr Mowbray your bottom, Turn to page 280.

Page 279

You need to get on good terms with Mr Mowbray and quickly. It will be embarrassing to make such a display in public (especially with your team watching), but perhaps it will make Mr Mowbray trust you.

Swiftly turning around, trying to avoid the bemused gazes of your workmates, you bend over to ninety degrees, swinging the flap of your jacket into the small of your back, and peeling your skirt from your taught buttocks. Knowing that Mr Mowbray would only be satisfied with viewing your naked bum, you swiftly tug your knickers down to your ankles.

Gain 1 Willpower point for this brazen display, but lose 1 point of Dignity or Ambition (your choice).

"I say! What a game girl!" cries Mr Mowbray, eagerly bending to view your displayed bottom up close. You shudder as you feel his fingers glide along the perfectly straight cane tracks left on your bottom.

"Definitely Mr Stevenson's handiwork," muses Mr Mowbray. "Just like the lines on that cheeky English slut Jennifer's arse. Looks rather more than half a dozen, but maybe my eyes are playing tricks on me."

Mr Mowbray gives a satisfied grunt. "Good enough -- at least you've learned your lesson and aren't too proud to show it. I like that in a woman. I think I could do business with you, Miss. Hathaway."

"Thank you, sir," you say, still bent over rudely. "May I ... may I stand?"

"If you must, girl," laughs Mr Mowbray, "but it's a damn shame. Why don't you come inside? I'm sure your lackeys will want to have a good peep at my land ... think about where they want to put their infernal mast?"

You swiftly rise and repair your clothing, Julian trying to hide his blushes. "That's very kind of you, sir," you say gratefully, swiftly indicating to Julian to stop gawping and get surveying. Mr Mowbray offers you his arm, and together the two of you disappear into the mansion.

Turn to page 285.

Page 280

"I'm afraid those marks have faded, sir," you say with some relief.

"Hmm. Obviously didn't hit you hard enough, then," grunts Mr Mowbray. "I take it you're here to talk about your blasted phone masts, yes?"

"That indeed, sir, is my business," you affirm, feeling cold hostility pour from Mr Mowbray as you say it.

"Why don't you let your lackey's wander round?" he snaps. "You and I can talk inside."

"That's very kind of you, sir," you say, nodding to Julian to get working whilst the going is good.

Mr Mowbray turns on his heel and storms inside, with you trotting in your heels to catch up with him...

Turn to page 305.

Page 281

"Well -- if it isn't that spoiled English girl and her crew of island destroyers," barks Mr Mowbray as you approach, looking upon you with undisguised distaste. "Here to spread your vile feminist liberalism through that blasted internet are you? Not on my land you're not!"

This is going really badly. You'll have to appease Mr Mowbray somehow.

"I hope, sir, that you're not still upset about that business on the plane," you say gently, but firmly. "I'm here to talk business."

"I don't do business with rude girls who mock our culture as if it was some sort of primitive relic. You had a punishment decreed and did not accept it -- well, that's your right over international waters. But here it is completely unacceptable! Good day!"

Mr Mowbray turns on his heel.

What do you wish to do?

Offer to take your punishment here and now? Turn to page 282.

Or give up on positioning the Comms Booster tower here? Turn to page 789.

Page 282

"Wait! Mr Mowbray!" you call desperately as Mr Mowbray begins to stroll away. "If it's just a matter of my outstanding punishment why then ... I'm willing to take it now! Don't condemn the island because of my faults! I truly am very sorry!"

Mr Mowbray stops in his tracks. He turns, one eyebrow raised in an arch, evidently surprised by your offer. "You?" he splutters. "A modern English girl? Willing to abide by primitive island customs? No doubt you are teasing an old man for your own amusement!"

"Sir, I've learned much since I came to Westjack," you hurriedly explain. "Things that seemed shocking to me when I first arrived now seem rather normal. I fully intend to follow the reasonable customs of the island -- it was never my intention to offend anybody. I curse the moment I yelled at you so caustically, it was a product of my upbringing. I do hope you can forgive me -- in that generous way Westjack men are obliged to do once a penitent woman's punishment is done."

Gain 1 point of Dignity for this noble speech, and also 2 points of Reputation -- you really have surpassed yourself.

Indeed, Mr Mowbray is now trapped by custom and tradition. Morally he cannot refuse your offer of penitence, especially in public. He must punish and then forgive you.

Mr Mowbray cannot figure out whether you are earnest or deliberately manipulating him. But, surrounded by his own men as well as yours, he cannot refuse.

"A noble sentiment," he concedes. "Very well. Phillip, fetch the three-tailed flogger. I'll carry out your punishment in public, over by the cow-gate. We'll see how noble you feel after two dozen with that beast on your bare behind!"

Swallowing, you follow Mr Mowbray as Phillip hastens to obey his master's orders. Julian and the rest of the team remain quiet as they trudge behind you, but you cannot help but feel they are somehow sniggering at you inside. At the very least they are going to enjoy watching how their esteemed English manager is going to take her licks from the famous Mr Mowbray. Putting on a good show has never been so important.

Soon you arrive at the edge of a verdant field. It slopes elegantly into the valley below, a herd of cows munching in quiet satisfaction upon the lush grass. An old wooden two barred fence rings the field, the rough, dry wood still strong despite its ancient age.

"This will be a rather picturesque place for a beating, don't you think?" chuckles Mr Mowbray. "From this spot everything you can see is mine, from the cottages in the lower valley, to the woodlands that crest the hill. Now I have another thing to improve the view -- your penitent backside as it reddens under the lash. I find an outdoor beating, with all its random elements, rather enjoyable, although I confess you cannot beat a good drawing room caning for precision."

You shudder at the prospect of being so exposed. Anyone could witness your beating! "I thought, sir," you offer nervously, "that since it was just a little smacked bottom that I refused, that you would simply repeat that punishment."

Mr Mowbray shakes his head. "Not the done thing, old girl. If a girl is being spoilt or silly, and refuses to take her licks the punishment must be increased to put her off future rebellion."

"I'll certainly not defy you again, sir!" you insist, desperate to put off your punishment for a few moments more.

"This will determine that," says Mr Mowbray grandly, just as Phillip comes running up, bearing an old, brown leather flogger, three long, worn straps dangling from the handle. Mr Mowbray beams as he sees the weapon, taking it fondly into his hands, stroking the lengths of leather. "This is the same flogger I used on my dear wife when we were courting," he muses tenderly. "Since then I've never used it on the same bum twice."

Mr Mowbray laughs at himself, shaking his head. "Silly old duffer, get on with it, you fool!" He turns to you. "Up on the gate, girl! Step onto the lower bar, and hold the top bar with your hands -- sticking your bum right out. Go on! Get a move on!"

You jump to obey your instructions, a cold wind picking up as you clamber onto the fence. The distance between the two bars is only about two feet -- so gripping onto the top bar, with your heeled feet lodged into the bar just below sticks your bottom out very rudely. It's a difficult position to hold, your entire centre of balance offset from your legs, meaning you have to grip on tightly to stop yourself from falling.

You can feel your tight skirt virtually bursting at the seams as your backside presses against the thin material. The wind blows your hair into your eyes causing you to shake your head and almost snort like a horse.

"You -- young man, whastyername?" shouts Mr Mowbray above the sudden bluster, pointing the flogger at one of your crew.

"Julian Bennet, sir," he says. "I'm the technical..."

"Be a good man and lift her skirt over her bum -- and pull her knickers down," he instructs curtly. "Try not to enjoy yourself too much whilst doing it; this is for her own good, you know!"

Julian flushes red with embarrassment, but quickly obeys, peeling your skirt over your thrust-out buttocks, and gingerly rolling your knickers down until they gather at your locked knees. He tries not to gaze too much at your rudely exposed sex as he backs away from his handiwork.

"Beast of a wind," mutters Mr Mowbray. "I'll have to fight against it. Hold on there, Dianne, you're in for quite a ride!"

And with that, he begins...

Snap! You jolt as the flogger makes its first impact across your bare backside. Its several strips of tough leather roughly batter and squash your cheeks like an explosion of fire. Mr Mowbray seems to be putting his entire strength into the swing, either to combat the wind or to intimidate you on the first stroke. Either way it's effective!

"Ouch!" you cry, your bottom burning an instant red. What a cad he is to strike you so roughly.

Snap! A blow nearly as strong, the wide leather strips fanning out across your bottom, which twitches and clenches to disperse the pain.

Snap! A quick, rough shot -- an up-ender -- that cracks across your sex lips as well as your lower backside.

If your Willpower or Dignity is 5 or more, Turn to page 283.
If not, read on.

You shriek in surprise, somehow not expecting your tender parts to be harmed despite their obvious prominence. "Mr Mowbray -- please!" you cry out, like a scalding head teacher. "Kindly restrict your punishment to my bottom!"

Julian Bennett seems to always curl up with embarrassment. Mr Mowbray harrumphs loudly. "It is hardly decent or sporting for a punished girl to complain about the odd bad shot," he lectures back. "A good girl takes her licks with dignity, and doesn't moan about every accidental error. You've much to learn about taking punishment, Miss. Hathaway!"

"Clearly not as much as you have about delivering it!" you shoot back.

Ouch! You'll pay for that one! Gain 1 point of Ambition for your defiance, but lose 2 points of Respect -- your staff can see you're not to be messed with, but that you take your punishment like a spoiled aristocrat.

The fuming Mr Mowbray isn't going to let that lie! With renewed vigour he strikes your bottom again with the heavy flogger.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

You wiggle and dance under a firestorm of blows that seem to set your bottom alight. Mr Mowbray, publically challenged, beats you with all his strength and skill, determined to break your spirit. It is an uneven contest -- Mr Mowbray has punished troublesome girls all his adult life. Truly riled he is a nigh unstoppable force of vengeance!

Snap! Snap! Snap!

Mr Mowbray's flogger strikes you at will, thighs, bottom, sex, without care for accuracy -- only power. You bite down onto your lip and sob as he strikes, your heels digging into the wood of the lower beam, your knuckles white gripping onto the top beam. You cannot help but groan and buck as he unleashes two dozen of his best upon your exposed buttocks.

Raise your Bum Status by 3 levels .

By the time he has finished you are a miserable, shivering wreck, too sore to care for your dignity, or for the many eyes that now gaze upon your scarlet cheeks.

"You took that about as well as I expected," grunts Mr Mowbray. "In other words, very poorly. But at least I can see some contrition in you. Well? Are you sorry?"

You do not pause. "Yes, sir! Oh, yes sir!"

Leaving you a few more shivering moments on the fence he finally lets you down. "No hard feelings, then, I suppose," grumbles Mr Mowbray. "I suppose you've earned at least a meeting with me. Very well -- get down off that fence and follow me inside. Your lackeys can have a good snoop around -- I suppose that's why you brought them?"

"Yes, sir," you warble, slowly clambering down from the fence, your onlookers never ceasing to gaze upon your twisting buttocks as you do so. "Thank you, sir," you add for good measure.

Turning on his heels Mr Mowbray strides off back towards his manor, you in tow, hauling up your knickers as you go.

Turn to page 305.

Page 283

You grunt in shock and pain at the low blow inflicted upon your most private parts. You are about to object, but you quickly remind yourself that the only reason you have allowed your bottom to be displayed and beaten is to ingratiate yourself to Mr Mowbray; complaining about his beating skills seems a poor way to do it!

Snap! Snap!

In any case, that time has passed, and you groan out to a pair of stinging blows that seem to encompass your entire bottom cheeks in their scalding impact.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

Two dozen blows are rained down on your buttocks, but although they are trying Mr Mowbray is a flexible punisher. Quickly judging your level of tolerance, he does not beat you gratuitously, and instead seems to manage the fire scorching your behind like a steam train driver manages the pressure of his engine -- with great skill and judgement. It seems that the blow to your sex lips was indeed accidental, as no others are forthcoming, despite your exposed posture. Instead, he beats you to the edge of your forbearance, but not beyond.

Snap! Snap!

"Uhhh!" you groan in relief, as the last pair of strokes caress your behind. Your bum feels very chastened, but you are unsure if the damage is really as bad as it feels.

Raise your Bum Status by 2 levels .

"Good girl! Dashed well taken!" enthuses Mr Mowbray, examining his handy work with a gentle hand upon your bottom. "Glad you're not one of these sullen, silent girls who take their strokes without a whimper. A man likes to know his effort is being rewarded. I can see Westjack Island has done your attitude the world of good!"

"Thank you, sir!" you say with as much enthusiasm as you can summon, trying not to wriggle as Mr Mowbray's hand courses across the contours of your beaten behind.

Gain 1 Dignity point for this public recognition, and 1 point of Reputation. The good word of Mr Mowbray can travel far.

"Come along then, you'd better pop into the house with me!" he beams, helping you down from the fence almost like a gentleman. You shyly pull your knickers up and skirt back over your glowing cheeks as soon as you hit the ground. Well -- you've managed to make a good impression on Mr Mowbray! Looks like that sore bum was worth it...

Turn to page 285.

Page 284

"Miss. Hathaway, I remember you from the plane, of course," says Mr Mowbray, neutrally, extending his hand towards you. "Wouldn't normally shake hands with a girl, but I try to respect other people's customs -- even if they are English."

Hmm. Cold.

You quickly shake his hand and introduce your team to him, explaining briefly your purpose here.

"Yes, I know all about your blasted remote telephone network!" he snaps. "Not enough that the whole island is filled with wires strung out on poles already -- now you want to put more of them up."

"I assure you, Mr Mowbray, what wires there are in this project are all going underground," you explain carefully. "This project exists to make everyone's life better, not more miserable."

"I'm not a fan, Miss. Hathaway," barks Mr Mowbray, "and I doubt your sincerity. Nonetheless, I suppose we can talk. Why don't you come inside? Your lackeys can have a good sniff around my land in my absence."

At that, he turns on his heel and marches back into the manor. Frustrated by his unfriendliness, you quickly nod at your team to get surveying and follow closely at Mr Mowbray's heels.

Turn to page 305.

Page 285

Arm in arm, you are escorted into Mowbray manor by its genial master. It is a grand old hall, bedecked in burgundy furniture, fading oil colour paintings and suits of armour. Servants seem to flock into the main hall to greet Mr Mowbray, men bowing stiffly in full formal tails, ladies curtsying gracefully in their rather tight uniforms so as to give their master a pleasing view of their tightly bound cleavages.

You are led into the drawing room, a butler sweeping away Mr Mowbray's papers from his desk in a practiced fashion. Mr Mowbray bids you sit, and asks for the wine maid to bring some Burgundy for you to drink.

Mr Mowbray is willing to hear you out, and after a few more pleasantries you get to the nitty-gritty of your proposal, presenting the immaculate ComLondon prospectus for Mowbray to absorb.

"The island's oil supply gives it a lot of wealth," you say as Mowbray reads the documents, "but it is from the wealthy summer visitors that the majority of the island gains its income. Rich city bankers and entrepreneurs who find the island's customs ... charming."

"It's true -- they do enjoy popping over, spanking a few locals and spending a fortune in the restaurants," says Mr Mowbray breezily, confirming what you have long suspected to be the reason for Westjack Island's unusually wealthy tourist industry. "But surely your blasted Internet will change all that. Give women funny ideas about their place in life."

You've prepared for this question. "Very few people are willing to surrender their customs, even in the digital age," you say quickly. "In fact, it frequently reinforces their beliefs, once they see how strange the outside world is. But the Internet and mobile phone tech isn't just for you -- your customers demand it. Isn't it true that the number of wealthy tourists has dropped in recent years? These city bankers might enjoy the ... customs of the island, but they miss their modern conveniences. If you don't adapt, the island may be left behind."

Mr Mowbray quietly absorbs this, his eyes flicking over the pages of the prospectus. Suddenly there is a knock at the door.

"Enter," says Mr Mowbray, briefly looking up from his reading.

The door opens behind you and you briefly look behind you to see who it is. You do a double take. Entering the room is a young maid, no more than nineteen or twenty, holding an old, dusty bottle of Burgundy in her hands. She wears a small, white frilly apron around her waist ... and nothing else. Her firm, naked breasts bob at each step, her sensuous hips wiggling in a rather formal, practiced way. She flushes a brilliant scarlet upon seeing you, but, not daring to pause, walks towards the table and stands to the side of it to full attention, shifting her shoulders back so her breasts thrust forward to prominence.

"Maisie, pour myself and my guest a glass of Burgundy," Mr Mowbray says, resuming his reading as if nothing unusual is going on. "And do it properly, girl! No sloppy service like last time, or you know what will follow."

"Yes, Mr Mowbray," trills Maisie, her eyes continuing to flick to you in mortified embarrassment. Maisie puts the bottle reverently on the table, and turns to go to the glass cabinet, revealing the shapely apple of her behind as she does so.

"Is ... is it usual for your wine maid's to be so ... nude?" you ask, mouth agape at this outrageous display.

Mr Mowbray looks over the top of the prospectus and looks at the naked girl as if he had only just taken her in. A likely story! "Oh -- Maisie?" he asks innocently. "No, she's not naked because she's a wine maid, but because she's new -- only a few months in. It's been a tradition in Mowbray Manor for new girls to be naked until the effect has worn off. Maids, you see, must be willing to attend at any time and in any state of dress without pause. By stripping them off for their first year or so the sting of nudity wears off. Several customs of the island, many of which are held here, require full or partial female nudity."

Maisie opens the glass cabinet, carefully selecting the right glasses, as quietly and delicately as possible, swiftly returning to the table to open the bottle. You are stunned that anyone would work under such conditions.

"But surely nudity here is just as humiliating as it is in England?" you press. "I mean ... you're not nudists here, are you?"

"Far from it," laughs Mr Mowbray. "I would say being seen naked in public is considered exquisitely embarrassing here. To show such a large amount of nude flesh is shocking and disgraceful, and I always think poorly of girls who do it. It is, however, a tradition of working in the manor, so Maisie must tolerate it."

Maisie, mortified at your discussion of her nudity is distracted, and pours the wine indelicately into your glass such that the liquid fills it to the brim, and the drips splash across the table.

"Idiot girl!" roars Mr Mowbray, rising from his chair in annoyance. "Did I not instruct you to twist the bottle neck when finishing pouring?"

"Yes, sir! Sorry, sir!" whimpers Maisie, cringing at her telling off.

"And how much wine, exactly, do you think Miss. Hathaway wants?" he thunders. "How will she drink that without spilling it, eh?"

"I don't know, sir!" sniffles Maisie, appalled.

"Useless slut! Fetch me a good rattan from the smoking room and bring it straight back here! Mind how you dawdle!"

Maisie turns an ashen colour, and quickly bolts from the room to obey.

What is your reaction?

Will you try to cover for Maisie to get her off her caning? Turn to page 286.

Chastise Mr Mowbray for his poor staff? Turn to page 303.

Sit quietly and pretend the incident never occurred? Turn to page 298.

.

Page 286

"Mr Mowbray, please don't be too hard on the girl," you say quietly. "She's obviously very new and nervous."

"Two good reasons for beating her, then!" exclaims Mr Mowbray with a smile.

"I wouldn't want her beaten on my account..." you insist.

Mr Mowbray's moustache bristles. "Miss. Hathaway you are an honoured guest, but please do not come between a gentleman and his decreed household discipline. I take these matters very seriously."

What do you do?

Threaten to leave if Mr Mowbray beats the girl? Turn to page 287.

Apologise and defer to his judgement? Turn to page 298.

Page 287

"I will not have the girl beaten on my account!" you insist. "And if you intend to go through with this barbarous punishment I'll take my leave of you."

Mr Mowbray darkens -- never before has been spoken to in such a tone. "She is clearly not the only one who needs a firm, Westjack lesson!" he hisses. "For every stroke Maisie takes, you shall take two!"

You fluster with rage at the arrogant man. "Well, I'm not staying, so it doesn't...."

"Go now and give up all hope of getting your precious tower up!" thunders Mr Mowbray. "Even then your chances are small -- but with sufficient humility and sacrifice I may still allow it. It's your choice, Miss. Hathaway!"

You tremble in agitation. Mr Stevenson is going to be really upset if you fail to get this tower up ... but is it worth giving this cruel old man the satisfaction?

What do you do?

Turn on your heel and leave? Turn to page 288.

Reluctantly agree to take your beating? Turn to page 289.

Page 288

Not even the Comms Booster tower is worth this! Smiling coldly you turn on your heel and leave, passing a breathless Maisie carrying a flexible looking rattan cane in her hands.

You exit the manor to the sound of cane whipping flesh, and the pitiful squeaks of Maisie. You may not have saved her, but at least you saved your dignity.

Gain 2 points of Dignity , but lose 3 points of Reputation . Once people on the island know you walked out on a caning decreed by the most respected man on the island they will think poorly of you.

Turn to page 789.

Page 289

You are too angry to be meek, or to suck up to Mr Mowbray's ego -- but you stay where you are, looking down at your high heeled shoes until Maisie returns. Breathless from her dash, Maisie holds in her hands a thin, smooth, flexible looking cane. She has brought it for her own buttocks' agony, little knowing that you are about to join her.

Mr Mowbray snatches the cane from Maisie's hands and glowers at you. You cannot help but notice a smug twinkle in his eyes.

"Maisie, stand just off centre and to the left in the middle of the room, hands on your head and to attention," snaps Mr Mowbray, pointing to the location with the cane.

Maisie does not hesitate, quickly trotting into position and standing ruler straight. Even with her back to you, you can see her round breasts heave up as her hands fold themselves into her hair.

"Miss. Hathaway -- stand next to her, if you please, likewise to attention," Mr Mowbray says with relish.

Swallowing your anger you go to stand next to the astonished Maisie, who turns to look at you in amazement. She is rewarded for her curiosity by a swift stroke to her buttocks.

Vip!

"Ah! Sorry, sir!" she cries out, immediately snapping her head forward.

Vap! Vap!

You wince as two strokes of the cane strike your clothed buttocks, sharp even behind the layers of material.

"Maisie -- you should know that for every stroke you take, Miss. Hathaway is going to take two," explains Mr Mowbray. "She wishes to express ... solidarity with you. If you feel any affection towards our guest I suggest you behave yourself and avoid repeats."

"Yes, sir!" says Maisie, digesting this sudden turnaround.

"Miss. Hathaway," drawls Mr Mowbray. "I despise whipping clothed flesh. Kindly do me the honour of removing your skirt and knickers. You may keep your heels on -- I find they lend a beautiful shape to a woman's legs. Now, if you please."

You somehow knew that you weren't going to be fully clothed for long. Biting your lip you unbutton your skirt, which collapses into a pile around your ankles. Sliding your hands to the side of your waist you gently slip your knickers down until they join your skirt in the unflattering heap at your feet. You consider moving your clothes away, but are unsure whether this would provoke a retaliatory cane stroke from Mr Mowbray, and so leave your clothes where they are.

Mr Mowbray considers the two ladies in front of him, taking his time to retrieve the drink from his desk. He gazes unabashed at the naked breasts of his maid, and his eyes flick to your clothed boobs, evidently trying to evaluate how yours would look similarly naked. Would you let him see them? If only to save the project, of course?

You are not given a chance to find out. "Bend over, both of you, and touch toes," he commands. "I'll beat you like a pair of disobedient schoolgirls."

Maisie bends down swiftly, with barely a breath's pause, to demonstrate her obedience. You swallow cautiously ... your legs are still firmly snapped together, you'll have to be very flexible to manage this!

If your Dignity is 4 or more, Turn to page 290.
Otherwise, read on:

You bend over, your hands sliding over your legs as they reach towards your toes. You always thought of yourself as pretty flexible, but your hands are hanging a full inch above your toes no matter how much you try to press yourself down.

Swiftly Mr Mowbray stalks behind you and unleashes a cruel backhand stroke across your straining buttocks.

Vip! "Ouch!" you cry miserably.

"Finger's to your toes, you useless English trollop!" barks Mr Mowbray as the sting rises on your backside.

"I ... I can't, Mr Mowbray ... sir!" you correct, your anger replaced by fear of that wicked cane. "They just won't go down that far!"

"Why you disobedient..."

Vip! Vip!

You howl as Mr Mowbray cuts into your arse, swinging his hand heavily into a full slice that cracks into your defenceless bum-flesh.

Vip! Vip!

You choke with sudden tears, your adrenaline fuelled body finally obeying Mr Mowbray's demands -- for much to your surprise you see your fingers are now indeed touching your toes, your body straining tightly.

"As you see, Miss. Hathaway, I always get what I want," says Mr Mowbray smugly, observing the heavy tracks he has inflicted on your bottom with considerable pride. "The cane is an excellent tutor -- do you not agree?"

"Yes ... yes, sir..." you sob brokenly.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 Level and record the codeword WEAK .

Turn to page 291.

Page 290

It's hardly an easy position to hold, but by straining every sinew you manage to touch your toes with your fingertips, your bum rising high above you. Mr Mowbray observes your effort with a smug grin -- but says nothing. Instead he slowly steps around behind his two defenceless ladies, their backsides thrust up before him to obediently take his cane.

Turn to page 291.

Page 291

"Maisie," intones Mr Mowbray gravely. "For spilling wine in the presence of a guest -- a dozen strokes to your bum. I'll accept some noise, but nothing obscene. No flinching or breaking position, or it's extras for you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir..." declares Maisie, suddenly cut off by the terrible whoosh of the cane.

Vip!

"Unnnh!" she grunts, her body shivering as a meaty blow from Mr Mowbray's cane impacts sorely upon her buttocks. "Thank you, sir!"

Mr Mowbray nods, before stepping to the side, your own backside now filling his view.

"For every one Maisie takes, two for you," he reminds you needlessly, flicking his arm and wrist expertly.

Vip! Vip!

"Ah! Ahhh!" you cry throatily, for Mr Mowbray is clearly no amateur with the cane. "Thank you, sir!" you add for good measure (you're already sentenced to twenty four strokes, no point adding to your total now out of mere defiance!).

Mr Mowbray nods, and returns to Maisie.

Vip! His cane impacts diagonally across the top of Maisie's arse, causing the poor girl to bend her knees under the impact. "Fault!" declares Mr Mowbray dramatically. "You'll take that one again!"

"Sorry, s..." begins Maisie, before the sharp Vip! of Mr Mowbray's cane cuts her off, the blow landing across her lower cheeks.

"Thank you, sir!" she quavers.

Now it's your turn...

Vip! Vip! Vip! Vip!

Just as you feared, Mr Mowbray doubles every stoke, including the extra, painting your poor bottom with deep red track lines that seem to scream out your agony.

If your Willpower is 5 or more, Turn to page 292.
If not, read on.

"Uh! Ahhh! Ohhhh! Ahhhh!" you wail as Mr Mowbray beats you in a relentless barrage, leaving barely a second between strokes. You sob piteously and grasp your flaming backside in your clutching hands, uncaring that this could earn you more strokes.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 Level .

Mr Mowbray shakes his head sadly. "Well, Miss. Hathaway," he says ruefully. "To coin a ghastly American phrase, it appears you can't take what your tongue dishes out."

You can find no words to counter your cruel tormentor, and remain sobbing, unwilling to release your backside.

"May I now continue to punish my maid as I see fit, without any more liberal lecturing from you?" he demands.

You turn and nod pitifully.

"Go and stand in the corner -- hands on your head, and think about what I've said," he demands. "Then you can hear how a proper woman takes her lashes."

Desperate to escape any more bare bottom punishment you quickly scurry into the corner, leaving your knickers and skirt behind. Mr Mowbray didn't say what direction you should face, but you opt to look into the corner to hide your blushes, even if you cannot hide your cane-whipped posterior to Mr Mowbray's haughty eyes.

Behind you the caning recommences, groans and grunts emit from poor punished Maisie as her master demonstrates his skill upon her bottom. This has been a humbling experience, and one that has left you more nervous.

Lose 1 point of Ambition .

Turn to page 294.

Page 292

What a trial by fire! You bite down on your lip and groan continuously through the deadly quartet of strokes across your quivering buttocks. Somehow, within the core of your being, you manage to resist the urge to grasp your flaming bum and cower. Instead, like a tower, you thrust your buttocks up higher after the last stroke, as if daring Mr Mowbray to strike you again.

Mr Mowbray frowns. Evidently this will not be as easy as he thought...

Vip! "Ah!" Vip! Vip! "Uh! Ahh!"

The gruelling caning goes on, you greatly disadvantaged by Mr Mowbray's cruel double-stroke rule. You are unsure how powerfully Mr Mowbray is cleaving Maisie's backside, but your own feels like molten iron is being poured over it, the stinging cane snapping and hissing like a fiery brand across your bum.

Raise your Bum Status by 2 levels .

If you have the codeword WEAK, Turn to page 293.
If not, read on.

Your caning partner, Maisie, is much impressed with you. Not only can you hold position, but you are able to take twice as much as her without any fuss. Clearly no Westjack woman can shame herself by taking her strokes less well than a feeble foreigner, so Maisie resolves not to so much as flinch or groan for her last few strokes. This fortitude, in spite of Mr Mowbray's best efforts, plays to your advantage, as the terrible multi-stroke penalties are the most agonising part of your caning.

Vip! Mr Mowbray's cane cuts into Maisie's behind with vigour, but produces not so much as a whimper from the proud Westjack woman.

Vip! Vip! Disheartened, Mr Mowbray's strokes begin to weaken, such that even you can endure the two swiftly spaced strokes across your bum without moaning or flinching. "Thank you, sir," you add, mischievously calmly, more as if you were a hostess being given a tip than a young lady being mercilessly beaten.

Mr Mowbray grumbles something incoherent, but finally decrees the beating over.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level , and gain 1 Fun Point -- besting spoiled aristocrats at their own game is rather good fun!

Turn to page 294.

Page 293

Maisie could have made this whole experience much less gruelling if she had managed to stay still and quiet. Unfortunately for you Maisie is rather enjoying the power she has over a 'spoiled English girl' like you. Having been beaten by numerous visiting Englishmen across her lifetime, the opportunity to get revenge on an Englishwoman is too much to resist -- especially one who can't even bend over properly!

Vip! "Silly girl!" hisses Mr Mowbray. "Don't cringe from the cane! That's an extra!"

Vip! Vip! Vip! Vip!

"Ung! Ah! Ngg! Uh!" you groan at the inevitable foursome, your backside fruitlessly clenching to disperse the pain.

Vip! "Can you not keep still for even a single stroke, you hussy? Take another one!"

Vip! Vip! Vip! Vip!

You shudder, you groan, you weep as Mr Mowbray inflexibly beats you your enhanced quota. By the end of the caning you are a shivering wreck, and your backside is an entrenched mass of bruises.

Raise your Bum Status by 2 levels .

Finally satisfied with the state of your backsides, Mr Mowbray permits you to rise. "Good girls," he concedes. "Now scurry along, Maisie, Miss. Hathaway and I have business to discuss."

Turn to page 294.

Page 294

"Well," says Mr Mowbray, once Maisie has left and the two of you are alone again, "now that unpleasant business is over with, let's get down to business."

You readily agree, and quickly pull the planning brochure put together by your team out of your briefcase.

"I have to admit you have surprised me, Miss. Hathaway," concedes Mr Mowbray. "I had assumed, wrongly, that as an Englishwoman you had no respect for the island or its customs. You, however, have proven an excellent ambassador for your company, despite the cultural damage your infernal internet will wreak."

"Sir! I assure you that the new systems will greatly enhance..." you begin, but Mr Mowbray waves you down.

"I'm no fool, Miss. Hathaway -- I know full well that our tourism trade will dry up if we can't let those European fools play with their portable phones or send endless electronic letters to each other. What do they care that it will destroy our way of life? Within twenty years Westjack will be another bland, faceless community of bleeding-heart liberals who can't prize themselves away from their computer televisions."

You nod seriously, inwardly bewildered at Mr Mowbray's monumental pessimism.

"But you -- I like," he says plainly. "Besides having the infernal mast on my land at least allows me some control over the wretched thing. You'd only go and plonk it in Peter Midway's farm if I obstruct you. So -- let's talk money."

You smile. You've clinched it! Now it's time to make the best deal possible for ComLondon.

If your Ambition score is 7 or more, turn to 295.

If your Ambition score is between 4 and 6, Turn to page 296.

If your Ambition score is 3 or less, Turn to page 297.

Page 295

Your skill at negotiation is unparalleled. Quite unused to dealing with such a forceful woman, Mr Mowbray can only gape in wonder as you secure a premium site on his land for a piffling sum, and is forced to sign a legal waiver stating that he cannot interfere with the operation of the network on pain of prosecution.

Unable to admit that he has been outfoxed, Mr Mowbray can only brag emptily about what a good deal he has secured, whilst winsomely looking at the feeble compensation he has been offered.

The new mast is sighted in an excellent position, and Mr Mowbray will be unable to meddle with it once it is activated. Gain 15 Progress points and record the codeword TRANSMISSION .

Now turn to 789.

Page 296

Mr Mowbray is a tough and wily negotiator. He keeps insisting on being able to deactivate the comms booster tower if he believes that people are using their telephones excessively or immorally. Clearly you can't allow this -- but Mr Mowbray uses this context to demand ever higher fees.

Eventually you settle on a deal that legally prohibits him from interfering with the tower, but in exchange for an eye-wateringly high rental. Those high costs are going to seriously curtail what you can do elsewhere, but at least it will keep Mr Stevenson's cane from your bottom!

Gain 10 Progress points and record the codeword TRANSMISSION .

Now Turn to page 789.

Page 297

Mr Mowbray is a born aristocrat, and his overwhelming presence cows you into submission. Although you object to his demand that he be able to 'shut off the phone tower if necessary' as outrageous, you cannot deny him. At this late stage you cannot get the tower built anywhere else.

In addition to this personal control he insists on a gratuitously high fee for the trouble and inconvenience the tower will cause. You feel you have no choice but to agree.

You leave the manor with mixed feelings. It's true you've managed to get the comms booster relay built, and saved your backside in the process -- but the concessions you've made will make the project barely worth it.

Gain 6 Progress points and record the codeword TRANSMISSION .

Turn to page 789.

Page 298

You exchange a few brief pleasantries with Mr Mowbray whilst you wait for Maisie to return, which she does presently, quite breathless from her dash across the manor. She holds in her hands a four foot cane, which she deferentially offers to Mr Mowbray with a swift curtsey.

"I'll take you next to Miss. Hathaway, Maisie," Mr Mowbray informs her, swishing the cane tightly through the air with menace. "Kindly step adjacent to our guest so she can see the action close up. I'm sure she relishes the possibility of revenge upon your useless backside."

You opt not to say anything to further incriminate Maisie -- in any case you are mesmerised by the buxom girl's rounding bottom as she reaches down for her toes. Clearly they take their lashes the old fashioned way in Mowbray manor. Her backside is uncomfortably close to you, the full moon of her arse less than a foot away. Certainly you won't be missing any of the detail...

Mr Mowbray sharply taps the cane against Maisie's backside in a rough aiming motion. You see Maisie's poor cheeks compress at the touch of the cane as it nestles into her buttocks. The unfortunate maid's breasts wobble in fear as she contemplates the first stroke. She does not have to wait long.

Vip! With a clean, swift stroke, Mr Mowbray plies the cane into her bum flesh, the wind of the whistling cane brushing across your face. Maisie's knees compress and she utters a choking sob.

Vip! Another stroke impacts hard upon her bottom, the white line from the previous stroke now reddening fiercely in the daylight streaming through the open window of the study.

Vip! Vip! Maisie must surely be holding back the tears as two more full bodied strokes of the cane sink into her clenching buttocks. Briefly breaking your gaze away from Maisie's quivering behind you gaze upon her tormentor, Mr Mowbray. You have never seen him more animated. His whole body, normally relaxed and louche, is now tense and poised, like an Olympic fencer. He seems to literally hew into his maid's backside like he is chopping a tree, his eyes never wavering from the target, his eyebrows raising, his teeth locking into a rictus. There is no doubt he is putting all his effort into hurting the poor girl, and his labours are bearing fruit upon her crimson streaked backside.

Vip! Vip!

In all Mr Mowbray etches twelve cruel strokes into Maisie's backside, the poor, whimpering maid taking her blows with impressive fortitude, and with a resigned acceptance that you are not sure whether to be impressed or disgusted by.

"Perhaps you'll remember proper serving etiquette in future, Maisie?" enquires Mr Mowbray, carefully inspecting his work upon Maisie's bottom with no lack of obvious pride.

"Yes, sir," chokes Maisie. "I'm very sorry, sir."

"Quite right too," chides Mr Mowbray, returning to his chair, putting the cane ominously upon the desk. "Go and stand in the corner for a while, hands on head, so Miss. Hathaway can admire my handiwork."

"Yes, sir!" snaps Maisie, immediately rising, swiftly tucking her hands behind her head so as not to automatically grasp her flaming behind.

Mr Mowbray takes a good sip of his drink, encouraging you to do the same, his eyes plastered upon the girl's behind. You find it hard not to stare yourself, for Maisie's bottom seems to crimson and puff before your eyes as she stands obediently in the corner.

"What do you think, Miss. Hathaway?" he asks with good humour. "Almost as good as Mr Stevenson? Perhaps better?"

"You certainly have great skill, sir," you say diplomatically. "It would be impolitic of me to make comparisons. After all, Mr Stevenson is my boss, and it would be churlish of me to say that his caning isn't up to scratch."

Mr Mowbray laughs. "A quite unfair question, I agree. After all -- you'd need to feel the sting of my cane in person to make a fair judgement..."

If you have the trait 'Lust for the cane' Turn to page 299.

You shuffle in your chair. Mr Mowbray has just made you an offer.

Will you:

Take up Mr Mowbray on his offer, if only to satisfy the lusty old man? Turn to page 299.

Quietly defer to him, suggesting that it would be unwise for your bottom's sake to take him up on his challenge? Turn to page 294.

Page 299

For some reason the offer is overwhelmingly tempting. Incredible jealousy raged through you as you witnessed Maisie receiving all the skills and attention of this remarkable man. If you didn't accept his offer, how could you live with yourself?

"Well ... perhaps just a quick half dozen?" you offer uncertainly, rising from your chair in excitement. "I'm not sure it would be wise for me to take as many as Maisie..."

Mr Mowbray grins broadly. "But of course, Miss. Hathaway -- you've done nothing wrong. This is merely a scientific experiment -- a comparison of skill. I would be much obliged if you would review my technique after you have experienced it."

You swallow. "Of course, sir -- you'll find me very honest."

You flounder for a few moments, unsure exactly what to do next. Mr Mowbray comes to your rescue.

"Perhaps you'd like to take it the same way as Maisie?" suggests Mr Mowbray. "Knickers down, of course. I'm sure Mr Stevenson only punishes naked bottoms, just as I do."

"Yes ... of course," you bluster. Licking your lips you turn and bend over, allowing your hands to slide down your legs until they reach your ankles, which you grip firmly, your hair cascading down to the floor.

"Allow me to help you, Miss. Hathaway..." sooths Mr Mowbray, his hands moving to your skirt to peel the tight fabric over your buttocks. Your breath increases in heaviness as you feel Mr Mowbray's fingers tuck into the elastic of your white knickers, and slowly, teasingly pull them down over the moon of your bottom.

"What a fine target," says Mr Mowbray in admiration, his hand smoothing over your revealed cheeks, taking in the weight and fullness of your bottom. You close your eyes, trying not to imagine what a sight you are making in front of the local lord of the manor.

Mr Mowbray removes his hands from your rear and you hear a light scraping sound from the desk as the cane is lifted from it.

Swish! Mr Mowbray cuts through the air above your bottom in a practice run. "Six strokes, then," he says with finality, "and my reputation on the line. You'll feel these Dianne Hathaway..."

Vip!

You jolt as the cane impacts into your mid-cheeks like a brand of fire! You don't think you've ever been struck so hard by an opening shot from a cane. Clearly Mr Mowbray is very wary of keeping his reputation as one of the most fearless caners on the island.

Vip!

"Ah!" you cry, though you swore not to, as the dreaded cane cuts you lower into the fattest part of your buttocks.

Vip! Another cruel blow, barely a half inch above the last, that sends your buttocks into ripples of agony...

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

"Had enough, Miss. Hathaway?" taunts Mr Mowbray.

If your Willpower is 3 or less, or you wish to quickly give in now and save your bottom more suffering, Turn to page 300.
If not, read on:

"Nuh ... no, sir," you stammer, clenching your bottom madly. "I said six..."

"So you did," growls Mr Mowbray, upset at your unanticipated strength. "Six it will be then..."

Vip!

"Oh!"

Vip!

"Ahhh" you cry at two stokes delivered swiftly and practically on top of each other, just above the centre of your bum.

You shiver, defenceless, waiting painfully for the last stroke. Just as you think it has been abandoned you hear the terrible swish!

Vip!

"Nggg!" you grunt, the blow taking you just above your bum crease, where the legs meet the backside. "Ah! That's six, sir!" you groan in victory.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level and gain 2 points of Reputation . You've impressed Mr Mowbray with this fortitude.

"Before you rise -- tell me honestly: Which is the better caner? Myself, or Mr Stevenson?" demands Mr Mowbray.

What will you reply?

Mr Mowbray? Turn to page 301.

Mr Stevenson? Turn to page 302.

Page 300

"Please, sir -- I've had enough!" you beg, your arse burning with the three cruelly layered stripes. "I didn't think the cane could hurt so much..."

"Well," says Mr Mowbray, flattered, "I'm an old hand with it -- and I wasn't holding back. I can see what they say about English girls is true, though. They buckle at the first hurdle!"

Lose 1 point of either Dignity or Ambition.

Now Turn to page 294.

Page 301

Mr Mowbray flushes with pride. Raise your Ambition by 1 point -- you know how to make even a bare bottom caning work to your political advantage!

Now Turn to page 294.

Page 302

Mr Mowbray cracks his knuckles in irritation as you name your boss as the superior caner. "Well ... thank you for your honest opinion," he grumbles. "Perhaps if I had more strokes I could change your mind? But very well."

Gain 1 point of Dignity for telling the truth, even at the risk of extra punishment to your bottom! In this case, however, Mr Mowbray has no excuse to punish you further, and allows you to rise without additional harm.

Turn to page 294.

Page 303

"Really, sir," you say petulantly. "Perhaps it is because I am an Englishwoman that you have such poorly trained staff tend on me. But I must say that I have never received such poor service in any stately hall I have ever visited."

Mr Mowbray looks mortified. "I assure you I shall beat her most soundly -- and you'll observe that I don't tolerate such sloppy service in my house. I am dreadfully embarrassed over the whole occasion."

"I hope you do," you say. "I only wish I myself was trained in the art of the cane -- so I could beat the girl myself."

"Why -- that could be arranged!" insists Mr Mowbray. "I could show you some good techniques and Maisie can be your practice target. Otherwise, I only hope you can accept my apology and allow me to resolve this issue myself."

What will you do?

Accept Mr Mowbray's apology and let him beat his servant? Turn to page 298.

Ask to be trained in the use of the cane? Turn to page 304.

Page 304

Ever since you came to the island you realised that to be a manager here you would eventually have to master the art of punishment. Finally you have an opportunity, and a superb teacher to learn with, who believes bare bottom punishment to be the pinnacle of civilised culture.

Before you Maisie is presented bent over, touching toes, whilst Mr Mowbray instructs you on the poise, technique, and mental fortitude required for bare bottom caning.

"Let the cane do the work," he insists, adjusting your grip on your weapon. "The cane is mostly powered through the wrist -- that last minute flick is the thing that inflicts the beautiful red tracks on a subject's bottom. You must learn to let go of your reserve -- you have to want to hurt your subject. Otherwise she will feel the difference and realise you have lost your nerve..."

Vip! Vip! Vip!

You decorate Maisie's behind with a criss-cross of cane strokes, seemingly without restriction or number. Sometimes your own guiltiness at harming a fellow woman holds you back. But when you let go of this, when you see Maisie as a wonton creature deserving of punishment, your cane lashes her without pity, revealing a bright red line of sizzling pain to justify your efforts.

When Maisie can take no more she is dismissed into the corner. You yourself feel now full of confidence. You can't wait to practice your skills in the real world...

Record the codeword TRAINED and raise your Ambition by 1 point.

Now Turn to page 294.

Page 305

Nervously you follow Mr Mowbray's heels and enter the formidable Mowbray Manor. It is a grand old hall, bedecked in burgundy furniture, fading oil colour paintings and suits of armour. Servants seem to flock into the main hall to greet Mr Mowbray, men bowing stiffly in full formal tails, ladies curtsying gracefully in their rather tight uniforms so as to give their master a pleasing view of their tightly bound cleavages.

"Bring drinks to the drawing room," Mr Mowbray commands to no one in particular. "Miss. Hathaway and I are going to have a little chat."

Still not bothering to look at you, Mr Mowbray strides towards a pair of double doors, a pair of curtsying maids swinging the doors open as he approaches. You quickly trot inside.

The room is intimidatingly large, a huge portrait of one of Mr Mowbray's ancestors, located just above the huge fireplace, dominates the room. The man pictured might as well be Mr Mowbray's twin -- and his stern gaze seems to follow you across the room.

Mr Mowbray sinks into an armchair, and like a cad does not offer you chair. "I'm surprised you came to me, Miss. Hathaway, very surprised," he grumbles. "If you have gleaned anything of my opinions you must know I completely oppose your barbarous scheme."

You breathe in. "Might I ask why, sir?" you ask brazenly.

"It is cultural assassination by the back door," complains Mr Mowbray. "You hope to replace our orderly, traditional culture with your vapid commercialism. Once girls have access to phones and your blasted interweb they'll start rejecting their home culture so they can buy pointer shoes or some such thing."

"Sir, that is not our intention..." you object.

"But you can't deny that you look upon our culture with a sneering disregard!" snaps Mr Mowbray.

"I have nothing but respect for Westjack culture," you reply automatically.

"And yet you know nothing about it," insists Mr Mowbray. "I'll bet you couldn't last two days as a proper Westjack girl working here."

You're really hitting a block with this man. What do you do?

Point out that the tourist trade will dry up without the new phone network? Turn to page 306.

Accept Mr Mowbray's offer of two days work, banking on the idea you can prove your intentions are honourable? Turn to page 307.

Insinuate that Mr Mowbray probably couldn't last two days in modern England? Turn to page 310.

Page 306

"So -- it comes down to the old threat again, eh?" snarls Mr Mowbray. "Do things our way or you'll be cast down into poverty? Perhaps we Westjack islanders are more resilient than you think? Some things are more important than money, Miss. Hathaway! Pride is one of them!"

"But, sir -- with the new communications system you could have both..." you insist feebly.

"Enough!" barks Mr Mowbray. "Don't patronise me! This meeting is over!"

You grind your teeth in frustration, but there is nothing more you can do; Mr Mowbray was set against you from the start.

Curtly wishing him good day, you depart the Manor. It is now too late to install the Comms Booster relay -- you'll have to do without it for the first phase of the communications project. Mr Stevenson is not going to be pleased...

Turn to page 789.

Page 307

"You accept my offer? What offer?" asks Mr Mowbray in confusion.

"Your offer to work here for two days," you say simply. "You say I couldn't last two days as a Westjack woman, I say I can. We'll see who's right."

"I don't remember offering you a position, the point was purely observational," he says dismissively.

"Oh -- I do apologise, sir," you say with mock sincerity. "It must be one of those famous cultural differences of yours. You see in England a gentleman is expected to keep his word..."

Mr Mowbray goes bright red. Clearly he's never been so insulted -- but what can he do? His reputation is on the line.

"Naturally if you wish to go through with this ludicrous charade you may," barks Mr Mowbray. "I was merely attempting to shield you from embarrassment. But if you wish to humiliate yourself, be my guest!"

The door opens behind you and you briefly look behind you to see who it is. You do a double take. Entering the room is a young maid, no more than nineteen or twenty, holding an old, dusty bottle of Burgundy in her hands. She wears a small, white frilly apron around her waist ... and nothing else. Her firm, naked breasts bob at each step, her sensuous hips wiggling in a rather formal, practiced way. She flushes a brilliant scarlet upon seeing you, but, not daring to pause, walks towards the table and stands to the side of it to full attention, shifting her shoulders back so her breasts thrust forward to prominence.

"Maisie, pour myself and my guest a glass of Burgandy," Mr Mowbray says, as if nothing unusual is going on. "And do it properly, girl! No sloppy service like last time, or you know what will follow."

"Yes, Mr Mowbray," trills Maisie, her eyes continuing to flick to you in mortified embarrassment. Maisie puts the bottle reverently on the table, and turns to go to the glass cabinet, revealing the shapely apple of her behind as she does so.

"Is ... is it usual for your wine maid's to be so ... nude?" you ask, mouth agape at this outrageous display.

"Oh -- Maisie?" he asks innocently. "No, she's not naked because she's a wine maid, but because she's new -- only a few months in. It's been a tradition in Mowbray Manor for new girls to be naked until the effect has worn off. Maids, you see, must be willing to attend at any time and in any state of dress without pause. By stripping them off for their first year or so the sting of nudity wears off. Several customs of the island, many of which are held here, require full or partial female nudity."

Maisie opens the glass cabinet, carefully selecting the right glasses, as quietly and delicately as possible, swiftly returning to the table to open the bottle. You are stunned that anyone would work under such conditions.

"But surely nudity here is just as humiliating as it is in England?" you press. "I mean ... you're not nudists here, are you?"

"Far from it," laughs Mr Mowbray. "I would say being seen naked in public is considered exquisitely embarrassing here. To show such a large amount of nude flesh is shocking and disgraceful, and I always think poorly of girls who do it. It is, however, a tradition of working in the manor, so Maisie must tolerate it. You too, if you intend to work here..."

Maisie glances shamefully at you. Her expression is clear. Get out whilst you can!

Will you?

Back out while you still can? Turn to page 308.

Or are you determined to see this through? Turn to page 309.

Page 308

"On second thoughts, I'm really too busy to spend two days on extra-curricular activities," you say.

"So am I," grunts Mr Mowbray. "They'll be no phone tower on my land while there's breath in my body, so I shall bid you good day. Maisie, show Miss. Hathaway out."

"No need," you say hastily, not wanting to be seen in the presence of this naked submissive. "I'll show myself out."

Curtly wishing him good day, you depart the Manor. It is now too late to install the Comms Booster relay -- you'll have to do without it for the first phase of the communications project. Mr Stevenson is not going to be pleased...

Turn to page 789.

Page 309

"Well -- I'm eager to get started..." you say unsurely, looking ominously at Maisie's naked body, suspecting that your own nude form is likely to be on display soon.

Record the codeword EMPLOY .

"Maisie, go and fetch Mrs. Hardcastle -- tell her to bring a starter maid's uniform with her," grins Mr Mowbray.

"Yes, sir," curtsies Maisie, her boobs bouncing with the action, before scurrying out the drawing room.

"Please have a seat and enjoy your last few minutes of freedom," laughs Mr Mowbray. "Mrs. Hardcastle is the senior housekeeper -- her voice is second only to my own in this place. She'll keep you on a tight leach!"

You hope that comment wasn't literal, though you'll find out soon enough you suppose. "If I complete my tenure here, will you hear me out about installing the comms booster?" you press. "I need to know you will keep your word."

"Miss. Hathaway," he grins, sipping some port, "I'll be surprised if you make it through the evening. Complete two days and that comms booster is yours."

Well, now you have a bargain. He seems confident you won't make it though ... you had better pull your socks up for this one -- if he lets you wear any...

After a minute or so Mrs. Hardcastle enters. She is a middle aged and fierce looking lady, whose face seems to betray not the slightest morsel of pity. In her hands she holds a frilly white apron.

If you have the codeword SPORTY, Turn to page 311.

If not, Turn to page 314.

Page 310

Not the right thing to say...

Smack! Smack! Smack!

You continue to jolt and writhe over Mr Mowbray's lap as your naked bottom is repeatedly slapped by Mr Mowbray's firm hand. Your backside burns, for he is a formidable spanker backed up by a firm desire for revenge.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

"I'll teach you to cast aspersions!" roars Mr Mowbray, his hand a blur as it descends upon your crimson cheeks. "I'm worth twenty of any Englishman -- as I shall demonstrate on your bottom!

Smack! Smack! Smack!

Raise you Bum Status by 2 levels.

Finally he tires of beating your helpless cheeks and orders you to rise. You scarcely have time to pull up your knickers before one of the stewards forcible ejects you from the manor!

It is now too late to install the Comms Booster relay -- you'll have to do without it for the first phase of the communications project. Mr Stevenson is not going to be pleased...

Turn to page 789.

Page 311

Mrs. Hardcastle arches an eyebrow upon seeing you. "Why, Miss. Hathaway -- I did not expect to see you here. Are you at last seeking gainful employment?"

Ouch! Your old coach certainly hasn't lost any of her venom.

What will you do?

Reply with an acidic remark to show you are no pushover? Turn to page 312.

Swallow your pride and be deferent towards her? Turn to page 313.

Page 312

"Mrs. Hardcastle," you say in mock surprise. "I did not expect to see you here either! Have you been winning any netball matches? Wait, silly me -- of course you haven't!"

Mrs. Hardcastle glowers -- but you have bested her this time. Add 1 point to either your Ambition, Dignity or Willpower for this confidence boosting put down.

Record the codeword REBOUND .

Turn to page 314.

Page 313

"Yes, miss," you say, casting your eyes downward, putting your hands behind your back.

Mrs. Hardcastle seems to almost glow with satisfaction at your social defeat. Lose 1 point of Willpower for giving in to this bully.

Turn to page 314.

Page 314

"Mrs. Hardcastle; this is our new maid," says Mr Mowbray warmly. "She'll be with us for two days -- that is until midnight tomorrow evening. During that time I want you to work her hard. Don't spare the strap -- motivate her to her fullest ability. Use her for whatever tasks you deem fit, only keep careful track of her progress and report to me tomorrow evening."

A small, wicked grin seems to pass Mrs. Hardcastle's lips as she examines you. "Would sir like her to attend you tomorrow evening for the supper night?"

"Absolutely -- she can wait table!" agrees Mr Mowbray. "At eleven o'clock I shall pause proceedings and Miss. Hathaway and I shall retreat to the study, where she shall receive a stout caning for any misdemeanours or failures whilst in my employ."

Mrs. Hardcastle nods. "It shall doubtless be good for her spirit, Mr Mowbray. May I take possession of the girl now?"

"By all means," nods Mr Mowbray. "Let's get her into uniform."

"Now Dianne -- that is your first name, isn't it?" says Mrs. Hardcastle, at last speaking to you as if you were in the room. "It's not appropriate to be dressed in this fashion before Mr Mowbray. You've seen Maisie I take it? So you know how a new girl is meant to be dressed here!"

Mrs. Hardcastle thrusts your 'uniform' (the white filly apron) into your hands. Clearly she expects you to change here -- right in front of her!

If you have the codeword NAKED Turn to page 315.
Otherwise, read on:

You are horrified at the very thought of stripping entirely naked for Mrs. Hardcastle and the lecherous Mr Mowbray, but what can you do?

You have never taken your clothes off in public. You find the task acutely shameful. Slowly removing your work jacket first, you fold it up and place it neatly on the ground next to you. You remove your skirt next, reasoning that your top at least covers your knickers for a few precious seconds as you do so.

Still under the accusing eyes of your audience you slowly pull off your top, leaving you in your underwear. Which to remove first? You suppose dignity demands that you reveal your breasts first, and you unclasp your bra with trembling fingers that delays the final release of your round tits delightfully.

Just the knickers to go. Trying to suppress your tears you swiftly tug your knickers down and clamber out of them, your naked buttocks rolling and generous breasts bobbing as you complete the manoeuvre.

You've never felt less ready, more vulnerable or nervous. Lose 1 point of Ambition , Dignity and Willpower as your small audience drink in your nakedness.

Record the codeword NAKED .

Turn to page 316.

Page 315

Clearly Mrs. Hardcastle thinks she can intimidate you by making you strip in public. Fortunately you've long since overcome your shyness and you remove your clothes with skilful and practiced ease, despite the hawk like and lusty gazes of your audience.

Having divested your clothing, you swiftly tie the apron around your waist with no fuss and stand proudly, hands behind your back, unashamedly displaying your full, pert breasts.

Gain 1 point of Dignity for defeating the prejudice of your audience, who fully expected you to writhe with embarrassment.

Turn to page 316.

Page 316

Standing naked but for your waist level apron, you patiently await your next instruction.

"Now bend over, girl, and grasp your ankles," instructs Mrs. Hardcastle haughtily. "You're to receive your morning strokes from the strap."

Mr Mowbray beams and looks on with interest. "Better obey her, girl," warns Mr Mowbray. "Any defiance is punishable by extra strokes, or even dismissal if Mrs. Hardcastle deems it so. If you're not in my study by midnight tomorrow, the deal's off!"

You flush. This woman wants to beat you, and not even for any reason!

Will you:

Quickly resign your 'employment', saving yourself from this unfair beating? Turn to page 317.

Or bend over and grasp your ankles as instructed? Turn to page 318.

Page 317

You have resigned from your role as a maid in Mr Mowbray's mansion. What you have saved in dignity is likely to cost your bottom dear when Mr Stevenson finds out! There is now no more time to waste on the Comms Booster tower -- you'll have to continue the project without it!

Turn to page 789.

Page 318

"Eight strokes every morning, Dianne," chants Mrs. Hardcastle, retrieving a strap from one of Mr Mowbray's many punishment cupboards, "and another eight strokes at bedtime. That's the rule for every maid in Mr Mowbray's service, excepting myself, of course. Mr Mowbray believes a serving girl needs a constantly sore bottom, lest she forget herself and descend into idleness."

Mrs. Hardcastle sneers at your up thrust bottom, rudely presented for her strap. "Just twenty four strokes over your entire stay," she gloats. "You could really benefit from more ... but I'll just have to make these count..."

Snap!

You grunt as Mrs. Harcastle plies the strap against your proffered bottom, the cheeks compressing from the force of the blow, turning white before blotching an ugly red...

Snap! Snap!

You groan through two more meaty blows, your buttock flesh rippling under the force, which bruises your bottom again.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

If your Willpower is 5 or more, Turn to page 319.
If not, read on.

You cannot help but clench your buttocks madly under the force of the blows, causing Mr Mowbray to laugh from his chair.

"She's winking at me!" he guffaws; clearly he has an excellent view of your backside. You shudder with humiliation as you suddenly realise what he means.

Lose 1 point of Dignity , and raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

Snap! Snap!

"Uh! Ah!" you cry, defeated, knowing you haven't displayed a great deal of fortitude before your heartless employers. Nonetheless, you resist the urge to grasp your fiery buttocks in failure.

"Up -- you wriggling worm, time for you to do some work!" snaps Mrs. Hardcastle, slapping your beaten behind with her spare hand, causing you to rise swiftly, your breasts bouncing with the sudden movement. "Just remember, you have eight more of those coming to you before bedtime, and another eight upon waking. Now get moving, out into the hallway!"

You hop to obey, Mr Mowbray laughing all the way, until the double doors of the drawing room are mercifully closed behind you.

Turn to page 320.

Page 319

You're made of tough stuff now. A feeble eight stroke belting can't break you -- even with the spiteful Mrs. Hardcastle at the other end.

Snap! Snap! You remain as impassive as stone, despite the crawling sting that builds in your backside from Mrs. Hardcastle's untender ministrations.

Raise you Bum Status by 1 level.

"She's impressive under fire, isn't she, Mrs. Hardcastle?" observes Mr Mowbray, much to Mrs. Hardcastle's annoyance. "I must tell the bridge team about how this English girl takes her licks. Maybe do a demonstration for them?"

Mrs. Hardcastle shifts, glaring daggers at your resilient backside. "I only hope you will allow me to do the honours when that time comes, clearly I must be going soft."

"Impossible, Mrs. Hardcastle!" laughs Mr Mowbray. "Well, set the young blighter on her way!"

Gain 3 points of Reputation and 1 point of Dignity, as word of your endurance spreads through the island.

"Up -- you idle slut, time for you to do some work!" snaps Mrs. Hardcastle, slapping your beaten behind with her spare hand, causing you to rise swiftly, your breasts bouncing with the sudden movement. "Just remember, you have eight more of those coming to you before bedtime, and another eight upon waking. Now get moving, out into the hallway!"

You hop to obey, Mr Mowbray laughing all the way, until the double doors of the drawing room are mercifully closed behind you.

Turn to page 320.

Page 320

You cannot help but blush in embarrassment as you follow Mrs. Hardcastle through the manor, your bare feet shivering on the cold marble floor of the hallway. Except for Maisie you are the only naked worker in the manor, and you can't help but notice the unsubtle glares at your exposed body from the few male servants in the house.

"Stop blushing!" insists Mrs. Hardcastle. "They've seen it all before. It's only your English arrogance that makes you think the boys are interested in your body."

"That and her great tits!" comments one workman as he passes, gazing shamelessly at you.

"Give yourself some dignified bearing!" demands Mrs. Hardcastle. "I can show you how to deport yourself, if you have half a mind to listen. Or would you rather just get on with your work?"

"Deport myself, Mrs. Hardcastle?" you reply, aghast. "I think I deport myself rather well..."

Mrs. Hardcastle shakes her head. "You're far too confident -- you still think you're a manager! I can show you how to adopt a stance more suitable to your current condition. It may knock that chip off your shoulder, but at least you'll bear your body with some grace!"

What do you do?

Accept Mrs. Hardcastle's offer? Turn to page 321.

Or get on with some work? Turn to page 322.

Page 321

Mrs. Hardcastle shows you how to bear yourself -- back straight, shoulders back so your breasts are always on prominent display. At the same time your head should be slightly lowered and your gaze below eye level. You are to scurry on tiptoes from place to place, and not saunter as if you owned the manor. When at rest or addressed, your hands should be behind your back unless they are holding something.

To your mind it's a pretty demeaning position, but the Westjack locals like it. The men for obvious reasons, and the women so they can see you are stripped of pride and arrogance. Mrs. Hardcastle is a tough teacher, and her heavy strap is never far from your bottom as she instructs you, or punishes you for the slightest failure or loss of poise.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level , but gain 1 point of Dignity -- the locals will like your new bearing.

Once she thinks you sufficiently trained Mrs. Hardcastle shuffles you on to other duties, much to the relief of your sore behind.

Turn to page 322.

Page 322

Mrs. Hardcastle sets you to cleaning the banisters of the stairs, not bothering to instruct you exactly how. Mind you, it's not rocket science, and young Maisie, in passing between jobs, finds you the cleaning fluids and cloths for the task out of a sense of camaraderie for a fellow naked maid.

You set about your task, polishing the marble bannisters...

If you have the trait 'Domesticated', Turn to page 323.

If you have the weakness 'Messy', Turn to page 324.

Otherwise, read on:

You polish the bannisters as thoroughly as you are able ... but you are rather new at all this physical labour. It's not that you've never cleaned before, but except for a small flat in London you've never had to look after property with any vigour. Before that you were a university student, and you were busier studying (and partying) than cleaning.

Your nervousness of Mrs. Hardcastle's high standards makes you clean thoroughly and meticulously as you go. But you are far too slow.

"Why -- you're barely halfway through!" cries Mrs. Hardcastle upon her return. "The whole stairs should have been finished by now!"

"Sorry, Mrs. Hardcastle -- I didn't want to miss anything!" you explain hastily.

"Hmm," she ponders, examining your work. "You've been thorough, so that's a good thing. But not completing jobs in a timely fashion is a punishable offence! Well, you can either get it out the way now, or we can add it to the tally of punishment dealt out by Mr Hardcastle tomorrow night. Your choice."

What do you choose?

To be punished now, by Mrs. Hardcastle? Turn to page 325.

To save your punishment up for Mr Mowbray? Turn to page 326.

Page 323

Mrs. Hardcastle clearly thinks you ignorant and lazy, but you have always been house-proud and efficient. You begin a swift, thorough clean of the marble banisters -- indeed you used to clean a big house for a kindly old lady during your university years. Performing your duties naked is awkward, and painful on the knees, but it doesn't inhibit your speed or skill.

When Mrs. Hardcastle returns she finds you cleaning the very last banister at the top of the stairs, gleaming marble columns flanking the stairs behind you. She looks stunned.

"Why ... this work is remarkable!" she says, open mouthed. "Did that naughty maid Maisie sneak by and help you..."

"Maisie very kindly found me the materials, but I assure you this is all my own work," you say curtly. "Not all English girls are slovenly, Mrs. Hardcastle."

Mrs. Hardcastle inwardly fumes. "Evidently not," she growls. "Well, there's much more to do, come with me!"

Grinning smugly (behind her back of course), you skip after Mrs. Hardcastle as she storms down the corridor.

Gain 1 Reputation point .

Turn to page 327.

Page 324

Your cleaning does not go well. You've never cleaned anything in your life that didn't involve chucking it in a machine! Thinking that you have to get the bannisters really clean you pour on the cleaning fluid thickly onto the surface of rails and roughly scrub the hand rail with your gunged up cloth. The chemical smell is almost overpowering and you have to stop at several points to get some air.

By the time you are three quarters through your job you hear a shriek from Mrs. Hardcastle. "Good God, girl, what have you done!" she cries as she surveys the scene.

Pools of cleaning liquid lie splashed across the floor from where they have overflowed from the rail. The thick yellow liquid still dribbles down the slim banisters like slime. Touching the rail deposits a thick gloop across Mrs. Hardcastle's fingers.

You swallow. "Sorry, Mrs. Hardcastle," you say guiltily. "I think I probably deserve to be punished..."

"You are certainly, right!" she cries. "I shall punish you now, and Mr Mowbray shall be informed of your incompetence!"

Perhaps for the first time since coming to the island you cannot help but agree that this is fair...

Record the codeword STAIRS .

Turn to page 325.

Page 325

Snap! Snap! Your bottom wriggles under two more swift strokes from the strap. Mrs. Hardcastle has you bent over the top railings, so you can see the poor, half completed job you made of the banisters. Perhaps she thinks this shall instil some shame in you? You're too busy focusing on your poor bottom to concentrate!

Snap! Snap! Snap!

In all two dozen strokes of the strap torment your poor behind, testament to Mrs. Hardcastle's high cleaning standards. By the end your bottom feels acutely sore.

Raise your Bum Status by 2 levels .

"I'll have one of the other girls finish off the job you messed up," says Mrs. Hardcastle icily. "I have other plans for you..."

Turn to page 327.

Page 326

"Very well, Dianne," says Mrs. Hardcastle haughtily. "I'll leave you to dread your fate at the hands of Mr Mowbray. In the meantime come with me -- I have other tasks for you!"

Record the codeword STAIRS .

Turn to page 327.

Page 327

Mrs. Hardcastle escorts you into an office, where papers are left scattered, ripped open envelopes discarded, and all items of stationary lie casually abandoned.

"Mr Mowbray had a business meeting in here this morning," sniffs Mrs. Hardcastle. "Being a businesswoman I thought I'd give you a chance to shine. Put everything back in its proper place, and ensure the work surfaces are gleaming by the time I get back."

Without elaborating, Mrs. Hardcastle turns on her heals and strides out, leaving you floundering amongst the paperwork...

If you have the trait 'Organised' Turn to page 328.

If you have the weakness 'Disorganised' Turn to page 329.

Otherwise, Turn to page 330.

Page 328

Refusing to be overwhelmed by the job, you set to work immediately, starting with the most formidable looking job -- sorting the paperwork. Deciding that Mr Mowbray must have some sort of filing system you sort the documents into piles in date order according to correspondent.

With the desk clear, you put pencils in the stationary holder and search and find a case for Mr Mowbray's pen -- reloading the cartridge as it looks to be low on ink.

You work swiftly and diligently, sorting through Mr Mowbray's filing cabinet, and ensuring the most recent documents are on the top. You work so fast you even have the chance for a little snooping...

One of the documents is a study by a group called 'The Authority' -- it's a future economic forecast for Westjack island. It makes grim reading. The number of rich visitors to the islands, who also contribute healthily to the Authority's coffers, is in sharp decline. The report blames the ever increasing number of 'female directors, who do not appreciate Westjack customs' as being responsible. It sadly concludes that the average age of these important visitors is rising, and not being replaced.

This confirms what you long suspected -- Westjack is edging into decline. This report could prove useful. Record the codeword ECONOMY .

Popping the report away, you finish the job, clearing away the stationary and giving the table a quick polish. By the time Mrs. Hardcastle has returned he whole study is spick and span.

"Well," grumbles Mrs. Hardcastle, "I must admit this is adequate work. Not that I would expect anything less. A little more work on the underside of the bookshelves wouldn't go amiss -- but that's a minor quibble."

"Yes, Mrs. Hardcastle," you agree, quickly bobbing as she turns furiously upon you. Your blank expression makes it impossible for Mrs. Hardcastle to tell if you are being sarcastic, so she lets it slide.

Instead she sneeringly commands you to follow her, which you do, trying your best to shield your smile.

Gain 1 Reputation point .

Turn to page 338.

Page 329

You don't even know where to begin. How are you supposed to use someone else's filing system? Your own desk back at the telephone exchange is a bomb site, let alone this chaotic pile!

You start with something simple, tidying away the pens and pencils, only to have one fountain pen spring a leak on you and splash the loose documents with black ink! You hurry, practically naked in your maid 'attire', to the toilets to grab some tissue paper, but by the time you have returned the sheets are well and truly stained -- several important looking documents damaged beyond legibility.

The ink is thick on your fingers as you try to move the other documents away from the black puddle, only to have your fingerprints indelibly stain them, marking your incompetence for all to see.

Mrs. Hardcastle's arrival at this point seems inevitable, and you have nowhere to hide as she gasps in shock.

"You useless, bungling slut!" she cries, appalled. "Why, Mr Mowbray will have my own backside flayed for this!"

"I'm so sorry, miss!" you squeak. "But the pen leaked, and it went..."

"No more words out of you, you foolish slattern!" thunders Mrs. Hardcastle. "You shall be punished immediately, and by Mr Mowbray for this ludicrous ineptitude!"

You swallow in fear. But looking at the appalling mess you've made you can't say you blame her!

Record the codeword MISFILED .

Turn to page 333.

Page 330

This is clearly going to take a long time, and you have no idea when Mrs. Hardcastle will return to judge you. You set off immediately, carefully putting away the pens and pencils first, before opening the filing cabinet to sort the papers in one at a time.

About halfway through your filing something catches your eye. It appears to be a secret report on the island's finances and is marked 'Private and Confidential' from a group called 'The Authority'. You long to know what it contains, but time could be against you.

Do you:

Take the risk and have a quick read of the report? Turn to page 331.

Quickly file the report and crack on with your work? Turn to page 332.

Page 331

The document is a future economic forecast for Westjack island. It makes grim reading. The number of rich visitors to the islands, who also contribute healthily to the Authority's coffers, is in sharp decline. The report blames the ever increasing number of 'female directors, who do not appreciate Westjack customs' as being responsible. It sadly concludes that the average age of these important visitors is rising, and not being replaced.

This confirms what you long suspected -- Westjack is edging into decline. This report could prove useful. Record the codeword ECONOMY .

You hear the clicking of heels coming down the corridor. You quickly file the report and busy yourself with the filing. You have managed to cover your sneaky reading of the secret report, but Mrs. Hardcastle, for it is she, is not best pleased with your progress.

"Pitiful!" sneers Mrs. Hardcastle. "I could have cleaned two studies in the allotted time -- you still haven't finished this one!"

"Sorry, Miss," you say. "I was just trying to be thorough..."

"You're a thorough nuisance and need to be punished for your slovenliness!" declares Mrs. Hardcastle predictably. "The only question remains whether I should beat you, or whether you wish to add this to your account with Mr Mowbray? Which would you prefer, I wonder?"

What do you request?

That Mrs. Hardcastle beats you now? Turn to page 333.

Or that your punishment be saved up for Mr Mowbray? Turn to page 337.

Page 332

Popping the report away, you finish the job, clearing away the stationary and giving the table a quick polish. By the time Mrs. Hardcastle has returned he whole study is spick and span.

"Well," grumbles Mrs. Hardcastle, "I must admit this is adequate work. Not that I would expect anything less. A little more work on the underside of the bookshelves wouldn't go amiss -- but that's a minor quibble."

"Yes, Mrs. Hardcastle," you agree, quickly bobbing as she turns furiously upon you. Your blank expression makes it impossible for Mrs. Hardcastle to tell if you are being sarcastic, so she lets it slide.

Instead she sneeringly commands you to follow her, which you do, trying your best to shield your smile.

Gain 1 Reputation point .

Turn to page 338.

Page 333

"Stand in the middle of the study, bent right over, grasping your ankles," instructs Mrs. Hardcastle heartlessly. "You'll keep the position throughout the beating, which shall consist of twelve strokes. If you break it, all previous strokes won't count. Understood?"

"Yes, Mrs. Hardcastle," you reply, quickly moving to obey your orders. You bend right over, your backside covered by nothing more than the looped ribbon of your apron, the ends of which settle between the cracks of your bum cheeks -- quite depriving you of even the most menial cover.

"Now, I'd like to use the cane on you, your misbehaviour being as odious as it is," sniffs Mrs. Hardcastle. "However, only Mr Mowbray can use the cane at will. You will need to give me permission to use it on you. Well? Do I have permission to cane you, girl?"

If you have the trait 'Lust for the Cane', Turn to page 334.
If not, read on.

Mrs. Hardcastle states this 'request' with extreme coldness and arrogance, as if seeking your permission is a mere formality. She clearly expects you to agree.

What do you do?

Agree to let Mrs. Hardcastle cane you? Turn to page 334.

Refuse, insisting she use something else? Turn to page 336.

Page 334

"Of course, miss -- whatever you think best!" you blurt from your upside down position. The cane may be harsh -- but at least you know what to expect.

Mrs. Hardcastle does not thank you for your co-operation; it is no less than she expected. She calmly opens a nearby cupboard which contains several belts, canes and tawses. Choosing a long length of bamboo, she stands behind you, measuring the stick against your bum.

"This one hurts like the Dickens," taunts Mrs. Hardcastle. "I know -- it's been used on me on more than one occasion. Hold on tight!"

Vip!

You gasp as Mrs. Hardcastle whips the cane tightly into your bulging, exposed bum cheeks. A fierce red line scorches across the surface of the blow, much to Mrs. Hardcastle's chuckling satisfaction.

Vip! Vip!

You choke as two more strokes paint your bum a fiery red, Mrs. Hardcastle enjoying the freedom to beat an English girl she thinks little better than a whore.

Vip! Vip!

If your Willpower is 5 or more, Turn to page 335.
If not, read on:

You cannot help but cry out at these last two strokes, your hands deserting your ankles to grasp your sliced buttocks in pain.

Mrs. Hardcastle laughs. "Silly girl -- all your previous strokes are discounted and we begin again at one. Bend back over, wretch!"

You supress a sob of despair as you miserably obey your command, ruing your lack of discipline under fire. It is a harsh punishment...

Vip! Vip! Vip!

Mrs. Hardcastle unleashes a steady beat of strokes, ratcheting up your agony with malicious glee. How you wish you had resisted her offer of the cane, for she uses it with malevolent delight.

Vip! Vip! Vip!

By the end of the twelfth stroke you are a sobbing wretch, your bum a criss-cross of strokes. Raise your Bum Status by 3 levels .

Mrs. Hardcastle chides you for your weakness, and barks at you to hurry up to bed, for night is now approaching. With trembling haste you obey, eager to be out of your tormentor's company even if it is only for a minute!

Turn to page 338.

Page 335

You prove yourself tougher than Mrs. Hardcastle can imagine. Delving into your inner strength and refusing to show weakness to a woman who must be your social inferior, you bite down and thrust your bum up to receive the strokes that are your due.

Like all lesser caners, Mrs. Hardcastle loses heart when she realises she cannot break you with her cane, and her final few strokes are perfunctory.

Vip! Vip!

Unable to cause you to cry out, despite your line-crossed bum, Mrs. Hardcastle reluctantly relents at the twelfth stroke.

Raise your Bum Status by 2 levels and gain 1 point of Reputation .

"Tough bums you English girls have," she concedes. "Clearly you need it with your poor standards of work. Now stand up and follow me."

"Yes, miss!" you snap smartly, quickly rising and ignoring your desire to grab your cheeks. You've won this round...

Turn to page 338.

Page 336

"No, Mrs. Hardcastle," you say brazenly from your up-ended position. "I don't think that would be appropriate. I shall save the cane for Mr Mowbray's use."

Mrs. Hardcastle seems stunned for a moment. Clearly her other maids obey her inappropriate requests without question, and she is left distinctly embarrassed by your refusal.

"I see," she hisses, after having recovered from your refusal. "Well -- if you think yourself too good for the cane, the good old Scottish tawse it shall be for your backside."

Mrs. Hardcastle opens a nearby cupboard, one of dozens in the house that contain weapons of correction. She moves her hand sadly passed the canes and seizes the two-tailed leather strap that she is allowed to beat you with. Standing behind you, and clenching her jaw in determination, she whips the tawse down hard upon your cheeks!

Snap! Snap!

You hiss slightly as the straps roughly batter your buttocks, but you are buoyed up by your satisfaction at having undermined Mrs. Hardcastle.

Snap! Snap!

Indeed, poor Mrs. Hardcastle, having failed to make you squeak through the first few blows settles into a tired and uninspired rhythm upon your backside, her fun thoroughly spoiled.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

You endure the blows easily, quite restoring your faith at your ability to take Westjack punishment. Raise your Bum Status by 1 level , and gain 1 point of Willpower .

Finally the blows come to an end, Mrs. Hardcastle thoroughly dejected. "Well, girl, don't stand there with your arse in the air all day! Stand up and follow me at once!"

You stand, quite confident you won't have to grasp your buttocks from their feeble beating this time.

Turn to page 338.

Page 337

"If it's all the same to you, miss, I'd like Mr Mowbray to conduct my punishment, please," you say politely, adding a quick curtsey just in case.

Mrs. Hardcastle shrugs. "As you wish girl, although you may regret your choice later. It is no matter to me -- I still have plenty of opportunity to baste those disobedient cheeks of yours. Now come with me!"

Record the codeword MISFILED .

Clearly the room will be tidied up by someone else -- Mrs. Hardcastle must have further plans for you!

Turn to page 338.

Page 338

It is getting late and Mrs. Hardcastle escorts you curtly down to the kitchens to get an evening meal. There, lined up along a grand old dark wood table, the staff, male and female, dig into a wholesome meal of stew and potatoes. You expected to see glum faces ground down by a heartless autocracy, but for the most part the workers on Mr Mowbray's estate seem a happy bunch fairly content with their lot. They are quite reserved around you; seeing as you are a stranger. You don't mind too much -- you're only here for tonight and tomorrow night, and then your sentence of domestic servitude is over.

You are fairly comforted by Maisie's presence -- otherwise you would be the only naked maid in the manor. She smiles briefly at you in solidarity, but quickly straightens and goes serious as Mrs. Hardcastle returns to the kitchen after a brief absence.

"Right then, Maise -- time for your evening punishment," she declares breezily. "I hope you remember to stay still this time. My arm is fairly aching from your thrashing this morning."

"Yes, miss," she grumbles, rising from her seat, trying not to look too petulant.

Maisie is taken away to an adjoining room, where the lash of leather on naked backside is clearly audible throughout the kitchen. Evidently this is a common occurrence -- no one in the kitchen even blinks or interrupts their conversation over Maisie's muted cries.

All too soon Maisie's punishment is over and the moment you've been dreading is at hand -- your compulsory bedtime strapping is at hand.

Maisie emerges from the room, gripping her naked bottom and wincing slightly. She gives you a consoling look. "Mrs. Hardcastle will see you now," she says sadly.

You try to ignore the stares of the other staff as you rise from your bench and move towards the open door. You are suddenly acutely conscious of your almost total nudity, and find it hard to supress a tremble that runs down your body, quivering your visible flesh.

The room appears to be Mrs. Hardcastle's office -- a Spartan affair with clean walls, a few work schedules and a single photo of, presumably, her departed husband on her desk. More impressively a triangular flogging frame occupies a fair portion of the floor space, a series of straps, tawses and belts hanging from hooks behind it. The cruel, business-like atmosphere of the place almost offends you.

"There you are, Dianne," Mrs. Hardcastle pips brightly. "One last exercise for my arm before bedtime. To re-iterate, you're to receive eight mandatory strokes of the strap before bedtime, and a further eight upon waking. The idea is to focus the mind on the dread of the strap -- to ensure a girl's bottom is always sore which helps discourage her from laziness and incompetence. I've always found it very effective."

Mrs. Hardcastle licks her lips, stepping close to your trembling body. "I must admit, I will draw no small amount of pleasure fulfilling my duties upon you, Dianne," she says baldly. "I despise the arrogant, corrupt English. And I dislike Londoners all the more. I find your plan to 'modernise' my beloved island to be nothing more than contemptible!"

This woman is really getting your goat!

Will you:

Let Mrs. Hardcastle have a piece of your mind? Turn to page 339.

Claim you are actually from Basingstoke (a small town some distance from London)? Turn to page 340.

Swallow your anger and submit to the cruel Mrs. Hardcastle? Turn to page 341.

Page 339

"Listen, you old bat!" you snap. "This is all a game, do you understand? A twisted sex-game by your purvy employer. He gets to spank and humiliate me, I get my comms tower. You -- are nothing! Insignificant, a mere distraction from my goals. So thrash me and get on with it, but don't fool yourself into thinking you can intimidate me!"

Gain 1 point of Ambition for this power speech.

Mrs. Hardcastle is appalled, virtually speechless with rage. "So help me, slut, I'll have Mr Mowbray flay you alive! Since I'm clearly so unimportant I'll leave your extra punishment to his discretion. And I assure you, Mr Mowbray's discretion is always to thrash a girl to tears!"

Gain the codeword MOUTH .

Now Turn to page 342.

Page 340

Mrs. Hardcastle is appalled at this cheek, and to your shock slaps you soundly across the cheek.

"That's enough backtalk from you, slattern!" barks Mrs. Hardcastle.

You attempt to supress a smirk. That pushed her buttons alright!

Turn to page 342.

Page 341

Somehow Mrs. Hardcastle's remarks sting you deeply. "Sorry, miss," you say pathetically.

You feel as if this cruel woman is sucking out your soul. Lose 1 point of Willpower .

Turn to page 342.

Page 342

"Now -- bend over the bench and grip onto the adjoining legs," barks Mrs. Hardcastle. "Time to heat up your backside before bed."

You cannot defy Mrs. Hardcastle or lose your bet with Mr Mowbray. Miserably you step up to the whipping bench and bend tightly over the bar, your backside blossoming into fullness above you as you reach down the bench to grab the front legs. You grip on tightly as your hair cascades around your face from the sharp bend.

"Open your legs a little," says Mrs. Hardcastle, licking her lips. "Wrap your ankles around the back legs of the bench."

You pause, tempted to disobey the order ... but you're probably in enough trouble already. This saucy old woman has already seen almost every inch of your naked flesh, what's the harm now in showing her the rest?

You open your legs uncomfortably wide, feeling the draft from under the door brush across your opening sex and anus.

Mrs. Hardcastle steps over to the dangling punishment straps, choosing a good length for your beating. You watch as she steps out of your vision and behind you, and tense your buttocks reflexively.

Snap!

Mrs. Hardcastle drives the strap into your bum cheeks with a heroic full arm swing. She is accurate, and you gasp as your buttocks blaze with sudden, sharp heat.

Snap! Snap!

You wriggle on the bench as you bum begins to ignite. Mrs. Hardcastle's strap is fiercely course, its rough surface seeming to grate your backside as well as thrash it.

If your Willpower is 5 or more, Turn to page 343.
If not, read on.

You squeal as Mrs. Hardcastle continues to inflict your decreed strokes, taking her time to lash you to the fullest of her strength. Tears spring to your eyes and your backside clenches wildly.

"Wretched English slut -- you cringe like a schoolgirl," spits Mrs. Hardcastle. "Those years of ease in rich England have weakened your race until it became the laughing stock of the world!"

Snap! Snap!

"Uh! Ahh!" you cry miserably.

"Only Westjack retains the true spirit of the British Empire -- all that's left in England these days are milksop's like you..." she taunts mercilessly, strapping your naked backside hard to emphasise her words.

Worked up into a fury, she beats you cruelly and with a vigour you thought impossible for an old woman.

Raise your Bum Status by 2 levels .

You cannot help sobbing, even after your blows have long since finished. Mrs. Hardcastle, feeling renewed and self-satisfied from her victory over you, immediately banishes you to bed.

"Think well on your bruised bottom, Dianne Hathaway!" she taunts. "You'll be receiving the same again first thing tomorrow morning!"

Turn to page 344.

Page 343

The beating is hard, but not your hardest -- only the unfairness of the beating troubles your punished flesh. Putting that aside, and keen not to show any weakness that might confirm Mrs. Hardcastle's prejudice against you, you thrust your bottom high and do not wince from the strokes. Your endurance has the desired effect...

Snap!

"Good lord, you English girls have tough bottoms!" groans Mrs. Hardcastle, now halfway through your punishment. "Not even a little whimper? Why this beast of a strap could make stones weep!"

Snap! Snap!

Try as she might she cannot get so much as a peep out of you, the strength of her blows tailing off as her morale dissipates against your stubbornness. Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

"I admit, you've surprised me," concedes Mrs. Hardcastle. "I imagined a modern English girl would feint under the blows I've given you."

Raise your Dignity score by 1 for this well-earned compliment.

"But don't forget," she warns, "you still have another eight due tomorrow morning! That should wake you up for a hard day's work!"

How could you forget? Groaning, you thank Mrs. Hardcastle as she dismisses you to bed.

Turn to page 344.

Page 344

Your quarters are extremely basic and small -- but the bed is comfortable enough, and after your exertions today you fall asleep almost the moment your head hits the pillow.

Lower your Bum Status by 2 Levels .

You are summoned blearily awake at half past six in the morning, Mrs. Hardcastle blowing a whistle that could wake the dead with its shrill pitch. After a quick public shower which you share with the rest of the staff, you and Maisie are pulled aside by a leering Mrs. Hardcastle, eager to remind you of your doom.

"I hope you slept soundly, because it's another eight stokes on your lazy bottoms for each of you," smiles Mrs. Hardcastle. "Report to my office -- quick smart! We have to prepare for Mr Mowbray's supper evening, and the house must be spotless!"

Wearily you and Maisie report to Mrs. Hardcastle's office, neither of you keen for your daily due. Fortunately it is a perfunctory affair, Mrs. Hardcastle simply asking the two of you to bend over her desk whilst she gives you a swift, but business-like thrashing across your bruising cheeks. Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

Mrs. Hardcastle is far too distracted with her obsessive preparations to wallow in your suffering, and immediately commands you to get dusting the china. Indeed, Mr Mowbray's prize china collection stands pride of place in the drawing room, and it is carefully dusted weekly. With a trembling hand you begin carefully dusting around the fragile bowls and plates...

If you have the weakness 'Clumsy' Turn to page 345.

If not, Turn to page 348.

Page 345

Well ... it was inevitable, wasn't it? As if a klutz like you could avoid major damage to a rich man's expensive china collection?

Halfway through your dusting your hand slips, dislodging the glass shelf of the china cabinet. The plates on the shelf roll to their destruction, the china below the loose shelf crushing the fragile china below it with a mighty crash.

You are still reeling, stunned from the sudden destruction as Mrs. Hardcastle rounds the door, shrieking. "You blundering moron!" she cries, distraught. "I curse the day you ever entered this house! Get yourself over that chair and get your bum in the air. And stay there until I've sorted this mess out and I've found time to beat you for it!"

You swallow. You're in real trouble this time.

What do you do?

Meekly agree to Mrs. Hardcastle's demand (you're in enough trouble already)? Turn to page 346.

Suggest that, since this was Mr Mowbray's personal collection, that it's probably best that he punishes you personally? Turn to page 347.

Page 346

You blush in humiliation, your naked backside thrust rudely up, supported by the plush armchair. You've been here for half an hour, whilst the other servants clean up the shattered glass and broken china you managed to destroy. You are sure you can hear titters, and whispered comments from the other servants about the treatment you are about to receive. Just bending over here, waiting, is the worst part -- surely the whole house has seen your bared buttocks during their wanderings as you tremble in anticipation.

Lose 1 point of Dignity .

It is only after the glass has been fully cleared up and the floor vacuumed that Mrs. Hardcastle deigns to perform her duties upon your bottom.

Crack! The impact of the heavy wooden paddle squashes your buttocks flat as Mrs. Hardcastle swings her arm hard. She is angry, and not a little worried for her own backside -- after all, it was her who assigned you to the delicate task of cleaning the china; surely she can't escape unscathed herself?

Crack! Crack! You groan loudly as your buttocks immediately redden under the assault, biting your lip hard. Knowing you deserve every stroke makes the beating somehow easier to bare -- you genuinely are sorry to have destroyed such beautiful objects. Your acceptance does little to spare your bottom, however...

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Two dozen strokes to your backside is more than enough to moisten your eyes, and does little to ease your situation with Mr Mowbray.

"That's enough for now," snaps Mrs. Hardcastle. "I'm sure Mr Mowbray will want to add to your punishment in his own, special way."

"But miss!" you object, "I thought you were punishing me instead of Mr Mowbray!"

"I promised no such thing!" cries Mrs. Hardcastle. "Now get up and get to the kitchens, there's four courses for twenty guests to prepare! Quick smart!"

You groan, rising to obey. Raise your Bum Status by 2 Levels and record the codeword SMASH .

Turn to page 349.

Page 347

"I'll make sure he skins your backside for it!" hisses Mrs. Hardcastle. "Now get out of here, you useless, klutz! Get into the kitchen, there's four courses and twenty guests to prepare for!"

You nod quickly and happily take your leave from this site of destruction.

Record the codeword SMASH .

Turn to page 349.

Page 348

There's no way you are going to do anything except your absolute best here. These china plates look totally authentic, and just imagining the punishment that would be inflicted on your bottom is more than enough to focus you on being very careful.

Carefully dusting around and moving the china plates, you ensure that the glass cabinet is gleaming before deciding the job is done. The work is evidently good enough, as Mrs. Hardcastle barely gives it a second glance before bossing you out to the kitchens. "There's four courses and twenty guests to feed!" she thunders. "Get a move on, you lazy trollop!"

Biting your lip you quickly proceed to the kitchens.

Turn to page 349.

Page 349

You cannot help but be impressed by the professionalism of Mr Mowbray's staff as they hustle and bustle about the kitchen, getting everything ready for the evening's entertainment. The only problem is that you feel like a rather naked fifth wheel, unsure of where anything is or where to put things.

Thankfully the kitchen staff are kind and do not want to see you humiliated. Mr Preston, the chief chef, instead suggests that Maisie instruct you in waitressing skills whilst the rest of the staff get the business of dinner sorted. Between visits from Mrs. Hardcastle, during which you hurriedly look busy chopping up a vegetable or cleaning up a pan, Maisie takes you through the serving routine expected of a maid servant.

Apparently the guests rather appreciate it when a maid brushes rather close to them when serving plates or wine, and you blush to consider the physical contact you will be making with the honoured guests of Mr Mowbray.

In all other ways your training boosts your confidence -- at least you know what is expected of you and how to behave. Gain 1 Dignity point .

As dinner is prepared butterflies flutter in your stomach. You have almost gotten used to being seen nude amongst the staff of the manor -- soon your naked flesh will be on public display to whomever Mr Mowbray has invited. You are determined not to feel humiliated or crack under the pressure.

At ten to seven you are sent to stand in the corridor, waiting to take the guest's coats as they arrive. You bite your lip to suppress your cold shivers, as the hall is unheated in the cold night. Standing curtly, hands to your side, you long for the night, and your ritualised embarrassment, to be over.

Eventually the door rings, and the staff straighten up in tension. The head butler, his polished shoes clacking across the marble floor, approaches the door and opens it swiftly.

Framed within the doorway is no less a figure than your client, Mr Stevenson himself. You desperately try to control the red hot flush of embarrassment within you as he is escorted in, coat in hand, and spies your prominent breasts with widening eyes.

If our Ambition is 6 or more, Turn to page 350.

If your Dignity is 6 or more, Turn to page 351.

Otherwise, read on.

You flush with embarrassment, clean forgetting you are supposed to be collecting Mr Stevenson's coat as his eyes scan across your almost naked body.

Lose 1 Dignity point .

It takes a cough from the butler to remind you of your duties, and you quickly step forward to take your boss' coat.

"I'd heard you were in negotiations with Mr Mowbray ... but I didn't expect this!" stammers Mr Stevenson.

"It's all for the broadcast tower sir, I promise!" you babble quickly.

"Then make sure you succeed!" he hisses. "Or the next time I see that naked bottom of yours it will be welted with cane strokes!"

You swallow, curtsying automatically, and quickly carry away you're client's coat -- allowing him to see your deliciously vulnerable bottom as a necessary consequence of your retreat.

Turn to page 352.

Page 350

You remind yourself that your nudity is a consequence of this island's depraved culture, not of your lewdness, and face out your embarrassment with boldness. You silently march up to the astonished Mr Stevenson and take his coat with brazen confidence.

"I'd heard you were in negotiations with Mr Mowbray ... but I didn't expect this!" stammers Mr Stevenson, seemingly addressing your pert breasts.

"That tower is as good as ours, sir," you whisper to him quietly before curtsying, and spinning on your heal to put his coat away.

Gain 2 points of Reputation .

Turn to page 352.

Page 351

A quiet confidence suddenly descends upon you as you remember your training. The nudity only exists so you can concentrate on correct posture and manners. With a gentle, dignified sway you quietly collect Mr Stevenson's coat with a demur respect.

"I'd heard you were in negotiations with Mr Mowbray ... but I didn't expect this!" stammers Mr Stevenson.

It would be improper to chat to the guests, so you simply smile softly before turning about and making your way to the coat racks with a saucy sway of your hips.

Gain 2 points of Reputation .

Turn to page 352.

Page 352

And so the dinner begins, your semi-naked body as much an adornment as the brass lamps, fine china and august paintings in the grand dining room. The guests, all male, some of whom you recognise from your time on the island, all chat warmly to one another, steeling glances at your nude flesh throughout the meal.

As you and Maisie are called upon to serve, you deliberately brush close to each guest as you have been trained, your naked breasts sliding across their arms and beneath their eyes, as if to increase the pleasure of their finely prepared courses. None object, and you almost feel a sense of power within yourself. You can tease these powerful men -- but they cannot touch you. That would be a gross violation of Westjack conduct.

Throughout the evening Mr Mowbray makes frequent glances towards your buttocks, practically licking his lips in anticipation of your forthcoming punishment. To erode your confidence he proselytises loudly upon the virtue and agony of a sharp drawing room caning, where the strokes are measured out over long pauses, and the fiery pain in the female buttocks reaches fever pitch.

If your Dignity is not at least 7 you must lose 1 Willpower point as you consider Mr

Mowbray's terrible predictions.

After the meal come the evening drinks, but Mr Mowbray is distracted with his forthcoming pleasure and rapidly brings the evening to a close as soon as is decently possible.

As you return the final coat to the last ogling guest a terrible fear trembles through your limbs. The final chapter in your humiliation is coming -- Mr Mowbray, the private study, and the cane.

You do not even pretend to hang back, obediently hanging by Mr Mowbray's side as he thanks and dismisses the other staff for their duties. Mr Mowbray walks towards the study, lit with flickering gaslight, expecting you to follow -- which you do with growing fear.

"Ah!" announces Mr Mowbray, upon seeing a green velvet folder left upon his desk. "The report from Mrs. Hardcastle. Let's see how good a maid you have been."

Mr Mowbray grins as he opens the document.

If you have any of the following codewords, STAIRS, MISFILED, MOUTH, SMASH, Turn to page 369.

If not, Turn to page 353.

Page 353

Mr Mowbray's face falls as he studies the document. He checks it twice, and turns the paper back to front and upside down in comical amazement. "According to this you are a model employee!" he says aghast. "How is this possible -- you're just an English girl with a chip on her shoulder!"

"Sir -- you wrong me to describe me so," you say with mock hurt. "I am truly sorry we got off on the wrong foot, but I think a deal is a deal. You said you would allow the Broadcast Tower on your land if I could make it two days as your servant -- as a Westjack girl. I've done it. Now it is time for you to demonstrate the famous Westjack honour."

Mr Mowbray looks crestfallen. "Oh! How I longed to cane those sweet buttocks of yours -- it's not fair!" he stamps. "But I'm a man of my word, the tower is yours -- for a top notch rental price, of course!"

Hmm. This deal is acceptable -- but you might be able to do better.

Will you:

Accept this hard earned deal? Turn to page 354.

Or, since Mr Mowbray had his heart so set on caning you, offer to allow him a dozen 'friendly strokes' in exchange for a lower rental cost? Turn to page 355.

Page 354

You can't believe you've done it. Your heart almost skips a beat as you see Mr Mowbray sign on the dotted line. The price may be high -- but you've secured an excellent site and a promise from Mr Mowbray not to interfere with your transmitter once it's installed. Mr Stevenson will be very pleased!

Gain 10 progress points and record the codeword TRANSMISSION .

Now Turn to page 789.

Page 355

You see Mr Mowbray's eyes flash in excitement. You see he is about to agree immediately ... but there is cunning in this old fox yet.

"For that kind of low fee we'll have to make it a gamble, Miss. Hathaway," he says slyly. "I'll agree to your terms and half my fee ... but only if you manage to take all twelve strokes without crying out or breaking position! If you succeed, my fee will be halved. Fail and there will be no transmission tower -- all you'll walk away with is a sore bottom and the weight of failure."

Curse this infernal man! Why does he have to make everything a challenge? Something tells you that this is a bad deal ... that a man like Mr Mowbray probably could make you weep with his cane if he wanted too. But half rental ... you could use the money saved to accelerate half a dozen other projects!

Will you?

Wisely turn down his offer and stick to the original agreement? Turn to page 354.

Go for broke and accept his challenge? Turn to page 356.

Page 356

"Thank goodness!" cries Mr Mowbray. "I thought I was going to have to put up with that awful tower. But since you are certain to fail I get to cane your luscious cheeks and keep my land intact."

"Don't be so sure," you say saucily. "You haven't managed to break me yet."

"Oh -- I will," he laughs. "The cane always wins! Stand dead centre in the room and touch your toes. If your fingers leave your toes, you lose. If you so much as grunt or whimper, you lose. My goodness, this will be fun!"

Mr Mowbray practically dances over to his punishment cabinet, selecting a thick, heavy cane, cracking it into the palm of his hand with a pronounced wince.

Hoping dearly that the man is all talk you get into position, bending right over such that your apron dangles into your face, and your bum thrusts rudely towards the giggling aristocrat.

You feel a heavy, rhythmic tap of the heavy cane upon your defenceless cheeks and shudder -- how did you manage to get yourself into this mess.

Thwack!

You jolt, your eyes widening, your taut fingertips trembling. A sudden fire has exploded across your buttocks, and you cannot help but rock under the sharp impact. Mr Mowbray's beastly implement doesn't even sound like a cane, so deep is the sudden whoosh and heavy is its impact.

Thwack!

Now it begins to hurt, as the previous wide band of pain is enlarged across your arse. You lock your knees, and bite down hard on your lip. This man is whipping you full force -- he intends to win his bet!

Thwack!

If your Willpower is 9 or more, Turn to page 357.

If not, read on.

"Ahhh!" you cry at the third stroke, unable to contain your agony any longer. You may as well be being whipped with a flaming brand as much as a mere stick of wood, so perfectly painful is Mr Mowbray's beating of your poor buttocks.

"Ah ha! A call out! You lose, Miss. Hathaway!" jeers Mr Mowbray.

"Please, sir -- this is so unfair!" you sob. "I've spent two days in your house -- I was the perfect maid..."

"A deal is a deal," sneers Mr Mowbray, "you'll leave with nothing. Except nine more strokes across your backside of course!"

Thwack!

"Nggg!" you cry in shock, as the thick cane again impacts meatilly into the centre of your buttocks. You leap to your feet and clutch your backside howling. "Mr Mowbray -- I've lost, surely that means I..."

"You've a lot to learn, girl, if you think a Westjack man would shorten his sentence out of pity!" snarls Mr Mowbray, bending you back over. "Once a punishment is decreed, it is seen through to the bitter end..."

Thwack! Thwack!

"Uhh! Ahhh!"

The cruel Mr Mowbray completes your dreaded sentence, inflicting all twelve strokes across your flaming behind. You cannot help but comply, lost under the power of the man's wicked authority and merciless cane. Your sobs can be heard throughout the house, nor do they stop when you are dressed and thrown out of the manor, backside ablaze and failure upon your shoulders.

Raise your Bum Status by 3 levels .

Now Turn to page 789.

Page 357

You grit your teeth as the vicious cane bites into your quivering behind. The temptation to cry out is overwhelming. It is surely a God-given right for a girl to be able to cry out her discomfort when so belaboured by a fiend with a cane? But you realise that if you aren't to lose it all you must conform exactly to the rules, no matter how much a trial it is.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

And a trial is certainly is. Your hands hover, your legs tremble, tears stream down your face and your backside is practically ablaze. Mr Mowbray is bruising your bottom with his stick that surely cannot conform to any normal description of a cane? The cane should be flexible and stingy -- this brute wood just hammers into your flesh, and its wielder becomes increasingly desperate as you manage to clock up more and more strokes without breaking.

Thwack! Thwack!

You almost exult as you count the twelfth stroke slam into your tenderised buttocks. Your teeth have bruised your lip you have bitten on for so long, and your backside feels like one big bruise. You wait patiently for Mr Mowbray to give you permission to rise, determined to win with dignity.

Mr Mowbray has no such compunction about his own...

Thwack! Out of pure vengeance he cuts a final, illegal thirteenth stroke into your unready backside, and you hiss in shock and outrage.

Raise your Bum Status by 3 levels .

"Impossible!" cries Mr Mowbray, almost sobbing. "How could any English girl take..."

"I am an English woman, Mr Mowbray," you correct sternly, rising from position since he seems too spoilt to concede. "And I've passed your little challenge. Half-rent for the broadcast tower, and no interference from you. That is my prize."

Mr Mowbray flusters. "I ... I could say I broke you! That we made the bet and you lost!" he says desperately.

"Oh really?" you say airily, stalking towards the door. "But how can you contradict so many witnesses?"

You swing it open, confident in what you will see behind it. Sure enough, there gathered, like so many peeping toms, stand almost the entire staff of the manor -- along with several guests who obviously had 'forgotten' some trifle or other. They gathered at the door, listening to every crack of the cane, and straining for a sound from you. Unfortunately for Mr Mowbray he had painted such a lurid and desirous picture of your coming caning that no-one in the manor wanted to miss it!

"I think the girl has won fair and square," offers Mr Stevenson, fixing Mr Mowbray with a disapproving look.

"Yes ... yes, of course," Mr Mowbray quickly defers. "Merely a small joke. Naturally I had every intention of..."

"No doubt you did," huffs Mr Stevenson. "Come -- let us draw up a contract, shall we?"

Facing disgrace, the poor Mr Mowbray signs away his rights to the broadcast tower for a mere pittance, allowing you to use the money saved on numerous other projects that are lagging behind.

Gain 18 progress points and record the codeword TRANSMISSION .

Also gain 5 points of Reputation . Your manager, and the general community, are impressed with your Westjack-level of grit and endurance.

Turn to page 789.

Page 358

Arranging a meeting with John Midway, owner of the farm, is very easy. He offers to meet you at the Apollo Restaurant, the best of the two restaurants on the island -- provided, of course, that you will pay.

Just taking Julian with you, you meet with Mr Midway, who conforms to every conceivable stereotype of the greedy farmer. He clearly can't wait to install your broadcast tower -- especially if it means a handsome rental agreement.

"You can have it anywhere you want -- and I won't touch the blasted thing," grins Mr Midway. "But I want my cut of the profits. Two hundred thousand pounds a year -- minimum!"

Julian nearly feints at this colossal figure -- but you know this is merely the beginning of the negotiations. What kind of figure do you want to go for?

One hundred and fifty thousand? Turn to page 359.

Seventy-five thousand? Turn to page 360.

Twenty thousand? Turn to page 361.

Page 359

"Done!" cries the farmer, as you moot the figure. You can't help but feel you offered too much, but Mr Midway has scribbled on the contract before you can have second thoughts.

Record the codeword TRANSMISSION , but lose 4 progress points . Not only is the transmitter in a terrible place, but you are paying a fortune for it -- money badly needed on other projects.

Lose 1 point of Ambition for this feeble deal.

Turn to page 789.

Page 360

It takes more than an hour to beat Mr Midway down, but finally his greed and fear of losing the deal win out. "Seventy-five it is," he moans. "What high way robbery! I hope your blasted phones break on the first day!"

"That wouldn't be so good for you and your seventy-five thousand pounds a year, would it, Mr Midway?" you tease.

Mr Midway shuts up, pretending to be cross. Behind his eyes is a gleam of greed. He's happy enough with the deal.

Record the codeword TRANSMISSION , but lose 1 progress point . The transmitter is in a terrible place, in a dip obscured by nearby hills, and will only cover a small part of the area. But at least the deal wasn't too extortionate...

Turn to page 789.

Page 361

You relentlessly hammer Mr Midway down in a meeting that better resembles a fist fight than a business meeting. Mr Midway is outraged at the low sum offered and threatens to storm off.

If your Ambition is 5 or more, Turn to page 362.

If not Mr Midway swears at you and thunders out of the restaurant. You are left to pick up the bill, and the pieces of your failed broadcast project.

Turn to page 789.

Page 362

"Mr Midway," you hiss. "If you turn me down I will be going straight to Mowbray Manor, where I will sell this broadcast tower for thirty thousand pounds."

"Bah!" cries Mr Midway. "He'll never take thirty, just as I'll never take twenty!"

"He will -- if he knows I'll sell it to you if he turns me down," you tease. "That broadcast tower is going to be standing a long time. Could you live with yourself knowing that it's giving your rival thirty grand a year -- and you nothing?"

Mr Midway seems to almost go beetroot with rage ... but his petty greed cannot be withheld. Better a pittance from you than a penny goes to Mr Mowbray!

"Damn you, you English tart!" he snaps. "I'll sign! I'll sign!"

This was a victory -- of sorts. The transmitter is in a very poor place -- the dip in the land means that barely half the blindspot will be covered. But the ludicrously cheap price of the transmitter will allow other expensive projects to go forward.

Record the codeword TRANSMISSION and gain 1 Progress Point .

Turn to page 789.

Page 363

Graham's Mount is the tallest of the tiny clump of mountains on Westjack Island. Craggy, lifeless but for some lonely scrub, and very tall and windswept. You have gathered with half a dozen other engineers, clad in warm clothing, reflective jackets and climbing gear, at the base of the mountain.

The mountain is not climbed by the locals -- indeed, it has a terrible reputation. Sudden sea storms and blizzards have been known to whip up on the crags, and many a foolish local lad has lost his life in foolishly trying to reach the summit.

Your plan is less ambitious, but still tricky. Find an accessible route up the mountain, and find a flat enough point that has a good line of sight to the blindspot and another visible broadcast tower. Without both a flat spot and an easy route you cannot construct the broadcast tower. On the other hand, since the mountain is owned by the council instead of a local landlord, you can expect construction to be rent-free.

Going in pairs you each pick a different point to ascend the mountain, wishing each other luck. You keep Julian with you -- you've come to trust the earnest young engineer, and together the two of you begin to scramble up steep slopes, taking in picturesque views of Wesjack Island.

After an hour's scramble you are soon presented with a choice. You could carry on up the slopes, although they are becoming steeper as you progress. Alternatively you have reached a fairly easily climbable rock face that looks like it leads up to a long ledge.

"I wonder what's up there?" you ponder.

"Shouldn't we stick to the slopes?" suggests Julian. "After all we're meant to be finding an easy route."

"We might see more up there, though -- get a better view of the landscape," you counter.

What do you want to do?

Carry on up the slope? Turn to page 365.

Climb the rock face? Turn to page 382.

Page 365

Heeding Julian's advice you press on up the slopes, which become steeper and steeper as you proceed. Eventually the pass becomes narrower and narrower, and an unfortunate looking drop is beginning to build up as you proceed.

"We should tie ourselves together," suggests Julian as he perceives the drop. "That way if one of us falls the other can hold them up."

If you have the trait 'Knowledgeable', Turn to page 366.

If you have the weakness 'Disorganised', Turn to page 367.

If not you must decide what to do:

Agree with Julian's plan and rope yourselves together? Turn to page 368.

Disagree, and just clamber over across ledge individually? Turn to page 379.

Retreat back to the rock face and climb that? Turn to page 382.

Page 366

"Yeah -- that could work ... or we could just both get pulled over the edge together when one of us falls!" you cry, cuffing Julian over the head.

"Okay -- bad idea," he concedes, rubbing his head. "What should we do, then?"

Clamber over across ledge individually? Turn to page 379.

Retreat back to the rock face and climb that? Turn to page 382.

Page 367

"Oh..." you say, suddenly guilty. "Rope..."

"You did remember to pack some rope, yeah?" presses Julian.

You look sheepish. "I suppose it's lucky I'm in charge of you -- otherwise that would be a spanking offence, right?"

"Never mind that," says Julian, losing his chance. "What are we going to do now, without rope?"

Clamber over across ledge individually? Turn to page 379.

Retreat back to the rock face and climb that? Turn to page 382.

Page 368

Roping yourselves together firmly you smile at each other for comfort, and then begin to edge across the ledge, gripping onto every hand hold you can muster.

The journey is fraught ... the ledge itself has the disconcerting ability to crumble away at difficult points. You and Julian manage to keep your nerve until disaster strikes. The weather turns vicious, and a sudden storm squalls out of the bay and blasts the mountain side.

The wind picks up, and it is all you can do to cling onto the rock face, tears of fear in your eyes.

Suddenly there is a yell to your left. Julian has vanished from the rock face. A moment later, so do you. You feel a moment's exhilaration as you plunge through the air, a sudden impact. Then ... silence...

Turn to page 387.

Page 369

"Oh dear -- what a bad girl you've been," he tuts, smiling broadly. "But I'll do my best to improve you with the cane."

He looks you up and down, taking in your nudity like a fine wine. "Shall I fix us a sherry, Miss. Hathaway? I don't see why we shouldn't enjoy ourselves to the full on this wonderful evening."

"Enjoy ourselves, sir? Surely it is only you who will be enjoying anything?" you say in bewilderment.

"Oh come now," he smiles, taking down two small glasses from a cabinet. "Let us not pretend. You couldn't have lasted this long in Westjack without picking up ... an appreciation, shall we say, of your womanly subservience. It's all part of the joy of the game."

You accept the sherry with trembling fingers, still trying to swallow down your fearful anticipation of what is to come. "Is that all it is? This right to punish women at will -- a game?"

"For those with their heads screwed on right, it is!" insists Mr Mowbray, taking a small sip of sherry. "I admit, for some bare-bottom punishment is more akin to a religion ... a faith, a ritual of purity. That's why you'll never get this phone thing off the ground. There are too many people, male and female, on this island too invested in our culture to see it destroyed."

You take a sip of sherry to give you comfort. "I don't want to destroy anything," you say. "Honestly -- you Westjack men, you have no confidence in yourselves, or your culture. You assume the internet is going to turn your island into California, or something. It won't happen if your beliefs are true and strong."

Mr Mowbray laughs. "Here I am with a beautiful woman, and a fine bottom to thrash, and I'm talking island politics! You've already won your first battle, Dianne Hathaway. That blasted tower is yours presuming you manage your thrashing well enough. Now drink up, and present yourself over my desk. You have a punishment coming!"

Reminding yourself that the broadcast tower is just one more thrashing away you finish your sherry and fold yourself over the desk, your naked bum mooning to full bloom as you settle yourself in position. The desk is cold on your waist and breasts, and your nipples quickly tighten into points. But all you can think about is the terrible vulnerability of your bottom as Mr Mowbray consults his whipping closet.

"I think a whippy little ash plant cane will be sufficient," he says, almost rubbing his hands with glee. "It has the wonderful ability to seek out all those tender crevices stiffer canes leave out. Besides, it takes a true master to hurt with a light cane -- and you'll appreciate the subtlety."

You somehow doubt that, but at least Mr Mowbray is having fun rather than steaming with anger. Your bottom might survive intact after all...

Taking down the thin cane you see Mr Mowbray flex the stick with delight, watching as the whole length seems to wobble with the slightest movement. It reminds you almost of a snake, and in Mr Mowbray's hands the cane seems to take on a life of its own.

"Damn fine jellies, by the way," compliments Mr Mowbray crudely as he measures his thin cane against the centre of your up thrust buttocks. "I would have been crushed if I didn't manage to ply a stick to these lovely peaches. They've been tormenting me all evening. Now I get to have my revenge!"

At that, unable to hold his excitement back any longer, he pulls the cane back an arm's length, before flicking the cane in with a flourish of his wrist.

Vip!

You wince as the snappy cane nips across your flesh, the tip of the cane seeming to bite your right haunch.

Vip! Vip!

Almost playfully, Mr Mowbray cuts twice more in rapid succession, the nimble cane snipping into your exposed flesh, causing your cheeks to wobble comically. The sting is beginning to rise now, and you see now that this curious cane is not just for sport, but a weapon that builds its pain carefully.

Vip!

The cane careers widely, cutting you short, the tip folding between your cheeks with an alarming nip!

If your Willpower is 5 or more, Turn to page 370.
Otherwise, read on.

"Ouch!" you cry, your hands breaking position as the cane tip impacts sharply just above your bottom hole.

"Hands away, you minx!" roars Mr Mowbray. "You're still in my employ until this punishment is complete. Punishment that must now be lengthier thanks to your lack of discipline!"

It seems hardly fair, but Mr Mowbray whips you an extra half dozen or so little stingers, having you hop up on your toes in complaint.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

Turn to page 371.

Page 370

He is a teasing little man, this Mr Mowbray, but you'll not rise to him. You cannot help a small shrill of alarm as the cane tip embeds itself just above your anus.

"A nippy little blighter this cane, eh?" torments Mr Mowbray. "But you seem to be bearing up alright..."

Vip!

"Ohh!" you cry, at another low blow that nips the top of your legs.

"Good thing, too -- I don't tolerate indiscipline in my maids!" he says grandly.

None the less you are beginning to impress Mr Mowbray and he won't be unkind with his praise for you in public. Gain 1 point of Reputation .

Turn to page 371.

Page 371

Vip!

"Ouch!"

Vip!

"Ah!"

Vip!

"Oooh!"

Mr Mowbray cuts the cane through the air with a frightening swoosh! He has found a snapping, cutting rhythm that bites into your flesh with cruel regularity. Your backside is now covered in a criss-cross of thin red lines, like fine scarlet spider webs, and a growing, inevitable throbbing now covers the entire globe of your bottom.

Raise your Bum Status by 2 Levels .

Count how many of the following codewords you have: STAIRS, MISFILED, MOUTH, SMASH.

If you have two or less, Turn to page 372.

If you have three or more, Turn to page 373.

Page 372

"What a fine piece of work, even if I do say so myself!" says Mr Mowbray, smoothing a hand over your glowing backside. "A pity you weren't just a bit naughtier -- I was just getting into the swing of it. How does your arse feel, Dianne?"

"Very stingy, sir," you concede, eager to avoid any more slashing blows to your sensitive behind.

"Excellent," he says. "We'll that's your lesson learned, and I dare say it will be a few days before it will be forgotten!"

After a brief pause to allow you to dress and rub your beleaguered bottom you settle down to contract negotiations. Mr Mowbray is evidently pleased you played along with his little game and allows the comms tower to be built for a reasonable price. At the very least you have avoided the stinging thrash of Mr Stevenson's cane -- the very thought of taking such a punishment so soon is enough to make you wilt.

Gain 10 Progress points , 3 points of Reputation and record the codeword TRANSMISSION .

Turn to page 789.

Page 373

Mr Mowbray pauses in his work, picking up his glass of sherry and taking a reviving sip. He examines your backside critically, admiring his handiwork.

"Halfway there, Dianne," he consoles. "Time to work up a few welts on that fine beauty of a bum!"

My goodness, you are already in such pain. You're not sure you could take any more of that nasty, cutting cane.

Will you:

Beg Mr Mowbray to use a more traditional cane on you? Turn to page 374.

Break off the deal to prevent any more damage to your backside? Turn to page 376.

Rise up on your tiptoes and push your bottom up, ready to take anything Mr Mowbray has got? Turn to page 377.

Page 374

"Oh dear, poor Dianne," chides Mr Mowbray, flexing his whippy little cane. "Have you had enough?"

"I didn't say that," you add hastily from your whipping position. "I just ... wanted a change of cane, that's all."

Mr Mowbray looks critically at your bottom. "I suppose we could call it a halt there. You've been a game girl, and I appreciate it. So how about we end your punishment now, and in exchange I get double the agreed rent on the broadcast tower. That way you get your tower and save your backside, and I get a decent bit of cash for the inconvenience. What do you say?"

The swine! You thought he might try to blackmail you like this. But your backside is now so sore that you're not sure you can hang on through another caning...

What do you do?

Reluctantly accept his offer -- at least getting the tower, even at double price, will keep Mr Stevenson's cane off your backside? Turn to page 375.

Stick to the original deal and push your bottom up high for more? Turn to page 377.

Page 375

"Very well, Mr Mowbray," you groan. "But have the decency to let me rise and rub my bottom, it feels as if it's cut to shreds!"

"Of course, my dear," grins Mr Mowbray beneficently. "And I shouldn't worry, the damage is all cosmetic and not at all deep. It's rather beautiful to my eye."

Well ... you're happy to leave Mr Mowbray to his strange tastes and eagerly get on with drawing up the contract. It's not a great deal ... you're spending far too much of your valuable budget on this single booster tower -- but at least it is quite well sited, covering three quarters of the blind spot on the island.

Gain 6 Progress points and record the codeword TRANSMISSION .

After a few more formalities you quickly dress and then leave the manor, hoping to recover your dignity on the way out.

Turn to page 789.

Page 376

"No ... no, it's no good -- I can't take any more!" you sob. "You win! You win!"

"As was inevitable," nods Mr Mowbray. "Go back to England, Miss Hathaway, and take your ridiculous internet and mobile phones with you. Enjoy your decadence -- and let us refresh ourselves in the dignity of discipline!"

You are dismissed from the manor in shame. Your bottom is safe, but your pride has taken a real knock. Lose 1 point of Willpower .

Turn to page 789.

Page 377

Mr Mowbray's eyes flash as he sees you petulantly thrust your cane-stroked arse high above you, pushing up on tiptoes for full effect. "My goodness, such eagerness and confidence in one so young," he muses. "Perhaps I need to re-evaluate my opinion of English girls?"

Inwardly you are not so sure, wincing as Mr Mowbray lines up his thin cane. You already feel close to breaking point, enduring further will require all your reserve.

Vip! With a flash and a flourish, Mr Mowbray whips the flexible little stick into your quivering cheeks, the appalling sting already beginning to rise.

Vip! Vip! Vip! Back and forth, with even forehand and backhand flicks, the saucy old landholder lashes your cheeks with an eye-wateringly swift rhythm, making you jerk and hop on tiptoes, your hands desperately clenching onto the hardwood table top for support.

Vip! Vip! Vip!

If your Willpower is 8 or more, Turn to page 378.
Otherwise, read on.

It is like being repeatedly stung by a crazed hornet. Mr Mowbray, despite the agony he is inflicting on your blazing bottom, seems to exert no effort as he casually lashes you back and forth with such practiced cruelty even a stone would beg for mercy.

Raise your Bum Status by 2 Levels .

"No ... no, it's not good -- I can't take any more!" you sob. "You win! You win!"

Mr Mowbray immediately halts his thrashing bombardment and chuckles, rubbing a soothing hand over your flayed buttocks. "Bad luck, old thing," he says warmly. "You managed to take quite a drubbing before throwing in the towel, though. Worthy of a Westjack girl, I'd say -- and that's not a compliment I throw out to every foreigner I meet."

You do take some solace in Mr Mowbray's words -- if anyone can judge female endurance it is him! Gain 1 point of Dignity and 3 points of Reputation.

Sadly, despite his new found respect for you, Mr Mowbray insists on the terms of your deal. The tower will not be built on his land, and you fear that the punishment you received today was but a taster of the thrashing coming your way from Mr Stevenson...

Turn to page 789.

Page 378

Calling upon all your reserves you clench your teeth, grip on and endure as Mr Mowbray thrashes your backside again and again, with barely a second's pause between strokes. You cannot help but whimper and moan, and you know you are putting on a real show with your dancing, whipped backside, but you will win this competition regardless of the costs.

Vip! Vip! Vip!

It is like being repeatedly stung by a crazed hornet. Mr Mowbray, despite the agony he is inflicting on your blazing bottom, seems to exert no effort as he casually lashes you back and forth with such practiced cruelty even a stone would beg for mercy. But you refuse to mouth the words of defeat, no matter how tempting, and in the end, for decency's sake, Mr Mowbray has to end your caning at fiftieth stroke.

Raise your Bum Status by 3 Levels .

"By God, what a woman!" cries Mr Mowbray dramatically. "I've seen few bottoms take such a tickling without some cry of mercy. Your reserve is incredible!"

Your reserve, as he calls it, is stretched to breaking point -- but you've come this far and must continue to play the penitent. "Thank you, sir," you moan modestly.

"Well ... it seems you have won our little wager, and damned well!" he thunders. "I don't mind admitting I'm beaten when faced with a superior opponent. Moreover, I am happy that you respect our island's ways with as much fervour as you do your company's position. I was in grave doubt about the whole phone and inter-web thing -- but if a woman like you is in charge of it, it can't be all bad. Consider me a convert -- you may have your tower with my blessing, and I can promise you no obstruction."

Even through the stinging pain in your bottom these words are sweet medicine to you. Gain 18 progress points and 5 points of Reputation. You may also raise your Dignity by 1 point -- having endured such a punishment without breaking raises your self-esteem no end!

Record the codeword TRANSMISSION .

Turn to page 789.

Page 379

Physically gripping onto the side of the rockface you begin to shuffle across the ledge, Julian just behind you clinging on for dear life.

Hopefully the ledge is solid and will support your clamber ... but maybe not...

Add up the number of codewords you have.

If the number is even, Turn to page 380.

If the number is odd, Turn to page 381.

Page 380

With your heart in your mouth you continue to shuffle around the ledge, the fierce Westjack wind buffeting your mountaineering jacket as you go. Fortunately you are strong and fit, and the ledge is strong enough to bear you.

After what feels like an age the ledge begins to finally widen out, and you and Julian give a sigh of relief as the route becomes wide enough not to have to grip on to the cliff anymore.

You wonder where your heroics have got you, until you spy it...

As you round a corner you can see, plain as day, a large, flat ledge with a fine view of the eastern side of the island. Only about a third would be blocked by the mountainside -- still good enough to give majority coverage for the initial turn on. Julian sees it too, and the two of you whoop with joy.

It is a good site, although some scaffolding and supporting structures will need to be put in to reach it. Nonetheless, Mr Stevenson will be impressed with your gall and tenacity. Gain 9 Progress points , and gain 2 points of Reputation . Also gain 1 point of Willpower for your bravery in the face of danger.

Record the codeword TRANSMISSION .

Turn to page 789.

Page 381

With your heart in your mouth you continue to shuffle around the ledge, the fierce Westjack wind buffeting your mountaineering jacket as you go. The route is extremely perilous -- just one misstep could spell disaster. So, when the entire ledge seems to give way under your feet, you can do little but scream and fall...

"Dianne...!" cries Julian, still desperately clinging to the rock face, but he is too late, and darkness envelops you.

Turn to page 387.

Page 382

You clamber up the rock face together. With plenty of handholds it's more a question of patience than anything else, although as the weather worsens and the chilling wind sets in the climb soon becomes uncomfortable.

The upper ledge is wide and accessible, but its exposed location makes it frighteningly cold. You battle on up the higher slope, until the first flakes of snow begin to blast across the precipice. Suddenly things don't seem so safe.

"We should turn back!" cries Julian, shielding his eyes from the driving sleet.

"Or we could pitch up the tent and weather it out!" you say earnestly, unwilling to be driven so swiftly from the mountainside.

"Come on, Dianne -- we're office workers, not mountaineers! We're out of our depth -- let's head back!" insists Julian.

What do you do?

Turn back, as he suggests? Turn to page 383.

Or set up camp and weather out the storm? Turn to page 384.

Page 383

With much reluctance you clamber back down the rock face and slog back to the main encampment. As snow begins to fall heavily on the upper slopes you cannot help but ruminate on how much trouble Julian has just got you out of.

To your dismay the snows continue to fall all week. Clearly setting up the transmitter on Graham's Mount is simply too perilous to pursue. You're not looking forward to Mr Stevenson's reaction when you tell him there will be not comms booster tower, but the danger to your bottom is considerably less than the danger to your life!

Turn to page 789.

Page 384

You hurriedly empty your packs and begin to assemble the tent. In the howling wind and driving snow it is a very difficult process, and you feel utterly chilled to the bone as you howl out instructions to a panicking Julian.

You're not sure how long it took, but the two of you finally manage to cram yourselves into the small tent. Julian is shivering uncontrollably ... he looks ill. You feed him some warm soup from your thermos flask and wrap him up in his sleeping bag, but his still shudders continually.

He is no longer really able to talk ... and the snow storm outside is still as fierce as it was before...

What do you do?

Stay in the tent, try to keep Julian warm, and wait for rescue? Turn to page 385.

Decide that you must get help for Julian, and set out into the storm to find help? Turn to page 386.

Page 385

Cuddling up tight to Julian to share your warmth, you sit in the tent as the storm howls outside. The temperature is dropping rapidly, and through the night you cling to one another desperately, teeth chattering with cold, praying earnestly that someone will find you before it's too late for Julian.

Come the morning time the sound you longed for appears. Crunching through the snow comes the sound of heavy boots, and finally the face of a roughly bearded man, dressed in warm mountain gear, emerges through the tent flaps.

"Come on -- out of the tent!" he barks, extending his hands towards you.

"Take Julian first -- he's not well!" you insist, hauling Julian up into a delirious sitting position.

Two other members of your team, who abandoned their reconnaissance to find you, help you to haul Julian out of the tent. Constable Farley and another police officer are also here, dressed to the nines in climbing gear.

"You're lucky we had Jack Reinweld with us," grunts the constable, indicating the roughly bearded gentleman who found you. "You might have perished in the snow."

"What were you thinking, woman?" he demands. "This isn't a camping trip! Why didn't you turn back?"

"I ... we..." you babble. "Look, just make sure Julian's alright!"

"We'll take him down to the hospital," assures the constable. "I think Jack wants a word with you..."

Indeed he does. Long before the constable and the other rescuers are out of sight Jack Reinweld has you over his knee with your trousers and knickers down, giving you a thorough spanking with his heavy hand.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

"Never -- smack -- do -- smack -- such a -- smack -- ridiculous -- smack -- thing again!" he roars a he pounds your crimsoning cheeks. Jack isn't expecting much decorum from you and indeed you give him very little, wriggling, squirming and crying as he beats your backside red.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

Shame faced, you are escorted down the mountainside, your dreams of siting the Comms Booster tower in this location ruined. Fortunately Julian recovers quickly from his exposure. You doubt your bottom will be so quick to recover when Mr Stevenson discovers your failure.

Turn to page 789.

Page 386

It's no good, you can't let Julian die while you simply sit around waiting for the storm to abate. The weather looks terrifying outside but you must take the risk.

Double wrapping Julian in your sleeping bag you promise him you will be back soon and emerge into the white storm. Snow is blasting into your eyes, and you are compelled to stagger forward, covering your eyes with your arm.

It proves to be a terrible mistake. You are quickly disorientated and lose track of where you are. You blunder blindly through the whipping snow, being blown hither and thither until your foot gives way underneath you -- you've staggered too close to the edge of the path, and your last thoughts are of pure terror as you plunge down the mountainside...

Turn to page 387.

Page 387

...you awaken -- your head hurting. You are in a strange place ... a warm place ... a bed near a fireplace. Your eyes blur. It's some sort of cabin. Not far from you sits a great bear of a man dressed in rugged mountain gear. He is smoking a pipe, and looking at you as you stir...

"...Julian..." you groan. "Where's...?"

"Sleep," the man commands. "You have concussion."

"...did ... did you find...?" you blather, confused.

"Only you," the man says gravely. "This Julian, if he is on the mountainside, will be dead by now. Now sleep."

"No..." you weep softly, before blacking out.

Turn to page 388.

Page 388

You awaken a little later. It is night. Only the fireplace and a small oil lamp light the room. Your eyesight is somewhat better, but your head still hurts. You are definitely in some sort of cabin, a functional but homely sort of place. There is no sign of your rescuer.

You are about to emerge from bed when you realise you are naked. Your rescuer obviously stripped you off ... perhaps it was necessary ... but you're not sure. You can see a robe hanging from a hook by the doorway, but you're not sure where your clothes are.

What do you do?

Get out of bed and look around? Turn to page 389.

Stay in bed and try to go back to sleep? Turn to page 393.

Page 389

You emerge from bed, shivering and naked. You quickly grab a gown you see hanging by the fireplace and wrap it around yourself, standing close to the fire to warm yourself up.

The cabin is well made and sturdy -- homely too, with comfortable furnishings about the place. Spare boots stand in rows by the fire place, all sized for a man with large feet.

There is a small desk, a table with three chairs, and a basic kitchen in addition to the bed -- though it certainly seems that this is a bachelor's house, with no sign of feminine touches or evidence of children.

What do you want to do?

Search the place and see if you can get a better idea about the owner? Turn to page 390.

Try to make something to eat, perhaps to share with your mysterious rescuer? Turn to page 391.

Return to bed and sleep, since your head still hurts? Turn to page 393.

Page 390

You move over to the desk -- if the owner has any correspondence to identify him you'll find it here. Despite the obviously remote location you see he does have some letters, although all are post marked to the post office at Oldwell town -- presumably he collects his letters there.

The name of the occupant is easy enough to identify: Jack Reinweld must be his name, since it is to him all letters are addressed. Much of his correspondence are tedious, voting papers, a few tax demands and so forth -- it seems that even living up a mountain doesn't keep the long arm of the law away on Westjack Island.

One letter is rather different from the others -- a personal correspondence not addressed to the post office. It says upon it, quite simply, "Drop Dates -- 23rd, 24th. BC."

Odd. Record the codeword CYPHER .

You are snapped back to reality as you hear the sound of feet crunching on snow. You quickly dash back towards the bed.

You snuggle back into bed, pretending to be asleep, just as the door swings open. Framed in the door is the hulking form of your rescuer. He is well over six feet tall, obviously muscular, with a wild curly beard choked with snow. He stamps his feet a number of times to shake the thickly clogged snow off his boots before striding inside.

He slumps into the chair by the fireplace, slowly removing his boots as he does so. "You're up, then?" he grunts.

"Hmmm?" you groan, pretending to awaken.

"No need to pretend -- you've obviously been up and around," he says. "You're wearing my gown."

Damn it! You didn't think to remove it before climbing into bed. "Oh ... sorry, I just..."

"You didn't know the kind of man I was, I expect," he says simply. "The name is Jack Reinweld, in case you didn't know."

"Dianne Hathaway," you reply.

Jack furrows his brow in thought. "Heard of that name ... ah! It'll come to me. Well, since you're strong enough to walk around, your strong enough to go over my lap."

Your heart gives an unexpected flutter. Perhaps it's the concussion, but the idea sounds rather appealing...

"Did I do something wrong?" you ask, unsure if he caught you going through his letters somehow.

"You let yourself fall into a ravine without an expert guide," he says sternly. "If it weren't for the snow bank you fell into you and I would not be talking now."

"I see," you say. It was rather foolish ... if only because you left Julian alone on the mountainside. Is he alright, you wonder desperately? You can't help but feel that you deserve to be punished.

"Leave the dressing gown on the hook," grunts Jack as you emerge from the bed towards him. "No point having anything in the way."

"Alright..." you say dreamily, obediently slipping the gown from your shoulders and hanging it by the door, shivering at the draught that seeps in from underneath the doorframe.

Shuddering, you make your way towards Jack's proffered lap...

Turn to page 394.

Page 391

You almost certainly owe this man your life, cooking for him seems to be the least you can do. Besides, if he turns out to be ... unfriendly, perhaps this will warm him to you.

You rifle through the kitchen to try to find something to eat. Finding the ingredients proves easy. Finding a way to turn the cooker on rather more difficult.

If you have either or both of the following traits: Domesticated, Knowledgeable, Turn to page 392.
Otherwise read on.

After having poured the beans into the pan and cut up the vegetables for the saucepan you still cannot fathom a way of turning on the cooker. You turn the dial to full and strike a match, but the blasted thing will not catch light.

The door suddenly opens. Framed in the door is the hulking form of your rescuer. He is well over six feet tall, obviously muscular, with a wild curly beard choked with snow. He stamps his feet a number of times to shake the thickly clogged snow off his boots before striding inside.

"What are you doing?" he asks directly.

"Just ... trying to cook you something..." you say, greatly intimidated.

He gives the smallest grunt of a laugh. "Not having much luck?"

"The cooker won't light..."

"You need to turn the safety valve on the gas bottle -- don't bother now, I'm not hungry."

You are ... but you let the point drop.

He slumps into the chair by the fireplace, slowly removing his boots as he does so. "The name is Jack Reinweld, in case you didn't know."

"Dianne Hathaway," you reply.

Jack furrows his brow in thought. "Heard of that name ... ah! It'll come to me. Well, since you're strong enough to walk around, you're strong enough to go over my lap."

Your heart gives an unexpected flutter. Perhaps it's the concussion, but the idea sounds rather appealing...

"Did I do something wrong?" you ask, heart thumping in your chest.

"You let yourself fall into a ravine without an expert guide," he says sternly. "If it weren't for the snow bank you fell into you and I would not be talking now."

"I see," you say. It was rather foolish ... if only because you left Julian alone on the mountainside. Is he alright, you wonder desperately? You can't help but feel that you deserve to be punished.

"Leave the dressing gown on the hook," grunts Jack. "No point having anything in the way."

"Alright..." you say dreamily, obediently slipping the gown from your shoulders and hanging it by the door, shivering at the draught that seeps in from underneath the doorframe.

Shuddering, you make your way towards Jack's proffered lap...

Turn to page 394.

Page 392

You remember going camping with your parents, and making them meals of new potatoes and stewed steak on the camping stove. One of the things your father always warned you to do was to turn off the gas valve on the gas bottle once you were finished. Popping your head under the cooker you twist the valve and, voila� the gas flows through.

Soon you are cooking and frying away with abandon, the layout of the kitchen logical and efficient such that you have no difficulties. You are literally laying the food on the table when your 'guest' returns.

Framed in the door is the hulking form of your rescuer. He stamps his feet a number of times to shake the thickly clogged snow off his boots before striding inside. He looks surprised, although not unwelcomingly so.

"Smells good," he says gruffly, the smallest smile leaching to his lips.

"Just a thank you," you say modestly.

He slumps into the chair by the fireplace, slowly removing his boots as he does so. "The name is Jack Reinweld, in case you didn't know."

"Dianne Hathaway," you reply.

Jack furrows his brow in thought. "Heard of that name ... ah! It'll come to me. This is kind, by the way. Unnecessary, but kind."

You join him at the table, issuing him with his cutlery. "Most kind acts are unnecessary, that's often what makes them kind," you say.

He smiles and digs into his food -- you doing likewise, the hot food restoring your spirits. Increase either your Dignity or Willpower by one point.

After a short, silent meal, Jack orders you to return to bed. "You still probably have sore head, I expect, so you need your rest. If the weather is better tomorrow I'll take you home."

"Are you sure you wouldn't like the bed?" you say, fearing you are imposing.

"No -- you're the woman, you get the bed," he says flatly. Clearly he won't be argued with. Bidding him goodnight you snuggle back under the covers.

Turn to page 397.

Page 393

It doesn't take much to fall asleep. Indeed, until the door fly's open, accompanied by a howling gust of wind, you are barely aware any time has passed.

Framed in the door is the hulking form of your rescuer. He is well over six feet tall, obviously muscular, with a wild curly beard choked with snow. He stamps his feet a number of times to shake the thickly clogged snow off his boots before striding inside.

He slumps into the chair by the fireplace, slowly removing his boots as he does so. "You're awake, then?" he grunts.

"Yes ... now," you say shakily.

"How do you feel?" he asks neutrally.

"My head hurts a bit," you say truthfully.

"The name is Jack Reinweld, in case you didn't know."

"Dianne Hathaway," you reply.

Jack furrows his brow in thought. "Heard of that name ... ah! It'll come to me. Well, since you're strong enough to sit up, you're strong enough to go over my lap."

Your heart gives an unexpected flutter. Perhaps it's the concussion, but the idea sounds rather appealing...

"Did I do something wrong?" you ask, heart thumping in your chest.

"You let yourself fall into a ravine without an expert guide," he says sternly. "If it weren't for the snow bank you fell into you and I would not be talking now."

"I see," you say. It was rather foolish ... if only because you left Julian alone on the mountainside. Is he alright, you wonder desperately? You can't help but feel that you deserve to be punished.

Shuddering, you slowly climb out of bed, naked as the day you were born, to make your way towards Jack's proffered lap...

Turn to page 394.

Page 394

You are almost glad as you smooth yourself over the lap of Jack Reinweld. His clothes have been heated by the fire, and your own proximity to the blaze helps keep your upper body warm.

You touch the wooden floor with your hands, steadying yourself as Jack shifts your bottom forward until the moons of your bum-globes lie directly beneath his gaze. He strokes your naked backside for a time, squeezing the buttocks as if judging them. For some reason this man is different from the others -- you do not feel aggrieved at your coming punishment. Something very much inside you is eager to feel his palm strike your bottom, and you wish he would begin immediately.

Once he has satisfied himself with the shape and density of your bum flesh, his rough hand sending small shivers of desire through your body, he cups his hand tightly, raises it high above your twitching buttocks and slaps down loudly.

Smack!

Your back arches and you hiss ... that was hard. A smarting pain immediately floods your senses, and your right hand cheek flushes a brilliant red. This man hits hard.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

It's not a rhythm, just three additional smacks. Two more to your blazing right cheek, a single one to the left. You groan, clenching your right ham, the warmth spreading through your body. You no longer shiver with cold, but with an altogether different emotion.

Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!

You wince and cry, four more strokes just to your right buttock, your left feeling barely touched. How you wish he would even the blows out

Will you beg him to strike your cheeks evenly? Turn to page 395.

Or will you let him dictate how your punishment should proceed? Turn to page 396.

Page 395

You should know better than to dictate to a Westjack man how to punish his girl. Wordlessly Jack simply spanks your right buttock all the harder, ignoring the quivering left one entirely as he makes you suffer for your pushiness.

Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!

You whimper and groan as your right cheek enflames red, the pearly left virtually untouched. You shift and rock on Jack's lap, hissing in pain. His cruel spanking dissipates your desires, and all you can do is cling on like a shipwrecked sailor in a storm as he repeatedly strikes your crimson right buttock.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

When finally he stops it is like a small fire burns just on one side of your buttocks. You've never had a spanking like it -- but it was exquisitely uncomfortable.

"Now back to bed," grunts Jack, raising you from his knee. "You may still have concussion."

Wincing from your cruel spanking, you swiftly return to the bed and tuck yourself in. At least Jack Reinweld is something of a gentleman and didn't make you sleep in the chair!

Turn to page 397.

Page 396

You stay silent, enduring as best as you can. There is something possessive, something needful about this man. He strikes hard, but out of a fervent desire that seems to burn through your bum cheeks and deep into your sex. You think you might let him do anything he wants to you...

Smack! Smack! Smack! He continues to strike the right cheek, the burn in your backside going deep and through you as you wriggle and gasp convulsively. And then finally, just as you think you can take no more...

Smack! He changes to your unblemished left cheek, and you cannot help but sigh in relief. Smack! Smack! Smack! He slaps firmly, making up for his deliberate avoidance of your left bum cheek, reddening the cheek in seconds with his relentless bombardment.

And so he continues, sometimes swapping strikes to the opposing cheek to disorientate you, but mainly focusing on a single side until your breath is horse and your scalding cheek flames in pain. But you don't want it to stop ... you can feel the burning pleasure build up inside you. He must continue ... he must...

And then it happens, sudden, unexpected, overwhelmingly, you orgasm violently over his knee, his hand still pounding your arse, your sex untouched but grinding on his thigh. You wail and moan, uncaring of the scene you are making -- there is only him and you, and everything else dissolves in a fiery red haze of painful desire.

He doesn't stop until you flop exhausted across his knee, all your energies spent. Raise your Bum Status by 2 Levels and add one to any attribute (Ambition, Dignity or Willpower). Also gain 2 Fun Points .

Finally, after stroking your enflamed bottom gently for a few minutes, he picks you up and carries you over to the bed. You are exhausted -- but you realise you would deny this man nothing if he wanted to take it.

Instead he simply tucks you into bed, goes over to the fireside chair, and picks up a book. As your tired eyes close the last thing you see is Jack Reinweld leaning back in his chair, book in hand, the firelight glazing off his marble eyes...

Turn to page 397.

Page 397

You awaken to the sound of howling wind, and the smell of a cooked breakfast. Your head feels much better, and your body is much revitalised. Lower your Bum Status by 2 Levels .

Peering out of bed you can see Jack over by the stove, cooking a simple breakfast of beans and eggs on his basic gas stove. Outside the world looks white, howling gales and driving snow are illuminated a ghostly white. You suppose you won't be going back down the mountain today!

"Morning," grunts Jack. "How do you like your eggs?"

"As they come," you shrug, sitting up, briefly gazing over to the roaring fire, glad that it is spreading its welcome heat through the cabin.

"I remember you now," says Jack, not looking up from the cooking. "Dianne Hathaway, the new telephone manager at the exchange."

"That's right," you confirm, scanning the cabin for your clothes. Jack's gown still hangs on the hook, so that will do for the moment. You slip out of bed and reach for the gown...

"Are you cold?" asks Jack abruptly, and your hand withdraws.

"No," you say truthfully, the fire in the cabin keeping the place toasty warm.

"Then leave that -- I have business with you, anyway," he grunts, serving up the food onto two separate plates. "And I've seen it all already, so there's no point in being modest."

"Right..." you say unsurely.

Jack slides the plates onto the table, taking a seat himself. "Eat up," he commands.

Swallowing you emerge from bed, bravely leaving your covers behind. Jack glances at you, once or twice, as he eats, presumably taking in your naked body anew as you sit at the table.

What do you want to do?

Ask Jack where your clothes are? Turn to page 398.

Quietly eat your breakfast? Turn to page 399.

Suddenly throw your plate of scalding food in his face and run for the door? Turn to page 400.

Page 398

"Where are my clothes, Jack?" you ask directly, as he continues to eat his breakfast.

"They're in the chest," he says nonchalantly.

"Can I have them?" you ask.

"Are you leaving?" he replies.

"I like wearing them," you insist. "I don't like being naked."

"Well -- that's a rule of the house," replies Jack, fixing you with a firm gaze. "I like to look on naked women, and there aren't many up here on Graham's Mount. My house, my rules."

"Do you intend to keep me here ... against my will?" you press directly.

Jack grins. He shakes his head. "No -- don't see how I'd manage that. I've heard about you, you're far too clever. Besides that's not what I'm about..."

"Then give me..." you begin.

"No -- no demands, Dianne," he says firmly. "This is my house. You're down on your luck and you're welcome to stay. You don't have to thank me for rescuing you, but you do have to follow the rules of my house if you choose to stay."

You look out the window, into the furious weather outside. "Doesn't look like I'd last very long if I chose to leave," you say dryly.

"You still have the choice," shrugs Jack.

Gain 1 Ambition point for standing up for yourself.

What do you do?

Tell Jack you're leaving and ask for your clothes back? Turn to page 401.

Quietly finish the rest of your breakfast? Turn to page 402.

Page 399

There is something about the man that makes obeying his commands easy. Although it is ridiculous that you are sat here naked as the day you were born, whilst outside a howling snowstorm blows, you realise that if Jack had any sinister intentions towards you he could have inflicted them on you any number of times now.

It's Westjack Island, and you are in a man's house -- anything goes here. So you accept your position and quietly eat, Jack occasionally glancing towards your nude body surreptitiously as you do so. You simply smile warmly, and tuck into our breakfast.

Gain 1 Dignity point . Also, record the codeword NAKED if you do not already have it.

Turn to page 402.

Page 400

This is all just too weird. Perhaps this sort of behaviour passes for normal on Westjack, but you've hit your limit. With sudden purpose you hurl your steaming hot breakfast in Jack's face, immediately leaping to your feet. He howls in pain as the crockery smashes across this face and he falls off his chair.

Quick as a flash you grab the hanging robe and wrench open the cabin door, a freezing blast, cold as Hades, immediately whips around your thinly clothed body.

"Dianne! No!" cries Jack, but you are already out the door and into the wall of white that is the snowstorm. The numbing snow turns your feet to ice as you vanish into the storm clouds, the whipping wind lashing your all too-frail body, lifting you almost off your feet.

Blinded by the snow you stagger wildly, the only sound the howling of the wind -- the only sight the blazing white snow...

Your body is found weeks later by mountaineers in a deep snowdrift. Your adventure ends here...

Page 401

Jack looks surprised, but nods. "If you wish, Dianne -- but I wouldn't go out in that kind of weather. You'd be wiser to stay with me..."

"Let's just say I don't like the tenant agreement," you say icily. "You've seen quite enough of me, Jack. Give me my clothes."

"You'll take warm tea and my snow goggles as well -- that is the very least I insist upon if you intend to pursue this mad endeavour..." he says gravely.

"That's very kind," you say. "My clothes, please."

With some reluctance Jack rises from his chair and moves over the chest, unlocking it. From it he produces your clothing, including all your mountaineering gear. You rapidly dress as Jack begins to boil some tea for you to take in your thermos flask.

"You're a braver man than I going out in this storm, Dianne..."

"I'm not your possession, Jack Reinweld," you say defiantly. "Thanks for the tea..."

With all preparations made you swing open the door. A freezing blast, cold as Hades, immediately whips around your body. Even your warm clothing doesn't keep out the chill.

You step out the door and into the wall of white that is the snowstorm. The numbing snow blasts your face as you vanish into the storm clouds, the whipping wind lashing you cruelly, lifting you almost off your feet.

Blinded by the snow you stagger wildly, the only sound the howling of the wind -- the only sight the blazing white snow. You have to continuous wipe the snow from the goggles and lean up against the rock face just to make sure you don't plunge to your death.

Your progress is agonisingly slow. Numerous times you just have to stop and take shelter under a rocky overhang to wait out the worst excesses of the weather. Your body shakes and aches, and the agonising cold seems to penetrate into your body.

For many hours you wander the mountain top, perhaps in circles ... for there is no way of telling in the constantly changing weather where you are.

Your suffering is deep and traumatic. Lose 2 points of Ambition , Dignity and Willpower.

Finally, a miracle occurs. You spot several figures, dressed in orange, loom out of the snow. A rescue party. You are finally spotted, and you don't think you've ever been so happy to see Constable Farley and several other members of the police. You are barely able to speak, and are quickly placed within a stretcher for your long journey down the mountain.

Your memory is blurry, but you recover over the next several days on the island hospital. You discover Julian in the next ward, suffering from a touch of frostbite but nothing worse. You almost weep to see him safe. Several of your team mates visit you, including the dreaded Mr Stevenson, but he seems more interested in making sure you are alright rather than punishing you.

"Needless to say, Dianne," he growls, once you assure him you are feeling better. "You are to never put yourself in personal danger again."

"Yes, sir," you say quietly, before adding. "Are you ... are you going to punish me, sir?"

"Certainly -- but not now," he says breezily. "Our next update meeting will be soon enough. For the moment, rest -- get back your strength. I need you back at the office fully rested."

"Yes, sir -- I'll see you soon!" you promise.

You consider briefly going to the police about Jack Reinweld's behaviour, but after airing this suggestion with the nurse she advises you against it. "I don't see Mr Reinweld did anything wrong, did he? The constable would probably thrash you for deliberately endangering yourself on the mountainside."

You shake your head in disbelief -- but the nurse is probably right about the police's reaction. Perhaps you'll find another way to get even with Jack Reinweld, but for the moment complete rest seems the best solution.

Reduce your Bum Status to Unblemished.

Turn to page 789.

Page 402

You finish your much needed breakfast, Jack Reinweld keeping a steady gaze upon you ... or perhaps your body. You're not sure which, since you don't dare meet his gaze.

"You and I need a little talk, Dianne," says Jack, darkly. "About your telephone project."

"What about it?" you ask neutrally.

"A lot of us on the island don't want it to happen," he says flatly. "These days you have to travel far indeed to get away from those blasted telephones. Now they'll be no escape at all."

"It wasn't my decision to install it," you say flatly. "The island council asked us to install the internet and mobile phone system on the island. I'm just doing the wishes of your democratically elected councillors."

"Those councillors are frightened old men -- afraid that the oil companies and businessmen will desert the island if they don't adapt," snarls Jack. "But it's you who are going to ruin this island -- our whole way of life with your portable phones!"

What do you do?

Apologise to Jack, and make no fuss about your almost certain incoming punishment? Turn to page 403.

Explain exactly what you are trying to accomplish on the island? Turn to page 404.

Page 403

You're experienced enough of island ways by now to realise that there's no point arguing with the pig-headed men of Westjack. Most of them aren't interested in an explanation. They just want a bottom to smack to make them feel better.

"Well -- I'm truly very sorry to have upset you, Jack," you say, penitently avoiding his gaze. You don't add anything or provide any justification -- you simply leave your apology floating in the air.

Jack nods, satisfied. "Fetch me a belt from the wardrobe, a nice broad one," he says. "I'll take the matter out on your bottom and then say no more about it."

You bite your lip, nod, and rise, not bothering to obscure your naked body as you do so. You saunter over to the wardrobe and open it, the Spartan container holds just a few changes of clothes with two spare belts hanging up -- one of them noticeably thicker and heavier than the other.

A terrible thrill runs down you as you lift it. Jack is making you a partner in your own punishment, and your willing service to him fills you with trembling desire. What is it about this man that so turns you to jelly?

Add 1 Willpower point for assisting with your own punishment, since this makes you feel more in control of it.

You pass the belt into Jack's rough hands. "Good girl," he grunts. "Now, turn around and lean on the table on your elbows -- put your feet two feet apart and arch your back in."

Trying to control the trembling in your legs you turn to obey...

Turn to page 407.

Page 404

You're not sure if Jack is listening, but you try to explain exactly what your purpose on the island is and the many good things that will come out of the upgrade.

If you have the trait 'Knowledgeable', Turn to page 405.

If you have the trait 'Technical Ignorance', Turn to page 406.

If not, read on:

"There is a whole world of knowledge out there, just at the click of a button," you enthuse. "You can view literature, art, music -- anything, from anywhere in the world. It's not just about phones, it's about freedom!"

"It's female emancipation by the back door, and I'll have nothing to do with it!" blurts Jack loudly.

"I see," you say coldly. "Well the world has moved on, Jack. Women aren't the slaves of men anymore..."

"Typical modern thinking!" cries Jack. "We men look after you, work all day for you, and it's you who are the slaves?"

"Plenty of women work on Westjack Island..." you interject.

"Not the married ones!" replies Jack vehemently.

You groan -- there's no point even talking to this dinosaur!

Jack seems happy to have 'won' the argument, but he'll not let his injured feelings stand. He strides over to the wardrobe and retrieves a heavy looking belt which he folds in two.

"I'm going to punish you for trying to destroy my island, then we'll say no more about it. Now, turn around and lean on the table on your elbows -- put your feet two feet apart and arch your back in."

You shake your head wearily, but obey. It seems that even reasoned argument can't save your bottom on this island!

Turn to page 407.

Page 405

You glance briefly around the cabin, before pointing at the cooker. "How much do you pay for your gas, Jack?" you ask directly.

Jack is unsure why you even asked. "Just under a hundred pounds," he grunts.

"For one gas bottle?" you smile. "I can get it for twenty."

"Bah! Maybe in England," shrugs Jack. "Here on the island only one shop sells them, and he can charge what he likes."

"Why -- are you the only one who buys gas bottles?"

"Of course not, plenty of people do..."

"What ... two, three...?" you press.

"Hundreds," snaps Jack. "But there's still only one shop that..."

"With a hundred people, Jack, you could form a web group and buy your own supply in bulk for less than half the price," you say.

"I don't have time to form a group!" laughs Jack. "I live up a mountain! How would I attend any meetings?"

"Hold them online -- or just email the other members of the group," you say breezily. "Form a social network of consumers who feel they are paying too much for gas, or furniture, or whatever. You don't even need to be that active -- you can leave the hard work to others if you like, and just contribute your share of the funds. You don't even have to leave the cabin to do it."

Jack looks bewildered. "You make it sound like magic..."

"No -- it's just technology. It's easy," you say smiling. "It's what everyone else has been enjoying since the turn of the century. It's your technology, Jack. You can use it how you want. It's not all about changing cultures -- most people just use the internet, use their mobile phones, to make life easier for themselves. There is nothing to fear."

Jack straightens. "I wasn't frightened ... just cautious..."

"Of course," you say, supressing a grin.

"I need to go out -- just tidy the place up a bit whilst I'm gone, there's a good girl..."

Jack puts on his boots and thick jacket, opens the door, and plunges out into the cold. You cannot help feeling justifiably proud -- you've managed to change the mind of one of the most ardent isolationists on the island...

Raise one of your attributes (either Ambition, Dignity or Willpower) by one point.

Turn to page 412.

Page 406

"Look, Jack, phones are great!" you enthuse. "You can take it anywhere you want and text people you know. When the internet comes online you'll be able to take photos and share them with your friends..."

"I'm a hermit, Dianne, you mindless wench!" barks Jack loudly. "I don't have any friends -- nor am I a photographer! I've moved miles away from everyone else so they don't bother me, why would I want a phone that can ring me anywhere?"

"Urm..." Oh dear. That's a good point!

Jack seems happy to have won the argument, but he'll not let his injured feelings stand. He strides over to the wardrobe and retrieves a heavy looking belt which he folds in two.

"I'm going to punish you for trying to destroy my island, then we'll say no more about it. Now, turn around and lean on the table on your elbows -- put your feet two feet apart and arch your back in."

You shake your head wearily, but obey. If you're going to come up with arguments that weak a bruised bottom should be the least you expect.

Turn to page 407.

Page 407

Facing away from Jack you bend across the cold oak table, your naked body giving a shiver even as your backside rounds into prominence. Resting on your elbows as instructed, you curve your back in almost instinctively, moving your feet apart -- hardly daring to imagine what Jack can see of you now.

Rising up on tiptoes your long legs give a shiver as you hear the clink of the heavy belt being wrapped around Jack's hand. You just hope he hasn't left the buckle free to cut your defenceless buttocks.

Snap!

You hiss and rise up higher onto tiptoes. There's no buckle, but Jack doesn't need it -- for the belt cracks like thunder on your trembling backside. Immediately a vicious sting blooms across your bum.

Snap!

A second stroke impacts loudly and the fire intensifies. It's hard to guess exactly where Jack has struck, but your bottom quivers with the impact, and your fingers claw into the table top, scrabbling for support.

Snap! Snap!

If your Willpower is 5 or more, Turn to page 408.
Otherwise, read on.

You cry out and clutch your scalding buttocks in both hands, causing you to flop across the table top, groaning like a spoilt child. Jack simply watches this shameful display, your fingers dug into your lashed bum cheeks, your body writhing on the table top, until you come to your senses.

You are mortified with embarrassment. Lose 1 point of Dignity .

"Are you ready to continue yet, Dianne?" he asks dryly.

"Yes ... yes, I'm sorry..." you murmur, quickly unclenching your beaten globes, and rising back up onto your elbows.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 Level .

Turn to page 409.

Page 408

You control your breathing and lodge your fingernails into some of the deep cracks that run across the table. Is he beating you hard, or is he simply able to sting a girl in a way you've never encountered before? One way or another this simple belt beating is scorchingly intense, and as his belt descends again and again upon your quivering bottom you must search for strength anew with each flaming stroke!

Snap! Snap! Snap!

Raise your Bum Status by 1 Level .

Turn to page 409.

Page 409

Snap!

"Uh!" you cry, your bum twitching as the belt batters itself across your flaming haMs

Snap! Snap!

"Uh! Ahh!"

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

"How are you bearing up there, Dianne?" asks Jack, without a great deal of concern in his voice. "Would you like me to ease up on you, or do you think you can stand the pace?"

Your bottom certainly knows what it would like to answer, and you are sorely tempted to agree with it.

Will you:

Ask Jack to go more gently? Turn to page 410.

Or insist you can take it? Turn to page 411.

Page 410

"Oh! Yes please, Jack!" you beg. "Please go a little easier on me! I'm not from round here!"

"That much is obvious, with that kind of pathetic mewling," sneers Jack. "But very well -- I'm not a cruel man..."

Snap! You're not sure you'd agree, and you yelp in shock at a sudden blow to your unprepared bottom. Still ... the blows are softer. He's clearly a man of his word, although he's not so gentle as to remove your discomfort entirely.

Snap! Snap!

Several dozen blows, even at this softer strength, are enough to have your bum hopping in pain. Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

"There," says Jack, admiring the redness of your behind with practiced fingers. "Punishment is done and we'll say no more about it."

You weren't the one who brought up the subject in the first place ... but you're glad it's over. "Thank you, Jack," you quickly add, just in case he seeks to punish you for poor manners.

However Jack is finished with you. He strides over to the wardrobe and replaces the belt, shouldering on his thickest jacket as he does so.

"I'm going out to check on some things," he grunts. "Have the place cleaned up by the time I get back."

At this he swings open the cabin door and vanishes into the white storm, leaving you shivering naked in the blast, with only your heated buttocks for warmth...

Turn to page 412.

Page 411

"No ... no, I don't want any special treatment, Jack..." you moan, clenching your hands into fists to prevent them reaching round to grab your sore behind.

Gain 1 Willpower point for avoiding temptation.

Nodding, Jack readies the belt for another blow across your up thrust backside.

Snap! You jolt from another heavy blow, right across the base of your bottom, pushing you forwards, such that you have to grab the table edge for support.

Snap! Snap! A heavy blow, each focused on a separate cheek has you howling, as Jack unleashes his full strength upon you -- eager to see if you can take his best blows.

Your face flushes as Jack beats your backside with a lusty ruthlessness. It no longer feels like punishment, more like an expression of desire. You feel utterly abused, and yet long, in the gaps between the strokes, for the belt to land across your scorching globes again. Your cries reach a strange fever pitch, and you grind your hips against the table edge, even as Jack lashes your behind with dramatic forehand and backhand strokes.

The tide breaks, and you collapse into orgasm, your bottom jumping at each stroke to its writhing cheeks. Raise your Bum Status by 2 levels , add one point to either Ambition, Dignity or Willpower, and gain 2 Fun Points .

You clutch the table, sobbing in a mixture of joy and pain. "There," says Jack, admiring the redness of your behind with practiced fingers. "Punishment is done and we'll say no more about it."

You weren't the one who brought up the subject in the first place ... but you're glad it did! "Thank you, Jack," you blub, just in case he seeks to punish you for poor manners.

However Jack is finished with you. He strides over to the wardrobe and replaces the belt, shouldering on his thickest jacket as he does so.

"I'm going out to check on some things," he grunts. "Have the place cleaned up by the time I get back."

At this he swings open the cabin door and vanishes into the white storm, leaving you shivering naked in the blast, with only your heated buttocks for warmth...

Turn to page 412.

Page 412

Alone in the house, naked but warm from the fire, you survey your task. The cabin is pretty small, and not really very messy. There's only the kitchen area to clean, the bed to make and maybe the doorway to clear to get the place spick and span. You instinctively reach for the robe on the hook and then stop. Jack seems to want you naked -- and it seems disrespectful to disobey the rules of your rescuer ... if that's who he is.

This, of course, would be an ideal opportunity to escape! It shouldn't take long to find your clothes and get out of the house -- the door, after all, has no lock. But the storm outside is fierce. Besides, you're not sure you're really being held against your will.

You feel utter confusion ... there is something powerfully magnetic about this man. Something inside you would like to do nothing more than drop everything and do whatever he says. Is he a scoundrel, who wants to keep you here, naked and servile, or a heroic rescuer who has saved you from certain death?

What do you wish to do?

Grab your clothes and escape while the opportunity presents itself? Turn to page 413.

Clean the cabin, naked, as Jack seems to want? Turn to page 414.

Grab the robe, put it on, and wait for Jack's return? Turn to page 417.

Page 413

It's not hard to find your clothes -- they are in a chest by the bed, unlocked and neatly packed. You quickly dress up warmly, checking all your equipment is present.

With all preparations made you swing open the door. A freezing blast, cold as Hades, immediately whips around your body. Even your warm clothing doesn't keep out the chill.

You step out the door and into the wall of white that is the snowstorm. The numbing snow blasts your face as you vanish into the storm clouds, the whipping wind lashing your cruelly, lifting you almost off your feet.

Blinded by the snow you stagger wildly, the only sound the howling of the wind -- the only sight the blazing white snow. You have to continuous wipe the snow from the goggles and lean up against the rock face just to make sure you don't plunge to your death.

Your progress is agonisingly slow. Numerous times you just have to stop and take shelter under a rocky overhang to wait out the worst excesses of the weather. Your body shakes and aches, and the agonising cold seems to penetrate into your body.

For many hours you wander the mountain top, perhaps in circles ... for there is no way of telling in the constantly changing weather where you are.

Your suffering is deep and traumatic. Lose 2 points of Ambition , Dignity and Willpower.

Finally, a miracle occurs. You spot several figures, dressed in orange, loom out of the snow. A rescue party. You are finally spotted, and you don't think you've ever been so happy to see Constable Farley and several other members of the police. You are barely able to speak, and are quickly placed within a stretcher for your long journey down the mountain.

Your memory is blurry, but you recover over the next several days on the island hospital. You discover Julian in the next ward, suffering from a touch of frostbite but nothing worse. You almost weep to see him safe. Several of your team mates visit you, including the dreaded Mr Stevenson, but he seems more interested in making sure you are alright rather than punishing you.

"Needless to say, Dianne," he growls, once you assure him you are feeling better. "You are to never put yourself in personal danger again."

"Yes, sir," you say quietly, before adding. "Are you ... are you going to punish me, sir?"

"Certainly -- but not now," he says breezily. "Our next update meeting will be soon enough. For the moment, rest -- get back your strength. I need you back at the office fully rested."

"Yes, sir -- I'll see you soon!" you promise.

You consider briefly going to the police about Jack Reinweld's behaviour, but after airing this suggestion with the nurse she advises you against it. "I don't see Mr Reinweld did anything wrong, did he? The constable would probably thrash you for deliberately endangering yourself on the mountainside."

You shake your head in disbelief -- but the nurse is probably right about the police's reaction. Perhaps you'll find another way to get even with Jack Reinweld, but for the moment complete rest seems the best solution.

Reduce your Bum Status to Unblemished.

Turn to page 789.

Page 414

You begin to tidy, wash and clean, deliberately avoiding dressing yourself in order to please Jack. You begin to fancy that he is watching you work, and you sway your hips and wiggle your bottom as you scrub and clean, just in case. It's ridiculous, but it arouses you powerfully. Outside the weather begins to ease and the snowstorm passes, blazing rays of sunshine filtering through the windows of the cabin.

The door suddenly opens as you are scrubbing on your hands and knees at the entranceway. Jack Reinweld towers above you -- a sudden sadness in his eyes.

"You've been working, then?" he asks flatly.

"Yes," you reply simply, still on your knees before him.

Jack closes the door, a dear relief as your naked body quickly froze in the draught. He strides over to the chest by the bed and opens it -- your clothes clearly visible inside.

"Your friends have arrived," he says plainly.

"Oh," you say.

"The chest contains your clothes," he adds.

"I see -- is it time for me to go, Jack?" you ask.

Jack shrugs. "Maybe ... or you could climb into the chest and hide from them when they come to call."

You lick your lips. "Why would I want to do that, Jack?"

Jack shrugs. "Just a suggestion," he says.

What do you want to do?

Quickly put your clothes on and wait for the others to find you? Turn to page 415.

Climb into the chest and keep quiet? Turn to page 416.

Page 415

Silently you put your clothes back on in front of Jack's steely gaze. You have only just finished by the time there is a knock at the door. Jack opens it, and the formidable shape of Constable Farley steps through, dressed in mountaineering gear. Behind him are several members of your team, all evidently relieved to see you.

"I see you've been keeping this young lady comfortable, Jack," says the constable. "Presumably it was her own foolishness that landed her in this predicament. Perhaps a few dozen blows of the strap might teach her some cautiousness in the future?"

Jack briefly gazes at you and then looks back at the constable. "No ... she was caught in a sudden storm -- could happen to anyone," says Jack.

The constable seems put out by this sudden defence of your honour, but puts it aside. "Well, let's get you back home. You'll be pleased to hear that your colleague Julian is quite safe and resting."

You almost hug the constable in happiness to hear it. At least you didn't cost Julian his life!

You exit the cabin, along with the rest of the rescuers.

"Goodbye, Jack," says the constable.

You smile and turn. "Goodbye Ja..."

But the door slams in your face. You feel suddenly deflated. Why should it matter what a poor rogue like Jack thinks of you? But it does, and it is all you can think about as you make your way safely down the mountain.

Lose 1 Willpower point .

Turn to page 789.

Page 416

This is definitely not what your mother taught you -- but if Jack really wanted to harm you he could have done it a hundred times by now. That said, as you watch the chest lid slam shut, and total darkness engulf you, you've never felt more like a prisoner...

Eventually you hear a knock at the door, and hear Jack answer it. The gruff tones of Constable Farley can be heard, but the exact conversation is muffled. You stay as quiet as mouse as the conversation goes on without you.

Finally you hear the door close. It is not until several minutes later that Jack opens the chest. He scoops up your naked body from the container and sets you upright. You smile at him, and he smiles at you.

He briefly glances around the cabin.

If you have the weakness 'Messy', Turn to page 418.
If not, read on:

"For a woman who has come to destroy my culture you tidy a house well," he says.

"I haven't come to..." you complain.

"Shh ... I was joking," he smiles, placing a finger against your lips. "You must do everything I say and not answer me back. That way you escape punishment. Now I am cold and have worked hard. Put some logs on the fire, and then curl up on your hands and knees in front of me. I wish to rest my feet upon you whilst I read."

What do you do?

Silently obey him? Turn to page 419.

Refuse -- even though this means you know you will be punished? Turn to page 420.

Page 417

You are being ridiculous. You have to get back to work as soon as possible, and you need to stop pandering to this ridiculous Westjack hermit. You grab the robe and wrap it round you, sitting in front of the fire for warmth. Outside the stormy weather begins to subside, and daylight starts to glare through the windows of the cabin.

You are beginning to wander if you should make a break for it when the door opens. It is Jack, snow cladded thickly to his boots. He surveys the cabin, and your dressed state, and scowls.

"Lazy bitch," he snarls. "Can't you even be bothered to repay a single kindness?"

"I don't recall any kindness from you, Jack," you reply tartly. "I figured I was going to end up over your knee no matter what I did. So why don't you get it over with?"

He strides over to the chest by the bed and opens it -- your clothes clearly visible inside.

"Your friends have arrived," he says plainly. "Put your clothes on -- you're leaving."

Turn to page 415.

Page 418

Jack laughs as he observes the kitchen sink, splashed over with grease and food spilled on the floor. "Not very domesticated, are you?"

"Err ... not really," you confess sheepishly.

Jack sits in his fireside chair, proffering his lap towards you. "Over you go," he says simply.

You have deliberately isolated yourself in this mountain cabin without hope of rescue. Jack's word is now law. You obediently fold yourself over Jack's lap, unable to escape the feeling that your punishment is perfectly correct and proper, given the terrible state you left the kitchen in...

Smack! Smack! Smack!

Jack's cupped hand slaps your backside, heavy and swift, making you squirm upon his lap. You cannot help feel a certain joy, even though Jack is clearly trying to make a point upon your sore backside.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

After five minutes or so, your bottom an even red in colour, Jack stops his smacking and rests his hand upon your heated arse.

"You must do everything I say and not answer me back," Jack instructs, now in a serious tone. "That way you escape punishment. Now I am cold and have worked hard. Put some logs on the fire, and then curl up on your hands and knees in front of me. I wish to rest my feet upon you whilst I read."

What do you do?

Silently obey him? Turn to page 419.

Refuse -- even though this means you know you will be punished? Turn to page 421.

Page 419

You have a fervent hunger to obey Jack, even though the action is a new level of personal humiliation and abasement. Lose 1 point of Dignity and Ambition as you carry out the whimsy of this arrogant brute.

Tucked up in a tight, naked, ball, Jack rests his feet upon you and sighs in contentment. He picks up his book and silently reads, leaving you on your knees for hours. One half of your body is heated by the fire, the other shivers as you maintain position with an almost religious fervour, eager not to disturb Jack in the slightest. How are you getting pleasure from this shameless grovelling? None the less you feel alive and excited, realising that Jack could do anything his heart desires to you at any moment he chooses. Gain 1 Fun point .

Eventually darkness begins to fall. Jack, knocked out of his reveries, snaps the book shut in a sudden hurry. "I need to go out," he suddenly says, rising. He walks over to the wardrobe and opens it, taking out his heavy coat. "While I'm gone," he says, approaching the door, "I want you to watch that clock. I will return late. Every thirty minutes, from now until I get back, I want you to take the heavy belt from its hook and oil it from base to tip with the oil I have under the kitchen counter. Between those moments I want you bent over the chair back, watching the clock, your legs no less than two feet apart at all times."

You look up at Jack in wonder, a strange wetness forming between your legs. You are about to ask what you have done.

"Don't speak!" he commands. "This is not a punishment. I'm going to beat you for my own pleasure. Because I can, and because you will let me."

At that he spins on his heel and swings open the door, a freezing blast cutting through the room.

Such demands ... how long will he be gone? Does he really expect you to do nothing but his whims? You gaze at the clock -- it's approaching half past ten.

What do you do?

Obey his demands, and religiously oil the belt every half hour, bending over the chair between times for your whipping? Turn to page 420.

Obey his demands ... within reason. Oil the belt only once, and only start bending over the chair after midnight? Turn to page 432.

Wait a few minutes, then get dressed and follow Jack. Where does he keep going all day? Turn to page 422.

Page 420

At the very stroke of half past ten you creep over to the wardrobe, home of the heavy belt Jack intends to beat you with. Why are you submitting to his demands? Why didn't you head home safely in the company of the constable? Who knows ... who cares! It's what you need. It's what you've always needed...

You take the belt and run it through your fingers lovingly, imagining the impact it will make on your presented bum cheeks when Jack returns. There are numerous cracks, chips and indentations across the belt. It needs to be cared for ... softly in your hands.

You quickly descend beneath the kitchen counter and rummage through the various bottles. There you find it, Old Uncle Hacket's Leather Oil. Reading the label your eyes open in alarm -- it seems the oil was deliberately designed for belts, straps and leathers of all kinds 'for the betterment of ladies posteriors.' According to the advertisement on the bottle it increases the sharpness of impact and encourages the after burn. Applying this oil will actually make the belt hurt more!

Undeterred, you quickly pour some oil into your hand, and then slide it up the length of the belt, carefully rubbing the oil deep into the cracks and tears in the leather. By the time the belt is fully oiled it is a quarter to eleven. You carefully re-hang the belt and take your place over the chair, bending over at ninety degrees so you can see the clock, spreading your legs submissively wide.

You watch as the clock ticks inevitably closer to eleven, and, at the appointed hour, rise again to re-oil the belt. Each new application fills your heart with dread and desire. You can think of nothing but of how painful and sharp the first blow of belt will be as it cracks across your bottom. Resuming stance at the chair just makes things worse, as you feel your exposed and outthrust cheeks shiver in the cooling air, knowing that they will soon be ignited by the weapon you have so carefully prepared.

Twelve o'clock, half twelve, one o'clock -- the very second the clock dictates you rise from your straining position on the chair and reapply the oil as if it was the first time. Your hands shake with the tension, and you long for the beating to begin. You bum quivers in the empty air as you stretch yourself across the chair ... and soon you are incoherently begging the absent Jack to return.

You jerk upright on tiptoes as you hear the steady crunch of footsteps. It is twenty past one at night, and Jack has returned to beat you...

Gain 1 point of Willpower , but lose 1 point of Ambition .

Turn to page 433.

Page 421

"I'm a patient man," smiles Jack, hauling you over his knee.

Soon your naked bottom is jolting to the rhythm of another heavy spanking, Jack keeping you firmly pressed down as he spanks your bum with hard, regular thwacks!

Smack! Smack! Smack!

It is not a brief spanking -- indeed, it goes on for some time ... at least an hour, and your bum is scorching red before he is even half way through,

Raise your Bum Status by 2 levels .

Eventually darkness begins to fall. Jack, knocked out of his reveries, suddenly stops your intimate spanking. "I need to go out," he suddenly says, rising, sending you sprawling in front of the fireplace. He walks over to the wardrobe and opens it, taking out his heavy coat. "While I'm gone," he says, approaching the door, "I want you to watch that clock. I will return late. Every thirty minutes, from now until I get back, I want you to take the heavy belt from its hook and oil it from base to tip with the oil I have under the kitchen counter. Between those moments I want you bent over the chair back, watching the clock, your legs no less than two feet apart at all times."

You look up at Jack in wonder, a strange wetness forming between your legs. You are about to ask what you have done.

"Don't speak!" he commands. "This is not a punishment. I'm going to beat you for my own pleasure. Because I can, and because you will let me."

At that he spins on his heel and swings open the door, a freezing blast cutting through the room.

Such demands ... how long will he be gone? Does he really expect you to do nothing but his whims? You gaze at the clock -- it's approaching half past ten.

What do you do?

Obey his demands, and religiously oil the belt every half hour, bending over the chair between times for your whipping? Turn to page 420.

Obey his demands ... within reason. Oil the belt only once, and only start bending over the chair after midnight? Turn to page 432.

Wait a few minutes, then get dressed and follow Jack. Where does he keep going all day? Turn to page 422.

Page 422

You mustn't let your passions overwhelm you. Jack Reinweld is a powerful and magnetic personality, and it seems unlikely he would choose to live up a mountain just to get away from it all. There is more to the man than meets the eye.

After a few minutes have passed you quickly slip on your clothes, grab a spare torch and open the door. The storm may have stopped, but its icy cold up this mountain in the middle of the night. You shine your light on the heavy footprints entrenched in the snow -- they are heading up the mountain.

How do you wish to follow Jack?

Step in his footprints so he cannot see that you have followed him and carefully sneak up the mountain? Turn to page 423.

Find a separate path up the mountain, guessing on instinct that he is heading up to the top of the peak? Turn to page 424.

Page 423

Your bright idea isn't exactly fool proof. Jack is at least a foot taller than you, and his gait is wide and difficult to follow.

If you have the trait 'Sneaky' Turn to page 425.

If you have the weakness 'Clumsy' Turn to page 426.

You're not certain you've made the best job of it. About halfway up you shine your torch back on your trail, and see that it's pretty obvious your footsteps overlap Jack's several times.

Record the codeword TRAIL .

What do you want to do?

Keep pressing up the mountainside? Turn to page 427.

Return to the cabin? Turn to page 431.

Decide that both options are too dangerous and try to make your way down the mountainside and towards home? Turn to page 428.

Page 424

It's not easy navigating your own way up a mountain in the middle of the night -- but fortune seems to smile on you.

If you have the trait 'Knowledgeable' you use your considerable commons sense and analytic mind to follow a route that is both quick and direct. If you don't have this trait it takes you much longer, and you must reduce your Willpower by 1 point as the cold cuts into you.

Turn to page 427.

Page 425

You are a crafty so and so, and there are few sneaky tricks you can't pull off. Shining your torch back on your trail you see with satisfaction that it would take a skilled eye indeed to spot your trail. Unless Jack is superhuman your following of him will be a secret.

Turn to page 427.

Page 426

Never mind following his footsteps -- just keeping your footing is tough enough! After several minutes of climbing you slip up and roll down the mountainside with a little scream. Fortunately you are able to stop yourself before tumbling over any ledges, but the fall has given you a tremendous fright. Lose 1 point of Ambition and Willpower.

Record the codeword TRAIL .

There's no way you're going back up that mountain!

What do you wish to do?

Return to the cabin? Turn to page 431.

Or try to make your way down the mountainside and towards home? Turn to page 428.

Page 427

As you begin to crest a small rise you spot the glow of a light up ahead. You turn off your torch and sneak closer. Peeking over the rise you almost whistle in wonder ... you have a dramatic view of the entire island here -- the lights from Oldwell are clearly visible, and you can even see the passage of ships far out to sea by their running lights, crossing the rough ocean like bobbing toys.

Before you -- with his back to you, sits Jack. He sits in front of a tall makeshift radio tower, peering through a pair of binoculars. He is speaking into a radio, giving a running commentary.

"Looks like Farley is patrolling the east end of the island tonight," he says into receiver. "Black Cove looks like it will be clear all evening -- just one harbour boat out."

A muffled, static ridden voice replies. "That's confirmed, Jack -- keep an eye on him in case he changes his mind..."

"I'll keep my eyes peeled -- don't you worry..." Jack replies.

My goodness! Jack Reinweld is a smuggler -- or at least a look out for a smuggling gang. He's picked an ingenious spot, with clear views of the entire island. It occurs to you that Jack's set-up would be the perfect site for the Comms Booster -- you could literally have coverage over the entire island.

But what to do about Jack? He wouldn't likely greet a huge booster tower on his spot. It would mean an end to his smuggling career.

Record the codeword SMUGGLE .

What do you do?

Creep back down the mountain and inform the police (although Jack may be tipped off by your sudden absence from the cabin)? Turn to page 428.

Return to the cabin and brazen it out -- you could inform the police of your discovery later, if you wish? Turn to page 431.

Page 428

You decide that it is best, for your own safety, to get off this mountain and away from Jack Reinweld as quickly as possible.

Stopping back at the cabin only to get supplies you quickly descend the mountain whilst Jack busies himself with whatever nefarious schemes he is up to. The trip down the mountain is long and arduous, but you are filled with purpose and an eagerness to get back home.

There is a definite trail you can follow and you make your way down it swiftly but carefully, secretly afraid that Jack may be following once he discovers your absence. Either he does not want to catch up with you or he is too slow, for within a few hours you reach base camp, your delighted scouting team cheering loudly as you approach.

"Have you ... did you find Julian?" you ask desperately.

"He's got frostbite, but he's fine," assures Phil. "He's in hospital at the moment, but they won't keep him long. Where were you?"

If you have the codeword SMUGGLE, Turn to page 429.
If not, read on.

You are about to tell the truth, when you blush. You don't want to admit you've spent the last two days serving Jack Reinweld on your knees whilst you should have been looking for sites for the comms booster tower.

"I just got lost," you say sheepishly. "Tomorrow, though, we should search the other side of the mountain..."

"Sorry, Dianne," interjects Phil. "But we've been ordered by the police not to go back up the mountain. We only stayed to keep an eye out for you. The weather is just too unpredictable this time of year."

You exhale in frustration -- but the police are probably right. Mr Stevenson's not going to be happy when he hears his Comms Booster tower won't be built on time...

Turn to page 789.

Page 429

"Phil -- we have to get to the police station!" you blurt. "Something terrible is happening up on the mountain. Besides -- I think I may have found the spot for our transmitter."

Phil needs no more persuading. By the early hours of the morning you have been driven into Oldwell in Phil's ancient Morris Minor car, just managing to intercept a tired looking Constable Farley as he finishes his late patrol.

You quickly explain to him, over a cup of steaming coffee, what you saw on the top of Graham's Mount. Realisation dawns on the constable's face as he understands how he has been so thoroughly outwitted all these years.

"Tricky," ponders the constable. "Reinweld will almost certainly realise the game is up. He'll want to flee the island. He won't want to go by the port, he knows I'll have that covered. If only I knew when the next drop off was, I could intercept him."

If you have the codeword CYPHER, Turn to page 430.
Otherwise, read on.

"Well," shrugs Farley. "We'll just have to do our best."

"Good luck," you say. "In the mean time I've got to get the engineers up that mountain! Jack's watchpost is the perfect place to put..."

"Sorry, Miss. Hathaway," interjects the constable. "That's a crime scene. In the absence of Jack himself we'll need to keep that site untouched for quite some time. At least several months."

You flush. "But I can't wait several months!" you exclaim.

"You'll have to, that's the law!" insists the constable, taking on a mean look that suggests a spanking is on the way if he is further denied.

You quietly fume. All that trial and sneaking around -- and for nothing! Mr Stevenson will be very upset...

Turn to page 789.

Page 430

"I know exactly where he'll be," you say smartly. "Black Cove, tomorrow night between ten thirty and one thirty. That's the next drop, I found it in his papers. He'll almost certainly try to get picked up by his smuggler mates."

The constable raises his eyes in admiration. "Impressive -- you're clearly cool under fire, miss. I'll remember that."

Gain 5 Reputation points ; impressing Constable Farley is not an easy task.

With Jack Reinweld soon to be in custody the constable grants you permission to set up the booster tower at the top of the mountain. This site is absolutely perfect, complicated only by the great distance engineers have to travel to maintain it! Nevertheless, you now have complete coverage of the island and have achieved a major goal!

Gain 15 Progress points and record the codeword TRANSMISSION .

Turn to page 789.

Page 431

You quickly return to the cabin, hoping that Jack will be unaware of your brief absence. You remember his lengthy instructions to you before he left, and quickly strip off your clothes and replace them carefully in the chest.

You nip over to the wardrobe and open it. Hanging proudly on its own hook is the heavy belt Jack intends to beat you with. You weigh it heavily in your hands, trembling slightly as you consider the hefty impact it will leave on your bum cheeks. Well ... there's no going back now...

You quickly descend beneath the kitchen counter and rummage through the various bottles. There you find it, Old Uncle Hacket's Leather Oil. Reading the label your eyes open in alarm -- it seems the oil was deliberately designed for belts, straps and leathers of all kinds 'for the betterment of ladies posteriors.' According to the advertisement on the bottle it increases the sharpness of impact and encourages the after burn. Applying this oil will actually make the belt hurt more!

Undeterred, you quickly pour some oil into your hand, and then slide it up the length of the belt, carefully rubbing the oil deep into the cracks and tears in the leather. Once done, you carefully re-hang the belt and take your place over the chair, bending over at ninety degrees so you can see the clock, spreading your legs submissively wide.

You jerk upright on tiptoes as you hear the steady crunch of footsteps. It is twenty past one at night, and Jack has returned to beat you...

Turn to page 433.

Page 432

There's no way you're going to perform this strange ritual whilst Jack isn't even here! I mean, you have some pride left! Still ... you don't want your punishment to be any worse, so you'd better at least pay some lip service to it.

You nip over to the wardrobe and open it. Hanging proudly on its own hook is the heavy belt Jack intends to beat you with. You weigh it heavily in your hands, trembling slightly as you consider the hefty impact it will leave on your bum cheeks. Well ... there's no going back now...

You quickly descend beneath the kitchen counter and rummage through the various bottles. There you find it, Old Uncle Hacket's Leather Oil. Reading the label your eyes open in alarm -- it seems the oil was deliberately designed for belts, straps and leathers of all kinds 'for the betterment of ladies posteriors.' According to the advertisement on the bottle it increases the sharpness of impact and encourages the after burn. Applying this oil will actually make the belt hurt more!

Undeterred, you quickly pour some oil into your hand, and then slide it up the length of the belt, carefully rubbing the oil deep into the cracks and tears in the leather. By the time the belt is fully oiled it is a quarter to eleven.

Jack's not even going to be back until past midnight, you reckon, so you pick up a book, put another log on the fire and read for an hour or so. Still -- it's difficult to concentrate, you're impending whipping presses on your mind, and your constantly nervous Jack will return any moment...

At about midnight you take your place over the chair, bending over at ninety degrees so you can see the clock, spreading your legs submissively wide. There you remain, straining at every sound, thinking Jack will return at any moment. Your bottom, cold and shivering, awaits its beating with trembling trepidation. You only wish you could find something to keep your mind occupied away from your forthcoming agony.

Lose 1 Willpower point as the agonising wait scratches your nerves.

You jerk upright on tiptoes as you hear the steady crunch of footsteps. It is twenty past one at night, and Jack has returned to beat you...

Turn to page 433.

Page 433

The door opens and a frigid blast of air caresses your legs and bottom in your bent-over position in front of Jack. Your naked bum is thrust rudely towards him, and your open legs hide none of your charms from his gaze as he takes in your submissive stance over his reading chair.

The door closes with a heavy thud and Jack kicks off his boots and removes his heavy coat. You hear him open the wardrobe and hang up his coat, and, seconds later, the ominous clink of the belt as it is hefted from the hook.

Jack examines the belt as you stare resolutely into the fire, your bum trembling as it contemplates its coming treatment. He's made you wait so long ... now you live in a combination of mortal dread and ecstasy as you realise the moment is finally upon you.

If you have the codeword TRAIL Turn to page 434.
If not, read on.

The belt is evidentially oiled to his approval, and you hear the leather creak as he wraps one end around his hand. "Right up onto your toes, bum up," he commands, and you obey, rising up right onto your big toes, your legs shuddering with strain as your bottom blooms before him.

Snap!

"Uhh!" you grunt, as the belt cracks into your lower buttocks, raising you even higher on tiptoes as you absorb the impact. The thick stripe painted on your buttocks immediately flames, and you groan as the terrible after burn from the oiled belt sinks into your cheeks.

Snap! Snap!

The belt impacts wetly upon your bottom cheeks, the buttocks bouncing with the impact. You freely unleash a howl as your bum is punished. No ... not punished -- Jack is doing this purely for his pleasure -- you've done nothing to deserve the beating. He simply wants you to take it.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

You writhe and cry as the belt licks your reddening arse, uncaring of the sound you are making -- after all, there is no one on the mountain but you and Jack. Let him honestly see the suffering he is causing, you think, and let yourself take the blows as you desire. There's no one here to judge -- Jack is no gossip. This intimate beating is entirely shared between yourselves.

Snap!

"Uh!" you cry throatily, clenching your cheeks tightly. Your buttocks now burn continuously, the inflammatory oil spreading an itching heat across the entire surface of your behind. You thrust your bum up eager for more ... snap! ... for only when the belt is striking your bum is the itching eased, even though the belt also just adds to the terrible burn in your backside.

Snap! Snap!

"Uhh! Yess!" you drool, unable to keep your backside still as Jack lays into your bum cheeks with fervour. The heat in your bum blossoms into your sex, and soon you are riding the chair back with a vigorous thrusting of your hips, uncaring of Jack's presence.

Unselfishly, seeing you are near to pleasure, Jack plies the belt again and again across your behind, in a constant blur, until his brow is creased with sweat and his breath comes in short gasps.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

You are unable to contain yourself any further, and with a throaty cry orgasm powerfully, rocking on the chair back even as your arse is blistered by the oiled belt. At your final cry, you slump, Jack cracking the belt once more across your behind, almost as payment for his efforts.

Snap!

Raise your Bum Status by 4 levels , gain 2 Fun Points , and add 1 to either your Ambition, Dignity, or Willpower.

You remain in place, clutching the chair, your arse burning above you. What Jack is doing you cannot tell, for you are entirely trapped within yourself, riding the stinging waves of pleasure as you subside into your afterglow.

When Jack picks you up you nestle readily into his arms, physically exhausted. He puts you into bed and carefully tucks you in, running a hand softly through your hair as he does so.

"Sleep well, Dianne," he says gently, before resuming his place by the fireside, gazing deep into the flames.

Turn to page 435.

Page 434

"Bend all the way over the chair," commands Jack. "Push your bum up and put your hands behind your back."

You obey, trembling, your face flushing as you nestle it upside-down into the cushions. Jack quickly takes your hands and binds them tightly with some rope, leaving you totally defenceless before him.

"I see you oiled the belt," says Jack, and you hear the belt creaking as it is wound around Jack's hand. "But you did not, I think, oil it as often as I commanded."

"I did just as you said, Jack!" you squeak from the chair.

"No ... no you didn't -- how I wish you did as you were told, Dianne," he says sadly.

Snap!

You wince, rising high up onto tiptoes as the belt cracks into your lower buttocks.

"You followed me," says Jack plainly.

Snap!

"Ah!"

Snap!

"Ooh!"

"I don't know how much you saw ... possibly everything," he says darkly.

Snap! Snap!

"Gnnn! Ahh! Jack!" you blurt. "I didn't see anything...!"

Snap!

"Ah!"

"I can't take that risk," says Jack, sadly. "Your company thinks you are dead. Tomorrow I will sell you to the smugglers..."

Snap!

"Uh!"

"They know someone -- a Chinese businessman -- who employs a number of sex slaves," adds Jack darkly.

Snap!

"Uhh!"

"You'll serve him for twenty years -- on your knees," says Jack mercilessly. "After which it is the tradition of his family to give you some small financial compensation and set you free..."

Snap!

"Ahh! No!" you plead.

"It's too late for that, Dianne -- you gave up your freedom the moment you interfered in my affairs..."

Snap! Snap!

And so this is how it ends for Dianne Hathaway, doomed to serve as a lowly sex slave for a distant foreign businessman. But first she must get through the night -- and with Jack Reinweld on the other end of the belt, the night is long indeed...

Your adventure ends here...

Page 435

You rest very well, and are only awakened the following morning by the smell of a freshly cooked breakfast. Lower your Bum Status by 2 levels .

Rubbing your still sore bottom you see Jack serving up, and you flash him a coy smile. He smiles back briefly, but looks distracted. You eat your breakfast in silence, still respectfully naked before him, wishing he would say something. When you have finished Jack addresses you.

"I'm taking you home," he says flatly.

"Oh," you say, somewhat deflated.

"Get dressed, we should go while the weather is good."

You do so with rising sadness in your heart. You gave yourself entirely to Jack Reinweld yesterday, now he wants you to go home. You know, however, that Jack will brook no conversation -- so you mutely obey him.

Jack escorts you safely down the mountain, the day clear and frosty. You take in the magnificence of the surroundings ... you almost envy Jack Reinweld and his hermit ways. Leaving him is painful indeed.

At last you come in sight of base camp, the bright orange tents obvious against the snowy white background. Jack nods.

"You should be able to find your way from here," he says.

"Sure ... thank you, Jack," you say with meaning in your eyes. You are about to go when he stops you.

"Marry me," he commands.

"Wha ... what?" you blather.

"Marry me," he repeats firmly. "You are the one. I want to make love to you, Dianne Hathaway, and I won't do it outside of wedlock. Marry me and be mine forever."

"Jack ... this is so sudden," you say aghast. "Would I ... would I still be able to work?"

"No," he says flatly. "You'll serve me as you did yesterday -- as you did last night. It will be that for the rest of your days."

You blanche. Naked, servile, silent -- whipped for talking, whipped at his will. How can this be a difficult choice?

What do you say?

"Yes -- I'll marry you, Jack." Turn to page 436.

"I'm sorry Jack ... it would never work." Turn to page 437.

Page 436

You have chosen to abandon your career -- even your freedom -- for the hermit Jack Reinweld. For the rest of your life you serve the firm outdoorsman naked, going out only very occasionally, such that clothes feel strange on your skin.

You are kept busy in constant rituals, for Jack is always preparing you to be punished. When he returns from his mysterious workplace he is always eager to lash your naked bum, and all things had better be in perfect preparation for him when he returns.

You orgasm daily, and indeed Jack keeps you in a state of near hypnotic sexual arousal -- your entire being is dedicated to sensual pleasures or moments of absolute stillness whilst you wait for Jack to recover from his own satisfactions. It is a world away from your previous life. Is it a good one? That is for you to decide.

Your adventure ends here...

Page 437

"I can't Jack ... I would break your heart..." you say, tears flooding into your eyes.

Jack nods, the slightest crack appearing in his stony demeanour. "Goodbye, Dianne," he says.

Jack turns slowly and begins his ascent up the mountain. He's touched you, and whipped you, like no other man has. You feel as if it is your own heart breaking.

Silly Dianne! You have a task to accomplish!

You set down the mountain toward the camp, your team surging out with obvious delight as they see you. They bombard you with questions, but you have only one thing on your mind.

"Have you ... did you find Julian?" you ask desperately.

"He's got frostbite, but he's fine," assures Phil. "He's in hospital at the moment, but they won't keep him long. Where were you?"

If you have the codeword SMUGGLE, Turn to page 438.
If not, read on.

You are about to tell the truth, when you blush. You don't want to admit you've spent the last two days serving Jack Reinweld on your knees whilst you should have been looking for sites for the comms booster tower.

"I just got lost," you say sheepishly. "Tomorrow, though, we should search the other side of the mountain..."

"Sorry, Dianne," interjects Phil. "But we've been ordered by the police not to go back up the mountain. We only stayed to keep an eye out for you. The weather is just too unpredictable this time of year."

You exhale in frustration -- but the police are probably right. Mr Stevenson's not going to be happy when he hears his Comms Booster tower won't be built on time...

Turn to page 789.

Page 438

Well -- this is it. You have proof of Jack's smuggling operations and an ideal site for the transmitter. But can you really grass him up to the cops?

If you feel it is your duty to do so, Turn to page 439.
Otherwise read on.

You just can't do it. You are in love with Jack Reinweld and cannot bring him to harm. So -- he's a smuggler. You bet all sorts of criminal activity goes on in Westjack. It's not fair to ruin the life of the man who saved your life.

Gain 1 Dignity point .

This does, of course, mean that Mr Stevenson's cane is soon to slice into your backside for your failure to set up the transmitter. So be it. When it happens you'll be thinking of Jack...

Turn to page 789.

Page 439

"Phil -- we have to get to the police station!" you blurt. "Something terrible is happening up on the mountain. Besides -- I think I may have found the spot for our transmitter."

Phil needs no more persuading. By the early hours of the morning you have been driven into Oldwell in Phil's ancient Morris Minor car, just managing to intercept a tired looking Constable Farley as he finishes his late patrol.

You quickly explain to him, over a cup of steaming coffee, what you saw on the top of Graham's Mount. Realisation dawns on the constable's face as he understands how he has been so thoroughly outwitted all these years.

"You're a clever girl, Dianne Hathaway," nods Constable Farley. "Jack isn't expecting a thing. We can catch him with his equipment red-handed. And, I should imagine you'll want to put up your blasted phone tower up there? Why not? It's not as if anyone noticed Jack's rig, is it?"

Gain 5 points of Reputation , Constable Farley is a hard man to please. Also gain 15 Progress points and the Codeword TRANSMISSION.

You must, however, lose 1 Dignity point . Setting up and betraying the man you were intimate with isn't very classy behaviour -- is it?

Turn to page 789.

Page 440

The sheer volume of work you are facing is daunting. It would be nice to have a few more staff members to help out. Specifically, it would be useful to have some qualified workers to help out! A lot of your staff are unskilled and, shall we say, under qualified for the task at hand.

You book a meeting room (all of yours are filled with project staff at the moment) with your team and explore the options, asking them honestly who they would like on the team.

"Elizabeth Hall is an obvious one," suggests Julian. "She went to university with me in Birmingham, we both studied the same courses in computing. She's could help with the most complex stuff."

"She sounds ideal," you enthuse. "Where is she now?"

"She works in the operators department under Mrs. Sandstrom -- she's completely wasted there," says Julian, shaking his head.

"There's a very good outsider, of course," says Philippa. "Ms Angela Carmichael. She worked for the phone exchange a few years back -- but she was offered a job organising the secretarial staff on the oil rig. She's very good."

"She's terrifying!" mutters Julian. "She even threatened to thrash me once!"

"That was when you were fresh from university, wasn't it?" smiles Philippa. "You didn't want to wear a suit, did you? Well -- you do now! Ms Carmichael is a bit of a ball-breaker, shall we say. Very good at crowd control. Keeps people working hard. Might be tough to convince her to leave the oil rig, though..."

There's clearly not enough time to get both. Which worker will you try to get?

Elizabeth Hall? Turn to page 441.

Angela Carmichael? Turn to page 482.

Page 441

"Hall definitely sounds like the girl we want -- I've got enough managers," you say breezily. "Does anyone know if Liz is dissatisfied with her job? How easy will it be to poach her?"

Julian shrugs. "She was a bit bitter about being made an operator, but that was a couple of years ago. Most educated Westjack girls ... well ... they tend to settle down after a few years of disappointment."

"Maybe I can re-energise her with a bigger pay-packet," you smile. "I think Mr Stevenson would be willing to up her wages if we can get this project done on time."

Philippa looks surprised. "Do you mean you're going to talk to her about the job before she's employed?"

You raise your eyebrows. "Maybe. Why, is that frowned upon here?"

"I just don't see what it will achieve," says Philippa. "A woman's deployment is none of her own business, that's down to her boss."

"A charming sentiment," you say dryly at this example of reinforced sexism. Still, she may have a point. If you got her hopes up but didn't manage to get her the job you'd feel pretty bad.

What do you want to do?

Talk to Liz first about her possible re-assignment? Turn to page 442.

Or go straight to Mrs. Sandstrom first? Turn to page 463.

Page 442

"Philippa ... I see it's lunchtime ... could you ask Liz Hall to come and see me, as subtle as you like, I don't want to attract anyone's attention," you ask.

"Yes, Miss. Hathaway," nods Philippa, immediately rising to carry out your command. "Where do you want to meet?"

"I'll do it here, while I've got the room," you reply.

Julian shuffles slightly in his chair. "Is it alright if the rest of us go to lunch?" he asks like a school boy.

You laugh. "Of course it is -- I want to interview her alone anyway. Go on, have your lunch."

"Thanks, boss," he grins, and soon the meeting room is emptied of everyone but you. You get your pen out, ready to make some notes, but realise you've already filled your notebook back to front.

Quickly you nip into the meeting room cupboard to see if they have a spare pad. No sooner have you stepped inside when the meeting room door opens, accompanied by giggles.

"You sure the meeting room is free?" says a male voice.

"Of course! No one holds meetings at lunchtime -- not in here, anyway," says a familiar voice. It's Jennifer, Mr Stevenson's secretary.

"So -- what's it going to be? A fiver for three dozen? Fifteen for four?" presses the man.

Jennifer gasps. "It used to be a fiver for two dozen!"

"Inflation," the man breezes. "Besides you're too good at this now, I'm losing money. Those are the terms, you can take them or leave them."

"Gosh! You're so strict!" drools Jennifer.

Hmm ... this is awkward. What do you do?

Reveal yourself? Turn to page 443.

Silently observe through the crack in the door? Turn to page 455.

Page 443

You step out of the cupboard to the audible gasp of Jennifer and her male companion, a handsome man dressed in a slightly out of date brown suit. In his hand he clutches a wooden paddle. Jennifer's dress is hitched up and her knickers are already around her ankles.

"Miss. Hathaway!" gasps Jennifer. "We ... we thought the room was empty!"

What do you do?

Lay into the pair of them for indulging in such frivolity during work hours? Turn to page 444.

Tell them that you assume they are playing some sort of game -- and ask why you weren't invited? Turn to page 445.

Page 444

"What on earth do you think you are doing?" you thunder. "This is a place of business, not some sleazy university digs!"

Jennifer practically falls over as she tugs her knickers back on. "So sorry, Miss. Hathaway, we didn't mean any harm. Please don't tell Mr Stevenson..."

"If you're not out of here in two seconds flat I'll be right on the phone to him!"

"Yes, miss! Sorry, miss! Thank you, miss!" blurts Jennifer, quickly fleeing the room, her gentleman companion hot on her heels.

You shake your head in wonder. This place is a madhouse!

Gain 1 point of Ambition .

Turn to page 456.

Page 445

"I assume this is a game of some sort?" you smile teasingly. "Why didn't you invite me?"

Jennifer looks surprised a moment. "I ... err ... it never occurred to me. Sorry, miss."

"Quite right too," you chide. "You, in the suit, what's your name?"

The man hesitates a moment before confession. "Michael Stonebridge, I'm a logistics manager."

You nod. "What are the rules to this game, Michael?"

Michael seems hesitant a moment, until Jennifer squeezes his hand, murmuring 'tell her' under her breath.

Michael clears his throat. "Well, you see ... err ... Jennifer and I have this agreement. Once a month I get to smack her bottom with this little paddle, you see?" He shows you the paddle, a wooden affair about twice the size of a man's hand. "Before we start Jennifer gets to make a bet. If she can take two dozen without breaking position of squealing she gets five pounds. For three dozen she gets fifteen pounds -- but she has to decide before the spanking starts. If she breaks she has to take the full lot even though she forfeits the money."

"Except that you just put up the rates -- you cheat!" jeers Jennifer, poking him in the ribs.

"You were robbing me blind, woman!" he protests. "I'm not made of money!"

"Well," you say. "I can see what Jennifer gets out of it, a little spending money for a red bottom. But what could you get out of the deal, Michael, except for an empty wallet?"

"Err..." Michael blushes, and seems unable to answer.

"Do you like smacking girl's bottoms, Michael?" you demand.

"Umm ... I do rather," he confesses guiltily. "The problem is I'm too damn fair. The girls in my office are so good -- it would break my heart to spank them for no reason. But I do get rather jealous when I hear of all the bums Mr Stevenson or Mr Jackson get to wallop, just because they can."

"Do you want to play, Miss?" asks Jennifer coyly. "I'm sure Mr Stonebridge wouldn't mind risking the money twice."

Indeed, Michael does seem quite happy about the idea. What do you do?

Decline -- you've got far too much work to do to indulge in this, besides, you get spanked enough in this place as it is! Turn to page 446.

Agree. It sounds fun, and why turn down something new? Turn to page 447.

Page 446

"Sorry both," you say. "I'm just much too busy to play at the moment. Besides I have another meeting in here in a few minutes, so you need to find somewhere else to indulge yourselves."

Jennifer look disappointed, but nods. "Of course, miss," she says, hitching her knickers back up. "Come on, sir, I think the Churchill Room might be free..."

The two miscreants depart, leaving you shaking your head and chuckling at their foolishness.

Turn to page 456.

Page 447

You lick your lips. "Of course I'll play," you smile. "But Mr Stonebridge here will have to fork out double for me. I'm a manager, after all!"

"Double!" he cries, distraught.

You raise your eyebrows, looking haughtily at him. "Are you saying I'm not worth it, Michael Stonebridge?"

"Umm ... no! No, of course not!" Michael says quickly.

"And we go back to the original fee's I think," you add archly. "This whole idea of inflation seems rather unfair to me."

Jennifer practically glows with pleasure at your intervention, clearly pleased you are tough enough to barter with Mr Stonebridge. "Would you like to go first, Miss Hathaway?"

"I will let you go first, Jennifer," you say wisely. "I think I'd like to observe how this game works."

"As you say, miss," chirps Jennifer, boldly bending herself back over the table, her knickerless buttocks gleaming in the office strip lights.

Michael licks his lips as he sees Jennifer so presented. His eyes flash to your body, clearly wondering what your own naked bum must look like in such a position. Well, he'll see soon enough won't he?

"So -- how many will it be? Two dozen for five pounds, or three dozen for fifteen?" says Michael testily, clearly upset his new money saving scheme has been altered.

Jennifer ponders for a moment before replying. "Just two dozen, I think," says Jennifer carefully. "Wouldn't want to show myself up in front of Miss Hathaway."

Michael looks a little disappointed, but nods brandishing his wide paddle menacingly. "Two dozen then -- no squeaking, no breaking position. And too much hopping about gets extras."

"That wasn't part of the agreement!" objects Jennifer.

"Pipe down, Jenny," you chide playfully. "You can't have it all your way. Proceed Mr Stonebridge."

Michael pats the paddle heavily upon Jennifer's trembling cheeks, rising up high on tiptoes before swinging the paddle wide behind him, and whooshing it forward with a mighty...

Crack!

Jennifer rises up on tiptoes, her eyes widening in shock, as the paddle impacts into her left cheek, her buttocks wobbling from the shockwave. Seeing Jennifer's pained expression is both comforting and fearful. Comforting that even experienced flagellants like her seem to forget the sharpness of correction, and wince like it's the first time when her bottom is struck anew. Fearful -- since you know that your own backside will soon face similar treatment.

Crack! Crack!

Poor Jennifer grunts as Michael Stonebridge pounds her buttocks again, this time a quick double, spread evenly onto each prominent cheek. Jennifer bites her lip, and regards you with a pained expression, almost of apology, and she rocks and jumps from the paddle's collision with her full bottom.

"Pretty poor show, Jennifer," chides Michael. "Are you really going to be hopping through your entire set? Do you think that will impress Miss Hathaway?"

"Sorry, Miss Hathaway," Jennifer quickly apologises. "I'm not normally such a wimp -- but security gave me a double thrashing this morning when I forgot my identity card. Mr Stonebridge is rather awakening old stripes."

"Enough chat," snaps Michael, swinging the paddle back across Jennifer's accosted buttocks.

Crack! Crack!

You watch, transfixed, as Jennifer's bum turns a deep beetroot red, thoroughly pummelled by the lusty Michael Stonebridge. You sense all of his bottled-up frustrations are being expressed through his beating of Jennifer's arse, and he exults in every blow he inflicts.

Jennifer herself, although smarting and groaning, has taken on an almost transcendent look of pleasure. You've long suspected that Jenny enjoys the sensation of bare bottom punishment -- that's almost certainly why she lives on the island. Seeing Jennifer's intense expression merely confirms your suspicions.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Jennifer lets out a long moan of suffering mixed with satisfaction at the final, rather rough, blow to her bottom. She hasn't exactly been stock-still during her punishment, but the fair minded Michael Stonebridge does not award her the extras he threatened. Instead he merely strokes his hand across the burning buttocks he has so recently beaten, and unleashes a sigh of satisfaction.

"Well done, Jennifer -- a fiver it is," he says, gently patting Jenny's burning cheeks. His eyes flick up to you, a smile leeching to his lips. "Your turn Miss. Hathaway."

Jennifer rises from her place with a groan, grasping her hot bottom. She looks at you in sympathy. "Try to enjoy it, Miss. Hathaway," she adds helpfully. "He's got a good arm, and a warm heart."

No doubt he has -- but that does not reduce the fear trembling within you. You gently move Jennifer aside to stand in her place, the table smooth and long before you -- too long to grip the far end for support. You gently bend over, lowering yourself down carefully, your breasts crushing against your chest as you lie across the table.

"Shall I do the honours, miss?" asks Jennifer impishly, already reaching for your skirt, which she briskly hikes up over your backside to tuck into the small in your back. You are almost grateful to Jennifer as she smoothly tucks her fingers around your knicker-elastic and tugs your undergarments all the way down your legs to constrict your feet. At least you didn't have to face the embarrassment of doing it yourself!

"My goodness!" exclaims Mr Stonebridge, as he views your full cheeks unleashed from their holdings. "What a fine bum! Well -- this will be a pleasure!"

"Mr Stonebridge!" gasps Jennifer. "Don't leer! Do try to be professional!"

"Of course," he coughs. "Professional. So, Miss Hathaway, how many is it to be? Two dozen, or three?"

What do you answer?

Two dozen (that paddle looks fierce)? Turn to page 448.

Three dozen (must beat Jennifer)? Turn to page 450.

Page 448

Mr Stonebridge has no reason to complain. He has two compliant bottoms to beat, two dozen each. Still, Michael sounds a little rueful as he tells you to prepare yourself for the first blow.

Without anything to grip onto you are forced to lay your hands flat on the long table, the cooling wood helping to drain the building heat in your body. You bite your lip, ready for the first blow...

Crack! You wince as it comes suddenly, an almighty impact across your left buttock from a blow clearly swung forward hard. It is like being spanked with an exceptionally hard, very large hand, the wooden paddle squashing your bum cheek flat before it bounces back into place, crimsoned from the force.

Crack! The second blow is not long in coming, your right cheek taking the force of the blow this time. You cannot help but grunt as the force of the blow ripples through your body, sliding you forward across the table. Your cheek stings powerfully, and the rising sting from the recently battered left cheek blooms up to match it, so that a small whimper escapes your lips.

Crack!

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

If your Willpower is 3 or more, Turn to page 449.
If not, read on:

You cannot help but cry out, a pitiful squeak beaten out of you from buttocks to lips. Michael leaps on this failure at once.

"Ah ha!" he crows. "A call out. You forfeit your reward!"

Jennifer holds your hands sympathetically. "I'm afraid you're duty bound to take all the rest of your strokes," she says sorrowfully. "Mr Stonebridge can now beat you solely for his pleasure, the rotten swine!"

You groan in defeat, but your groan is converted into another cry of defeat as Michael cracks the paddle against your sore cheeks.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Michael Stonebridge is forceful but not sadistic. He batters your poor buttocks with an even rhythm, dividing his blows equally, trying to create a nice uniform red colour across your bum cheeks. By the time he is finished your backside is indeed glowing red, although your punisher refrained from bruising your cheeks too much. Raise your Bum Status by 1 Level .

"Never mind, Miss," consoles Jennifer, once your beating is complete and whilst Michael feels the surface of your bum. "I didn't really expect you to do better than me. After all -- I'm a bit of an expert at this."

"I'm sure you are," you reply brokenly.

Gain 1 point of Reputation for being willing to put your bottom on the line -- but lose 1 point of Dignity for being defeated by the secretary!

With Jennifer paid off and you empty handed you quickly shoo Jenifer and Michael away and get ready for your meeting with Liz.

Turn to page 456.

Page 449

You clench your fists tightly on the table, wishing you had something firm to grab onto. The sting is awful, but perhaps it is the newness of the pain rather than its intensity which is so bad. Michael seems to strike you merely to colour cheeks rather than hurt you as most Westjack men seem to prefer. It's a game, and you need to lighten up and treat it as a game.

Crack! Crack!

You groan and moan lightly through you set, relishing and anticipating the smooth paddle across your backside. Its fiery warmth, the companionship of Jennifer, and the non-harsh circumstances of your beating soothes and re-enforces you.

By the time Michael has delivered the last stroke, an intoxicating smile is plastered across your face. You've proven you can take as much as Jennifer, and you've had a good time whilst doing it.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level , gain 2 points of Reputation and gain 1 Fun point .

Michael tuts as he empties his wallet of money. "What is it about you English girls that gives you such tough bottoms? You'll bankrupt me!"

"Stop complaining, Mike," you chide. "Now push off, the pair of you. I've got a meeting going on in here in a few minutes!"

Thanking you for joining their little game, Jennifer and Michael scurry off back to their respective offices -- presumably as invigorated as you are.

Turn to page 456.

Page 450

Without anything to grip onto you are forced to lay your hands flat on the long table, the cooling wood helping to drain the building heat in your body. You bite your lip, ready for the first blow...

Crack! You wince as it comes suddenly, an almighty impact across your left buttock from a blow clearly swung forward hard. It is like being spanked with an exceptionally hard, very large hand, the wooden paddle squashing your bum cheek flat before it bounces back into place, crimsoned from the force.

Crack! The second blow is not long in coming, your right cheek taking the force of the blow this time. You cannot help but grunt as the force of the blow ripples through your body, sliding you forward across the table. Your cheek stings powerfully, and the rising sting from the recently battered left cheek blooms up to match it, so that a small whimper escapes your lips.

Crack!

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

If your Willpower is 3 or more, Turn to page 451.
If not, read on:

You cannot help but cry out, a pitiful squeak beaten out of you from buttocks to lips. Michael leaps on this failure at once.

"Ah ha!" he crows. "A call out. You forfeit your reward!"

Jennifer holds your hands sympathetically. "I'm afraid you're duty bound to take all the rest of your strokes," she says sorrowfully. "Mr Stonebridge can now beat you solely for his pleasure, the rotten swine!"

You groan in defeat, but your groan is converted into another cry as Michael cracks the paddle against your sore cheeks.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Michael Stonebridge is forceful but not sadistic. He batters your poor buttocks with an even rhythm, dividing his blows equally, trying to create a nice uniform red colour across your bum cheeks. By the time he is finished your backside is indeed glowing red, although your punisher refrained from bruising your cheeks too much. Raise your Bum Status by 2 Levels .

"Never mind, Miss," consoles Jennifer, once your beating is complete and while Michael feels the surface of your bum. "I didn't really expect you to do better than me. After all -- I'm a bit of an expert at this."

"I'm sure you are," you reply brokenly.

Gain 1 point of Reputation for being willing to put your bottom on the line -- but lose 1 point of Dignity for being defeated by the secretary!

With Jennifer paid off and you empty handed you quickly shoo Jenifer and Michael away and get ready for your meeting with Liz.

Turn to page 456.

Page 451

You clench your fists tightly on the table, wishing you had something firm to grab onto. The sting is awful, but perhaps it is the newness of the pain rather than its intensity which is so bad. Michael seems to strike you merely to colour cheeks rather than hurt you as most Westjack men seem to prefer. It's a game, and you need to lighten up and treat it as a game.

Crack! Crack!

This is easier said than done, and as Michael clocks up a second dozen on your rudely exposed arse you begin to wonder if the fire in your bottom isn't already more than you can take.

Crack! Crack!

Raise your Bum Status by 1 Level .

As your exhausting third set begins, Michael sweeps low, the paddle striking the back of your legs unexpectedly causing you to wince in pain.

If your Willpower is 4 or more Turn to page 452.
If not, read on.

"Wha ... ouch!" you cry, rising to your feet. "Foul! You can't strike me there!"

"Call out and breaking position! I win!" cries Michael firmly. "Now get back over and take the rest!"

"Uh, uh! No way!" you insist. "That wasn't a fair stroke."

Jennifer leaps to your defence. "Come on, Mike -- if you were any sort of real man you'd let Miss. Hathaway off that one and disregard the stroke."

Michael Stonebridge bristles. "There's forty-five pounds riding on this! So no favours. Dianne's lost, and she has to take the rest of her strokes."

"Wimp," mutters Jennifer, who comes to stand next you, holding your hands. "Sorry, Dianne. If he's going to be a prick about this then ... he's quite right, you've lost. A girl has to expect the odd bad stroke during a punishment ... it's actually rather bad form of you to even bring it up..."

"Thank you," says Michael, at last feeling justified.

Jennifer shoots him an evil glare. "Just as it's bad form for him to count your flinch from a bad stroke! Don't worry -- I'll let all the girls know what a pratt he is."

"Do what you like," snaps Michael. "Dianne! Get down and take the rest of your last dozen!"

You are fuming ... but you have to make a choice. Will you:

Bend over the table and let Michael Stonebridge finish his set on your bum? Turn to page 453.

Refuse to continue -- Michael is cheating and he knows it! Turn to page 454.

Page 452

You don't know whether Michael is being a cad or is just a poor shot, but you stay down and refuse to whimper at the unexpected blow to the back of your legs which now stings appallingly!

Michael clears his throat in embarrassment before whipping down again.

Crack! Crack! Your bum bounces to two more strokes from the hard paddle, but Michael Stonebridge's strength has gone. He's now being so careful with his accuracy that the force of his blows has diminished. None the less, by the end of your thirty-sixth blow your bum feels reddened and bruised all over. He's brought a proper flush to your bum cheeks!

Raise your Bum Status by 1 Level .

"That's three dozen -- Dianne wins!" cries Jennifer in unselfish joy. Michael pales as he considers your steadfast backside, shaking his head in wonder. He tuts as he empties his wallet of money. "What is it about you English girls that gives you such tough bottoms? You'll bankrupt me!"

"Stop complaining, Mike," you chide. "Now push off, the pair of you. I've got a meeting going on in here in a few minutes!"

Thanking you for joining their little game, Jennifer and Michael scurry off back to their respective offices -- presumably as invigorated as you are.

Gain 5 points of Reputation for winning this bout and 1 Fun Point. Also gain 1 point of Willpower -- you've proven to Jennifer, and yourself, what tough stuff you are made of.

Turn to page 456.

Page 453

There is nothing more galling than taking an unfair beating. Michael knows he's cheated, but is too tight fisted to risk playing fair. To be a Westjack girl means accepting these gross inequalities with a happy heart. Well, you're not happy, but you'll not let your reputation be sullied by this junior management twerp.

Once again you take position over the table, rudely thrusting your buttocks up as if daring Michael Stonebridge to do his best. Angered at your defiance, he cracks the paddle down with an almighty whack -- so loud even Jennifer jumps in alarm.

CRACK!

You grit your teeth as your buttocks are squashed flat by the hefty impact. The fire in your backside re-ignites, and a small grunt escapes your lips.

CRACK! Crack!

Two strokes, one hard, one only slightly catching one buttock, are unleashed on your bum, Michael's ego as bruised as your bottom. Jennifer tuts loudly.

"You are a brute, Michal Stonebridge!" she growls as she studies your poor afflicted bottom.

"Are you after more strokes, Jennifer?" snaps Michael fiercely. "Because talking back to a manager qualifies you for the cane. Maybe I'll even talk to Mr Stevenson about delivering them?"

This shuts Jennifer up, and instead she darkly glowers through the rest of your punishment.

Crack! Crack!

You wince and hop through your final dozen, small cries escaping your lips. Why not? It's not as if you can get in further trouble. By the last stroke your bum feels like one big bruise, testament to the fury of a man scorned.

Raise your Bum Status by 2 Levels . However you may also gain 1 point of Dignity and 4 points of Reputation. Jennifer is as good as her word and quickly gossips across the office about the surly actions of Mr Stonebridge and your own heroic dignity in finishing your unfair punishment.

With all your strokes done you bark at Michael to get out, which he does with a grumpy slope. Giving Jennifer a grateful kiss for her support you also dismiss her, getting ready for your meeting with Liz.

Turn to page 456.

Page 454

"No chance, Stonebridge!" you say fiercely. "I don't entertain cheats, liars or cads."

You quickly tug up your knickers and smooth down your skirt. "I hope you enjoyed spanking my arse, because it's the last time you're ever going to see it!"

Gain 1 point of Ambition for your fiery defiance.

Michael Stonebridge looks angry -- but also frightened. Without thanking either of you he quickly quits the field and scurries out of the door.

Jennifer giggles in delight at your rough handling of Michael. "Good on you, Dianne ... I suppose you know Michael will tell everyone you welched on the deal?"

"Let him -- I don't care what people think of me," you say defiantly. "If he thinks he can treat English girls like that he's got another thing coming, right?"

"Right," smiles Jennifer.

None the less this action will cost you some respect. Lose 3 points of Reputation -- any suggestion that a girl refuses to take her licks in Westjack can be poisonous to her standing.

You quickly dismiss Jennifer and prepare for your meeting with Liz.

Turn to page 456.

Page 455

"Well," ponders Jenifer after a short pause. "I suppose I'd better go with four dozen if I'm going to make this worth-while."

"Four dozen it is, then!" says the man with relish. "Good. I was a bit short of cash today..."

"I might win!" protests Jennifer, accompanied by the sound of material sliding down someone's legs.

"Just get over that table -- and make sure you call me 'sir'!"

"Yes, 'sir'," drawls Jennifer sarcastically, but presumably obeying from the sounds of the shuffling. There is a brief pause before an almighty crack!

Something heavy and flat has obviously just impacted with Jennifer's bottom, beating a small squeak out of the English girl.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

With relentless fierceness the man cracks the paddle across Jennifer's backside, licking his lips in obvious enjoyment. Jennifer, trance-like, grits her teeth and endures with an almost religious reverence, shifting, groaning, but in no way hindering the heavy paddle as it slaps her behind. There is an almost dreamy look in her eyes as she takes her beating. It only goes to prove what you have long suspected -- Jennifer is a spanking addict who will try to turn any situation into a session of bare bottom punishment. She must love living on Westjack Island!

Crack! Crack!

Heavily, futilely, the man beats out his last strokes with increasing desperation. He may as well be beating a stone for all the good it does him. His face falls when he realises he has again been conned out of money by the tough Jennifer.

"Gosh -- is that forty eight already, sir?" asks Jennifer with mock innocence, once several seconds have passed without a blow striking her. "I thought you were just warming up."

"Very funny," mopes the man, putting down the paddle and taking out his wallet with a sulk. "I should know better than to try the endurance of Mr Stevenson's secretary."

Jennifer rises smugly, extending her hand for the cash. "Well ... I suppose he doesn't spare the rod. Same time next week?"

"Depends if I get a raise," moans the man, to little giggles from Jennifer.

Minutes later they have exited the room, leaving you flustered from your voyeuristic peeking. Gain 1 Fun Point .

Turn to page 456.

Page 456

A few minutes later there is a polite knock at the door. Entering the office, looking timid in a rather old skirt suit, is Liz Hall -- a mousy looking young woman who seems rather downbeat. She is polite enough, though, and quietly sits when you bid her to.

"So, Liz," you say breezily. "I hear you went to study in Birmingham? About the same time as Julian Bennet?"

"Gosh -- that was ages ago, miss," says Liz, flushing red. "It's a very naughty place, Birmingham. Lots of very bad girls there. I didn't really fit in..."

"But you completed your course in Computer Science, didn't you?" you press. "That makes you one of the most well educated women on the island."

"Well -- I don't know about that..."

Hmm. She's not exactly brimming with confidence! Time to come to the point.

"Do you know what I do here at ComLondon, Liz?" you ask.

"Of course -- you're the manager of the broadband and wireless network project," says Liz, a little glimmer in her eyes. "You're installing a fourth generation phone network and internet access system. It's the most prestigious project in the company."

"Also the hardest," you say gravely. "To complete it on time I need the best. Quite a lot of people tell me that you are the best. I want to transfer you Liz -- in fact, I intend to ask Mr Stevenson for the transfer this afternoon. How would you feel about that?"

"Me? For the mobile delivery?" she gasps. "I'd love ... but ... wait, no. I can't."

"Why on Earth not?" you ask bewildered.

"Mrs. Sandstrom would never allow it!" insists Liz. "I'd get in such trouble, such trouble if I transferred."

You shake your head. "No ... Elizabeth -- you'll be on my team. This won't be anything to do with Mrs. Sandstrom..."

"But when I go back to the operators department ... after the project I mean ... she'll be furious..."

"Liz -- you'll be looking after the network system full time, you won't be going back to Mrs. Sandstrom," you explain patiently.

"No miss," she says sadly. "I mean I'll be going back to the operators department once the project has failed. Sorry, miss. I didn't make that very clear, did I?"

It suddenly dawns on you. Elizabeth Hall doesn't think you can get this project finished. In fact, practically no one does.

What do you do?

Dismiss Liz Hall -- she's obviously not the girl for the job? Turn to page 457.

Assert firmly that you are definitely up for the job, and that those who help you will share in the benefits? Turn to page 458.

Try to boost Liz's self-confidence? Turn to page 460.

Page 457

A stony expression fixes to your face, and Liz hall's eyes open wide in panic.

"With that kind of attitude, Liz, maybe you're not the right person after all," you growl. "You're dismissed."

Liz flushes, quickly rising. "Yes, miss. Sorry, miss," she blathers, eager to escape the room before a mandatory spanking is declared.

You shake your head in frustration. Clearly you're not going to get any extra help from the locals -- they all seem to want you to fail! Packing up your things you head back to the office to direct your staff.

Turn to page 789.

Page 458

You eye Liz with a steely look. "I assure you, Miss. Hall, not only am I going to complete this project, but it is going to make those who help me some of the most important people on the island. Someone is going to have to look after the network when I get recalled to London. Someone with technical skill and experience. Hang around with me and you will get that experience."

Liz's eyes glitter with possibility.

"Or are you so meek and mild that you can't even seize an opportunity when it's served up to you on a platter?" you press.

If your Ambition is 4 or more, Turn to page 459.

If not, read on:

Little tears enter Liz's eyes. "You don't understand miss," she sniffles. "Maybe that sort of life is possible for you -- an English girl. Here on Westjack we have to do as we're told."

"Liz..." you interject.

"Look, miss. If I'm transferred to you I'll work for you, and work hard," she says, rising, pulling a small handkerchief from her pocket. "But don't expect me to stand against Mrs. Sandstrom. I'm a good girl, and I don't want any trouble..."

Liz rises and flees from the room leaving you open mouthed in shock. She's certainly a wet blanket, and no mistake!

What do you wish to do?

Abandon trying to get Liz on the team -- she's obviously not that keen after all. Turn to page 789.

Go and see her current manager, Mrs. Sandstrom? Turn to page 463.

Go straight to Mr Stevenson and ask for her to be transferred to you? Turn to page 472.

Page 459

You see the briefest flicker of a smile cross her lips. "I'd like to do that," she says. "And, you know, now I've met you -- I really think you might be able to do this!"

"I will," you say smiling. "And you'll be with me."

"I'll do everything I can to help you," she says. "But it's not really down to me ... Mr Stevenson and Mrs. Sandstrom decide that. I'll write you a letter, though, asking to be transferred. Would that help?"

"Couldn't hurt, Liz," you reply.

"I expect I'll get the most terrible thrashing if Mrs. Sandstrom finds out ... but it'll be worth it!"

Liz quickly pens you a transfer request to show to Mr Stevenson. Record the codeword WILLING .

At that Liz quickly takes her leave. She really will get a thrashing if she comes back late from lunch!

What do you want to do now?

Go and see Liz's current manager, Mrs. Sandstrom? Turn to page 463.

Go straight to Mr Stevenson and ask for her to be transferred to you? Turn to page 472.

Page 460

"Oh, come on, Liz -- that's not the attitude!" you chide. "In London, when we want something done, we just do it! You've been to England, to university. You know full well that women can do anything a man can. Frankly -- we do most things better than them!"

Liz giggles, covering her mouth, as if this is the naughtiest thing she has ever heard.

"I need a girl on the team who really understands computers -- and you're her! I don't want Julian or the other boys in the network team baffling me with science, I need someone on my side. You got sent university abroad because you're one of the smartest girls on the island. You deserve more than being stuck on the phone as an operator. Join my team, Liz, and I promise you you'll be a different woman by the time we're done!"

If your Dignity is 3 or more, Turn to page 461.

If not, read on:

Liz laughs, but shakes her head. "You're really funny, miss. But honestly -- it took me years to adjust to life back here on Westjack, and a lot of sore bottoms. It's just not worth the risk. Look ... if I get transferred to you I promise I'll work really hard -- but I'll only go and upset Mrs. Sandstrom and my parents if I go around pretending to be all ambitious. Sorry, miss -- you're on your own."

Liz quickly rises and leaves the meeting room, leaving you quietly fuming. Not exactly the enthusiastic support you were after!

What do you do now?

Abandon trying to get Liz on the team -- she's obviously not that keen after all. Turn to page 789.

Go and see her current manager, Mrs. Sandstrom? Turn to page 463.

Go straight to Mr Stevenson and ask for her to be transferred to you? Turn to page 472.

Page 461

"You ... you really believe in me, miss?" asks Liz hesitantly.

"Completely -- come on, Liz! Let's complete this project together!" you enthuse.

Liz's face breaks into a wide smile. "I'll do it! I don't care what Mrs. Sandstrom thinks! In fact I'll write you a letter asking for a transfer right now!"

You quickly pass Liz a sheet of lined paper and a pen, and she swiftly scribbles an unambiguous note requesting a transfer to your department.

Record the codeword WILLING .

At that Liz quickly takes her leave. She really will get a thrashing if she comes back late from lunch!

What do you want to do now?

Go and see Liz's current manager, Mrs. Sandstrom? Turn to page 463.

Go straight to Mr Stevenson and ask for her to be transferred to you? Turn to page 472.

Page 463

After lunch you pop down to the ground floor of the Telephone Exchange and into the operators department. A large, formal sign on the entrance door requests you to be quiet in case you should disturb the operators at their work.

The room itself is delightfully primitive, with large, cumbersome machines and blinking lights filling one wall, the operator girls themselves manually transferring calls using long leads to plug calls directly to their numbers. Even with only a few thousand people using it, it takes a dozen girls to operate the system.

One of them, Liz Hall herself, is currently lying flat on her back under a machine, apparently doing some mechanical maintenance. The equipment looks fiercely complicated -- Liz must really know her stuff!

"Can I help you miss?" asks one operator, between calls.

"Is Mrs. Sandstrom in?" you ask.

"In her office, miss -- can I ask you not to get her upset? We've only just managed to calm her down from this morning after one of us dropped a call from town council."

"No promises, I'm afraid," you smile.

You glance again briefly over the hard working girls and feel a pang of guilt. Your new network is going to consign all these girls to the unemployment line. Lots of people have accused you of being a destroyer of the island ... only now, looking at all these obsolete workers, do you truly feel like one.

Concentrate Dianne! You have a job to do!

There is only one separate office on this floor, so you presume that must be Mrs. Sandstrom's. You walk up to the door and knock on it, receiving a barking instruction to enter.

Stepping inside the office, carefully closing the door behind you, you see Mrs. Sandstrom at her desk, a pile of papers (as well as a pile of knitting) sitting near her. Besides her desk and filing cabinet there is an impressively strong looking three legged stool, which can clearly be adjusted easily to accommodate any height.

Mrs. Sandstrom herself is a tall, butch woman of about fifty -- hardly attractive, and indeed quite fierce looking. She raises an eyebrow as she recognises you.

"Ah! Miss. Hathaway -- our English revolutionary!" she says dryly. "You have deigned to see how a real telephone network works, have you?"

You smile. "It's not what I expected ... I envisioned something just a little more modern."

"It was last refitted in the nineteen sixties," barks Mrs. Sandstrom, rising from her desk to briefly shake your hand. "We managed to receive spare parts for it from Africa for a number of decades. By the nineties they could no longer be found and the Island council were tasked with modernising the system. Since then they have been locked in an interminable struggle over whether to install mobile phones or stick to something more traditional. The result has been deadlock for twenty years. That machine is held together with spit and duct tape."

"You don't think it will last much longer then?" you enquire.

"It should have died years ago ... but Julian and Liz Hall manage to keep the contraption running -- that was until you stole Julian for your infernal mobile phone project."

Hmm. This is going to be awkward. "Actually," you say, "it's Elizabeth Hall I've come about."

"What about her?" asks Mrs. Sandstrom, narrowing her eyes.

"I'd like to transfer her over to the mobile network team -- my team. I think she's under-utilised here and would benefit from joining something a bit more adventurous," you explain.

Mrs. Sandstrom goes a pale white -- then an ugly red. "Out of the question!" she snaps, once she has composed herself. "She's needed here to fix the machines."

You predicted this. "Naturally, in the event of a breakdown I can release her or Julian for a few hours to fix things -- but it is unconscionable to let a woman of her talents remain an operator, especially when there are departments that can make full use of her abilities needing staff. I'm sure you want to do the right thing by her..."

"Never mind that London twaddle!" barks Mrs. Sandstrom. "You can't guilt me into giving her up!"

There is something about Mrs. Sandstrom's attitude, a desperation in her voice that you sense in unnatural in a woman so controlling. "Am I missing something here, Mrs. Sandstrom? If your objection is purely business related I'm afraid my case is overwhelming."

Mrs. Sandstrom glares at you, but then shuffles uneasily. "Look -- let me level with you, Miss. Hathaway," she says with a more moderate tone. "Liz ... is very special to me. Liz and I have an arrangement which is only possible whilst I remain her manager."

You raise an eyebrow. "You and Liz are lovers, are you?"

"Certainly not!" cries Mrs. Sandstrom, outraged. "I've been happily married for thirty years! No ... our relationship is different. Liz, you see, is a very rewarding individual to punish. Her cries, her tears, her innocence seem boundless. She is not an emotionless robot like so many Westjack girls are. She feels the shame of bare-bottom punishment more deeply than most. The fact is I enjoy punishing the girl -- it is one of the few pleasures of this demanding job. Barely a week goes by but I whack her for some trifling offence. In fact, over the last couple of years, we have had a special arrangement. She simply comes into the office on a Friday evening, silently strips below the waist, and bends over my special punishment stool. Then I thrash her jiggling behind until all the stresses of the week have been unleashed. After that she meekly gets up, thanks me, and I can begin the weekend thoroughly invigorated."

You stand, open mouthed, throughout this entire explanation. Mrs. Sandstrom does not so much as blush as she explains how callously she uses Liz Hall for her own pleasure.

"So you see I can never release her -- she's simply too much of a treasure," she says honestly. "Now, I think, you understand."

You sense you are facing another one of those culture-shock moments. Perhaps this sort of behaviour, this kind of relationship, is commonplace on the island? If you're going to get Liz you'll have to do something to appease Mrs. Sandstrom.

What do you do?

Offer to allow this 'special relationship' to continue -- and basically make it a term of Liz's employment that she turn up every Friday for a thrashing from Mrs. Sandstrom? Turn to page 464.

Offer your own bottom up to Mrs. Sandstrom in exchange for Liz -- on the same terms as exist at the moment? Turn to page 465.

Offer your own bottom up to Mrs. Sandstrom in exchange for Liz -- but only as a one off special to ease the pain of her losing Liz? Turn to page 466.

Or is it time to take this conniving bitch down with a regal condemnation of her activities? Turn to page 470.

Page 464

Time to play it cool if you're going to bag Liz Hall for the team. You affect a small laugh and shake your head. "My dear Mrs. Sandstrom, I see no reason why your little ritual has to change! At five o'clock sharp, each Friday, I'll send Liz toddling down to see you as she has done for the last two years. Consider the matter settled."

Mrs. Sandstrom immediately lightens. "Oh! Wonderful! Well ... in that case, why not have her for a bit? A change of scenery might perk the girl up. I knew, deep down, that you would understand. England and Westjack aren't so dissimilar after all, it seems."

You've sold Liz Hall out to a life of misery just to get some progress on your phone project ... gain 1 point of Ambition . You may not be nice -- but you can sure get results!

Record the codeword SOLD .

Mrs. Sandstrom writes out a small note giving her permission to transfer Liz to your team.

"Just present this to Mr Stevenson," she says brightly. "It should be all you need to complete the transfer."

Thanking her for her time you quickly leave the office to book a meeting with Mr Stevenson.

Record the codeword ACCEPT .

Turn to page 472.

Page 465

You exhale sharply. "Look, Mrs. Sandstrom," you say wearily. "I need Liz Hall on the team. So how about Liz and I swap places?"

"What do you mean, swap places?" demands Mrs. Sandstrom.

"I mean ... that instead of her turning up here each Friday for a thrashing ... I do instead," you say, stomach knotting.

"You?"

"I'm no disenchanted Westjack girl -- and I assure you I'm not emotionless. The men on this island seem to take great pleasure in smacking me, so I'm sure you will too."

You feel like you are selling yourself to this cruel woman. Liz Hall had better be worth it!

Mrs. Sandstrom looks you up and down, taking in your curvy frame and ample buttocks. "Well ... you look suitably thrashable. But I warn you, it will be every Friday..."

"I know," you reply.

"On the bare buttocks -- everything stripped from the waist down."

"I understand," you tremble.

"And I won't promise a limit," she warns. "I'm not a cruel woman ... but I like to rosy-up a girl's behind properly."

"I've said 'yes', Mrs. Sandstrom," you say testily. "Do we have a deal?"

Mrs. Sandstrom looks momentarily doubtful -- before blurting her acceptance. "Very well. Liz Hall in exchange for your bum once a week. Whipping a fellow manager? How could I refuse?"

Record the codeword DUTY .

Mrs. Sandstrom writes out a small note giving her permission to transfer Liz to your team.

"Just present this to Mr Stevenson," she says brightly. "It should be all you need to complete the transfer."

Thanking her for her time you quickly leave the office to book a meeting with Mr Stevenson.

Record the codeword ACCEPT .

Turn to page 472.

Page 466

"Let's be clear, Mrs. Sandstrom," you say directly. "I don't really need your permission. This is just a courtesy -- when I go to Mr Stevenson he's going to give me Liz with or without your approval."

"We'll see about that!" fumes Mrs. Sandstrom.

"That said it would be easier for everyone, including you and Liz, if you handed her over willingly. Now ... I'm sure you're upset at the prospect of losing her, so I'll offer you this one-time deal. You can give me a punishment spanking of your choice, so you can get revenge on the woman who stole Liz from you. But at the end of it you sign Liz over to me on your word of honour."

"You arrogant wench!" barks Mrs. Sandstrom.

"Well ... if you're not interested..." you say breezily, heading for the door.

If your Dignity is 3 or more, Turn to page 467.
If not, read on.

Rather sadly, Mrs. Sandstrom lets you leave. All she sees before her is a slovenly English woman, hardly worthy of her time. Closing the door as you leave you give a silent curse. Mrs. Sandstrom's refusal may have saved your arse -- but has it doomed your project?

There is little to do now but go and see Mr Stevenson.

Turn to page 472.

Page 467

"Wait!" cries Mrs. Sandstrom as your hand grasps the door handle. "How many? How many strokes could I give that arrogant English arse of yours?"

You consider carefully. It has to be enough to make it worthwhile to her. "Two dozen with the cane. Three dozen with anything else."

"Oh! It will be with the cane, alright! I want to hurt that prissy bum of yours! Two dozen it is -- but you get repeaters if you flinch too much, or are too noisy."

You sigh. Those are the rules here you suppose.

"Done," you say flatly.

Mrs. Sandstrom cackles with glee. "Good! I'll lacerate your behind for stealing my precious Liz! Now get that skirt off! Remove every stitch of clothing below the waist -- I want that bum completely defenceless."

Well -- you asked for it, literally this time. Trying to control your trembling fingers you slip your skirt and knickers down in a single fluid motion -- getting spanked so often is causing you to develop some very blaze habits about undressing! As you are stepping out of your discarded clothing, bending to remove your shoes, you witness Mrs. Sandstrom take an ancient looking, gnarled cane from her supply cupboard.

"An old hickory cane," she explains. "My former boss used to use it on me when he wanted to teach me a lesson. When I took over his job I inherited it with his blessing. Now it's used to humble my own scatty workforce. It never fails to produce a shriek or two from even hardened Westjack girls. You -- I'm afraid -- don't stand a chance!"

You look at the tough old stick -- it's much thicker than the sharp bamboo and rattans Mr Stevenson favours. Will that make it hurt more, or less, you ponder darkly?

"Where do you want me?" you ask casually, eager not the let Mrs. Sandstrom think she is intimidating you.

"Liz always took it over the stool. But you'll take it bending over touching toes -- the English way, yes?" she barks, fingering the inflexible wood excitedly in her hands.

With an audible sigh you turn around and bend over sharply, touching toes. You remind yourself that Mrs. Sandstrom is little more than a petty functionary -- soon to be obsolete thanks to your project. You are going to hurt her more than she hurts you.

Thwack!

The first stroke of the cane challenges this, though. It slaps into your presented buttocks with a dull thud, with less whoosh and swish than the thinner canes you are used to. The effect is rather powerful though ... you are physically pitched forward to rock on your toes as your bottom blazes behind you -- a thick red bar forming across your cheeks.

"Is ... is that cane even legal?" you gasp as the burning sting rises.

"Quiet you!" spits Mrs. Sandstrom. "Any more out of you and it's a repeater..."

Thwack!

You grunt as another stroke impacts upon your poor bottom.

If your Willpower is 4 or more Turn to page 468.
Otherwise, read on.

This infernal stick is brutal, and Mrs. Sandstrom a strong and bitter woman, eager to cause you pain and suffering. It is inevitable that the odd shriek and cry would escape your lips from such continual bombardment.

"Ill-disciplined English tramp!" thunders Mrs. Sandstrom between her heroic strokes. "I'll show you how we treat squealers in Westjack!"

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

The cruel Mrs. Sandstrom unleashes a torrent of repeats upon your squirming behind. You can do little but sob through them as the operator manager takes her succulent revenge upon your blistering cheeks.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

Turn to page 469.

Page 468

You can't deny that your bottom feels scorched and bruised. The hickory cane is a nasty implement, generally shunned by the more artistic whippers of the island. But the very fact that Mrs. Sandstrom needs to rely on such a brutal weapon indicates something ... pathetic about her. She's beating you because you've already won -- and it's hard to take the smug grin off your face as you hear Mrs. Sandstrom grunt and moan behind you, trying to eek a cry out of your lips.

Gain 1 point of Ambition as you revel in your power.

"You're a tough creature, Miss. Hathaway, I'll grant you that," puffs Mrs. Sandstrom. "But we're not done yet!"

Turn to page 469.

Page 469

Thwack! Thwack!

With a final grunt of effort Mrs. Sandstrom inflicts her final two painful strokes upon your scarlet behind. At the end of it she seems to give a whimper, before placing the cane reluctantly upon her desk.

Raise your Bum Status by 2 Levels .

"You beast!" she cries. "That was hardly sufficient compensation for taking my favourite whipping wench from me..."

"But it was what we agreed," you insist, rising from your punishment position. "Now sign that release note -- or Mr Stevenson will hear how you welched on our deal."

Sulking heavily, Mrs. Sandstrom writes out a small note giving her permission to transfer Liz to your team.

"Just present this to Mr Stevenson," she says grimly. "It should be all you need to complete the transfer."

Thanking her for her time you quickly leave the office to book a meeting with Mr Stevenson.

Record the codeword ACCEPT .

Turn to page 472.

Page 470

"I find your attitude and work ethics to be nothing less than disgraceful, Mrs. Sandstrom!" you snap in outrage. "Your selfish desire to torment this poor young woman is grotesque, especially since it also involves depriving the larger company and the island of her expertise. You can be sure my next step is to see Mr Stevenson to report your abusive behaviour! It is not for you to stand in the way of his projects, or to demean his staff!"

If your Ambition is 7 or more Turn to page 471.
If not, read on.

You meant for your stern reprimand to come off as dominating and fearful -- but the tone of your voice is all wrong and you instead come off as a spoiled child telling off her mother for not getting her a pony.

"Mr Stevenson is an old friend," says Mrs. Sandstrom easily. "He understands the perks of office. Goodness, he seems to thrash that poor secretary of his daily, and with greater severity than I do with Liz. Besides -- he's at best luke-warm to the entire mobile phone project..."

"That's not true!" you retort.

"Believe what you like," shrugs Mrs. Sandstrom. "But I'll not be handing over Liz to you. Not if I have anything to say about it."

Fortunately it's not going to be Mrs. Sandstrom's decision. Stamping your foot you quickly exit the office and make your way up to Mr Stevenson's office to decide the matter once and for all.

Turn to page 472.

Page 471

"There's ... there's no need to inform Mr Stevenson!" cries Mrs. Sandstrom in alarm. "I'm sure he wouldn't be interested in what I get up to with a junior member of staff..."

You smile and strike a proud pose. "Haven't you heard? I'm his new golden girl. I can't do any wrong in his eyes. If I say you are blocking my project you'll be gone -- just like that!" you cry, snapping your fingers dramatically.

Mrs. Stevenson startles. She's not sure you're telling the truth ... but she can't risk it!

"Well ... under the circumstances I see no reason why Liz wouldn't benefit from a few months of something different," she murmurs, backpedalling wildly. "Just be sure she comes back to me if this mobile phone project goes wrong..."

"It won't," you snap. "Now sign that release form!"

Sulking heavily, Mrs. Sandstrom writes out a small note giving her permission to transfer Liz to your team.

"Just present this to Mr Stevenson," she says grimly. "It should be all you need to complete the transfer."

Thanking her for her time you quickly leave the office to book a meeting with Mr Stevenson.

Record the codeword ACCEPT .

Turn to page 472.

Page 472

Exiting the lift at the second floor you stroll into Mr Stevenson's office, the pretty Jennifer looking up from her monitor to smile warmly at you.

"Hello Dianne," she pipes. "Mr Stevenson asked me to clear his diary for you, so you can go right in."

"Thanks Jenny," you smile back, quickly knocking on the door to the inner office.

Mr Stevenson does not keep you waiting, beckoning you to come in through the glass window of the office. He is on the phone, but indicates that you should take a seat.

"No, I'll be there ... eight o'clock ... fine," he says firmly. "No -- I'll tell the wife to forget dinner, I'll eat there. Goodbye John."

Mr Stevenson puts the phone down and exhales sharply. Evidently he has booked a liaison he does not want to keep.

"Good afternoon, sir," you say.

"Is it?" he questions dully. "No doubt I'll be getting more grief from the council tonight about this damn project. How is it going?"

Mr Stevenson fixes you with one of his trademark deadly stares.

If you have the weakness 'I'm sorry Mr Stevenson', Turn to page 473.
If not, read on.

"Fine, sir," you say breezily. "But I wanted to take you up on your offer. The one about transferring a staff member from another department onto the project?"

Mr Stevenson raises his bushy eyebrows. "Who did you have in mind?"

"Elizabeth Hall -- she's an operator. She also attended Birmingham University with Julian Bennett."

"Does she want to transfer?" asks Mr Stevenson directly.

If you have the codeword WILLING, Turn to page 474.
If not, read on.

"She wasn't exactly enthusiastic," you admit carefully.

Mr Stevenson flares his nostrils. "What about her manager, Mrs. Sandstrom -- will she release her?"

If you have the codeword ACCEPT Turn to page 480.
If not, read on.

"I ... err ... well..." you blather, a cold fear seeping through you.

"Either she has said no ... or you haven't bothered asking her!" snaps Mr Stevenson cutting to the chase. "Which is it then?"

"I ... I suppose I haven't been very thorough..." you confess, feeling suddenly small and weak.

What happens next is as inevitable as it is painful. Mr Stevenson, upset that you have wasted his time, proceeds to thrash you a dozen sharp strokes with his rattan cane. Bent over his desk, your knickers around your ankles, you can only wince and howl out your distress as your boss carries out his 'motivating' punishment.

Raise your Bum Status by 2 levels -- and lose 1 point of Ambition for humiliating yourself in front of your boss!

Apologising for taking up his time you quickly pull your knickers over your scalding buttocks and get back to work!

Turn to page 789.

Page 473

Your legs turn to jelly and your stomach swirls as Mr Stevenson gazes directly into your eyes. Your throat tightens in fear ... why, oh why does this man have such a weakening effect on you?

"It's ... umm ... going alright..." you offer feebly.

Mr Stevenson twitches his great mostache. "Why do I always feel like I'm talking to a mouse whenever I see you, Dianne? For goodness sake, girl! Grow a spine!"

"I'm sorry, Mr Stevenson!" you blub in terror.

"Clearly you need another dose of the cane to stiffen your sinews!" declares Mr Stevenson, rising from his desk menacingly. "Twelve strokes to those twitching buttocks should compel you to talk clearly! Bend over the desk, knickers down, Dianne!"

Mr Stevenson does not even wait for you to obey -- simply turning around to select a cane from his umbrella stand. Oh! The horror! Does he not understand how intimidating he is? How is any girl meant to develop confidence when she is subjected to a cruel thrashing every time you meet?

You do not dare disobey, obediently rising and then bending over the desk, struggling with your knickers in your prone position. The trembling in your fingers and sudden haste makes the operation all too difficult, and by the time Mr Stevenson has selected the whippy rattan cane and turned to present it to you your knickers are still only halfway down your buttocks.

Snarling in annoyance Mr Stevenson quickly steps behind you and tugs your panties down to your ankles, hobbling your legs together. In your heels you are naturally in tiptoe position, your bottom thrust up prominently for Mr Stevenson's attention.

Tap, tap...

Mr Stevenson begins to tap the cane across the centre of your backside, an involuntary 'oh!' escaping your lips as you feel the cold sliver of wood brush against your buttocks. You know what is coming, and screw your eyes tight closed for the coming impact.

Tap, tap ... vip!

With the crack of an expert cane stroke Mr Stevenson's cane plies itself into your defenceless bum cheeks, a stinging cut that rips a cry from your lips.

Vip! Vip!

Two more strokes have your bum hopping, and you grind your teeth from the searing slices that criss-cross over your central buttocks.

Vip! Vip!

You sob and moan as Mr Stevenson plies his cane. That he is a master of the implement has always been obvious to you. This, combined with his dominating personality, utterly crushes your will, and you shamelessly jiggle your bottom in pain as he slices one cut over the other.

By the end of the caning you are shuddering and breathless. Raise your Bum Status by 2 levels . Lose 1 Dignity point for your humiliating display -- but raise your Willpower by 1. Having been so expertly punished you know the difference between a casual whipping and the impersonal skill of a true master -- and this may help you in your trials to come.

"Rise, Dianne," says Mr Stevenson grimly. "Now tell me ... how is your project going?"

Shaking from your tormenting punishment you push yourself up, hardly daring to pull up your knickers or touch your searing behind.

"Fine, sir," you say, your voice warbling. "But ... but I wanted to take you up on your offer. The one about transferring a staff member from another department onto the project?"

Mr Stevenson raises his bushy eyebrows. "Who did you have in mind?"

"Elizabeth Hall -- she's an operator. She also attended Birmingham University with Julian Bennett."

"Does she want to transfer?" asks Mr Stevenson directly.

If you have the codeword SOLD, Turn to page 474.
If not, read on.

"She wasn't exactly enthusiastic," you admit carefully.

Mr Stevenson flares his nostrils. "What about her manager, Mrs. Sandstrom -- will she release her?"

If you have the codeword ACCEPT Turn to page 480.
If not, read on.

"I ... err ... well..." you blather, a cold fear seeping through you.

"Either she has said no ... or you haven't bothered asking her!" snaps Mr Stevenson cutting to the chase. "Which is it then?"

"I ... I suppose I haven't been very thorough..." you confess, feeling suddenly small and weak.

What happens next is as inevitable as it is painful. Mr Stevenson, upset that you have wasted his time, proceeds to thrash you a dozen sharp strokes with his rattan. Bent over his desk, your knickers around your ankles, you can only wince and howl out your distress as your boss carries out his 'motivating' punishment.

Raise your Bum Status by 2 levels -- and lose 1 point of Ambition for humiliating yourself in front of your boss!

Apologising for taking up his time you quickly pull your knickers over your scalding buttocks and get back to work!

Turn to page 789.

Page 474

"She's very keen," you admit proudly. "I had an interview with her. She's put her transfer request in writing."

You hand over Liz's note and Mr Stevenson briefly examines it, nodding. "What about her manager, Mrs. Sandstrom? Will she let her go?"

If you have the codeword ACCEPT, Turn to page 475.
Otherwise read on.

"Well ... she hasn't agreed as such," you say carefully. "But it's not really her decision, is it? You're the one who arranges transfers, aren't you sir?"

Mr Stevenson's face darkens. "Not if it's going to cause trouble amongst the staff..."

If your Ambition is 4 or more, Turn to page 476.
If not, read on.

"Surely my project takes precedence ... I mean ... it's so much more important than Mrs. Sandstrom's department..." you whine.

"In your opinion," snaps Mr Stevenson. "But the fact is I'll need the operators department running smoothly in case my new English manager fails to get her project off the ground! And given you can't even negotiate a transfer deal properly I'm not going to be holding my breath."

You swallow your retort -- you don't want to provoke your boss further.

"Well ... good day, sir," you say with restraint, quickly leaving Mr Stevenson's office. You've lost this one.

Turn to page 789.

Page 475

"Mrs. Sandstrom signed the transfer agreement this morning," you smile, handing over Mrs. Sandstrom's note to Mr Stevenson.

Mr Stevenson looks impressed as he scans over the note. "Well then -- everything seems to be in order," he says. "I'll have Liz Hall transferred to you tomorrow morning. Is there anything else?"

"No. Thank you, sir," you reply politely, rising from your chair.

Gain 3 points of Reputation and 1 point of Ambition. Mr Stevenson knows full well it could not have been easy to persuade both manager and employee to transfer over, and his regard for you has increased.

Turn to page 477.

Page 476

"Sir -- let's face facts," you say, exasperated. "My project can only succeed if I have the very best minds and most talented workers assigned to it. Liz Hall is wasted in the operators department. Really, sir, it's up to you. I'm the manager of this project and I tell you now that I need Liz Hall to complete it. Now it's up to you to decide if this project is important enough to you to let it succeed -- if so, give me Liz. If not, just tell me now so that we can both stop wasting each other's time!"

Ouch! That was harsher than you meant to make it! Your bottom clenches instinctively as you consider Mr Stevenson's likely reaction to it. His face is a stony, with not so much as a flicker from his moustache to convey his emotions.

"Well ... you're right of course, Dianne," he says to your great surprise. "I'll have Liz Hall transferred to you in the morning."

"Oh..." you say, stunned. "Thank you, sir..."

Mr Stevenson stares at you for a few moments longer as you absorb your victory. "Well? Off you go, I'm sure you're busy!"

"Busy? Yes! Very busy!" you blather, quickly rising from your chair. "Thank you, sir."

You quickly rise from your chair and make your way to the door.

"Oh, by the way, Dianne?" asks Mr Stevenson as your hand reaches the handle.

"Yes, sir?"

"Don't push it," he warns -- his face grim.

You swallow. "Yes ... yes, sir," you murmur, before quickly fleeing the office.

Turn to page 477.

Page 477

You've done it! You've managed to employ the most technically qualified woman on the island onto your team. With Elizabeth Hall cracking problems and resolving technical issues progress on the technical side of the project will fly.

If you have the codeword SOLD, Turn to page 478.
If not, read on.

Liz herself is delighted. At last she has something she can get her teeth into -- as well as the approval of a manager who respects her technical skills. The fact that you double her wages after the first week doesn't hurt either...

"I've never been so happy!" she exclaims to you one lunchtime. "I don't know how you managed to get me out of Mrs. Sandstom's grasp -- but really, truly, thank you!"

With Liz on your team, fully motivated your progress quickly advances. Gain 12 progress points . Also gain 1 point of Dignity -- saving Liz from the clutches of Mrs. Sandstrom makes you feel like a true hero.

Gain the codeword TRANSFER .

If you have the codeword DUTY, Turn to page 479.

If not, Turn to page 789.

Page 478

Unfortunately Liz is rather demoralised when she hears that her 'arrangement' with Mrs. Sandstrom has to continue despite her transfer.

"But that was the main reason why I left, miss!" she complains. "To escape the constant punishment. Now you say that has to continue?"

"I'm sorry, Liz," you console her. "But that was the deal I had to make. You still have your promotion..."

"But I still get to be thrashed like a common operator!" she moans. "Oh ... I suppose it's not your fault, miss. I guess even you can't change Westjack Island..."

Liz remains on the team ... but she's not exactly buzzing with enthusiasm. Still, her expertise is useful on the project, and you gain 6 Progress points .

For Liz, though, the drudgery continues. Every Friday night she shuffles back to her old manager's office to await her unfair beating. A little piece of her soul dies each time.

Gain the codeword TRANSFER .

Turn to page 789.

Page 479

But at what cost is your victory? Now, every Friday, you must walk the walk of shame down to the office of Mrs. Sandstrom. Initially you awkwardly take instruction, shuddering inwardly as Mrs. Sandstrom orders you to bend over in the middle of the room, your knickers and skirt removed. Laboured instructions about how much noise you could make, the embargo on flinching or bending of the knees, and dozens of other rules to put you ill at ease all precluded your energetic thrashing.

In time, of course, these introductory spiels become unnecessary, and like Liz before you, you eventually enter the office quietly, quickly strip off and await your punishment.

That punishment is rarely harsh, but it is long and varied. Mrs. Sandstrom experiments with hairbrushes, straps, whips, canes and paddles on your up thrust bum. You have no say in terms of number of strokes or duration.

This constant punishment takes its toll on your bottom. From now on the lowest your Bum Status can fall is 'Ouchy'. Simply delete any lower levels on your character sheet to help you remember. Your bottom simply never gets a chance to fully heal whilst Mrs. Sandstrom is working on it -- but she is merciful enough to spare your bum any harshness when it has been recently, heavily, thrashed.

It's not all bad news, though. You learn a lot about poise and endurance from your weekly punishments. Gain 2 Dignity points and 2 Willpower points. Surely now, with this constant practice, you can take a beating as well as any Westjack girl!

Turn to page 789.

Page 480

"Well that's something, at least!" grumbles Mr Stevenson as he surveys the transfer slip from Mrs. Sandstrom. "Still ... if the girl isn't keen, I don't see much advantage in taking her on."

"Don't you worry about that, sir," you say firmly. "I can mould her to fit the team."

If your Ambition is 2 or more, Turn to page 481.
If not, read on.

Mr Stevenson sneers. "A mouse like you? Mould a Westjack woman? Oh ... please, Dianne. This is rank comedy! Transfer denied! You may go."

You swallow in humiliation at your sudden dressing down ... but you certainly don't have the guts to press the point.

"Of course, sir ... sorry, sir," you add for good measure, swiftly leaving the office -- taking your hopes of an expanded team with you...

Turn to page 789.

Page 481

"I'm sure you will," says Mr Stevenson dryly. "Very well, Dianne, transfer approved. Liz can start with you first thing tomorrow morning."

You cannot help the smile spreading across your face. "Thank you, sir."

You quickly rise and leave the office before Mr Stevenson can change his mind...

Turn to page 477.

Page 482

"We'll go for Angela," you say firmly. "I'm away from the office so much I need someone to watch the team."

"She'll certainly do that -- with a hawk's eye!" laughs Philippa. "I think my bum might regret me recommending her, though..."

"A bit of a martinet, is she?" you ask.

"She's always fair," insists Philippa, "but never less than strict."

You think carefully. You don't exactly approve of corporal punishment, but it is the norm here -- and frankly you'd rather someone did it for you than sully your hands with the matter yourself. You've got a career outside of Westjack ahead of you, after all.

"Do you know how I get hold of her?"

"Get Mr Stevenson's secretary to book you an appointment," says Julian. "She's got all the contact details for the oil company."

A few days later you are being flown by helicopter over the sea towards the nearby oil-rig. Sitting just a few miles off-shore, the Globe Oil drilling platform is a superb construction, co-ordinating a number of other oil rigs along Westjack's west coast.

Oil has brought a fortune to the island residents, allowing the construction and maintenance of public buildings, schools and hospitals -- as well as full employment through the powerful town council since the end of the Second World War. There is no one in Wesjack who does not bemoan the sight of the massive drilling stations -- and no one who wishes to see them leave.

Globe Oil have an agreement with the island that all non-engineering roles on the platforms are to be filled by local residents. The Central Platform, which you are now flying to, is as much an administration hub as it is a drilling station. It is here that Westjack culture can be felt most acutely, and women in dignified, impractical dresses can be seen covering their modesty as they struggle from office to office -- the fierce winds of the Atlantic obliging them to hold their skirts down as they skitter past.

Your helicopter lands on the pad with a great roar of cutting rotors. Nearby a foreman supervisor loses his checksheet to the blasting down-draft, cursing the new arrival to the rig.

Your pilot turns off the engine and addresses you as the rotors slowly wind down. "We're here, Miss. Hathaway," he smiles. "You might want to make your way to the central office and check in with reception. They can be awfully jumpy around strangers."

"Thanks -- I will," you assure him, hopping out the helicopter. Your tight-fitting skirt and suit are less prone to the whipping wind, but none the less you press your skirt to your thigh as you make your way along the helipad towards the office with the large 'Globe Oil' sign posted above it.

"Excuse me!" shouts a nearby man -- and you turn to look. It is the Foreman Supervisor. "I've just lost my audit sheet thanks to you!"

"Sorry," you shrug. "Did you not see the on-coming helicopter?"

"I'll not take any smart-talk from you girl!" he cries, red-faced. "Bend over the railings! A few minutes discussion between my hand and your arse should make you show the proper regret!"

What do you do?

Sigh inwardly and bend yourself straight over the railings? Turn to page 483.

Tell him that you're here to see Ms Carmichael? Turn to page 484.

Point out that you are English, not a Westjack girl? Turn to page 485.

Page 483

Why make a fuss? Once a girl's fate is decreed the spanking is inevitable. You may as well get it over with.

"Of course, my apologies," you say courteously, swiftly pressing yourself against the railings and bending over.

Gain 2 points of Reputation -- the locals will be happy that you do not consider yourself too good for a punishment.

Turn to page 486.

Page 484

"Well, normally I would be delighted, of course," you say courteously. "But I'm afraid I've booked an appointment with Ms Carmichael, and I don't want to be late."

The mention of Ms Carmichael's name seems to put the Forman off. "Oh, her ... well, I should probably let you get on then..." he mumbles.

The Forman slopes off. Interesting ... even the boys have something to fear from Ms Carmichael. She must be formidable indeed...

Turn to page 488.

Page 485

"That doesn't make a difference here," shrugs the supervisor. "I've spanked visiting English girls before ... in fact I've spanked every visiting English girl who's ever come to this platform. You know our laws and customs -- get over that railing!"

How rude! Still -- it's not possible to refuse a spanking and stay in polite society. You have little choice but to accede to the Forman's demands. Bending over the railings, your bottom nearly bursting from your tight skirt, you begin to rue the day you came to this oil rig...

Turn to page 486.

Page 486

Your face flushes as you gaze at the sight below you. The churning ocean is sixty feet down, and even from here ocean spray wets your face as you lean over the safety railings. Behind you the Forman's rough hands grasp the hem of your skirt, peeling the tight material over your rounded buttocks, the cold ocean air immediately cooling your skin. You've not had a spanking yet that wasn't bare-bum, and so you are not surprised when the Forman tugs your knickers down to your knees, leaving your bottom shiveringly exposed.

"Fine bum you have there," compliments the Forman. "Looks a bit cold, though. This should warm it up..."

Of that there is no doubt. Soon the Forman is striking your bum-cheeks with his hand, slapping each buttock separately with a cupped hand to make the cheeks roll and bounce. You bite your lip as he smacks you, your freezing legs trembling in the fierce ocean winds, gripping onto the railings for dear life. This perilous spanking gnaws as much at your fears as it does your rapidly warming buttocks.

If either your Dignity or Willpower is 4 or more, Turn to page 487.
If not, read on.

Soon you are whimpering ... the terrible combination of cold, the frightening height and the constant belabouring of your bottom leads to a shivering of your bottom and legs, your knees anxiously scissoring as the Forman batters your behind.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

"Ouch! Oh! Please!" you whine, frightened and hurting, the ocean waves crashing below, slapping the legs of the platform as roughly as the hand that slaps your bum.

"You big sissy!" he teases. "Can't you even take a little bit of spanking? Don't know how you'd deal with a heavy paddle or cutting cane..."

Smack! Smack! Smack!

The whole experience shakes your endurance. Lose 1 point of Willpower .

Finally, after several fraught minutes, the Forman stops, your bottom smouldering behind you. Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

"Now what do you say?" asks the Forman testily.

"Thank you, sir," you warble feebly.

"Good girl," he says kindly. "Now, on your way!"

Quickly rising from your nerve-wracking position you tug your panties back up and smooth your skirt down. The Forman has already gone, presumably to find himself another auditing sheet. Trembling, you make your way down to the office.

Turn to page 488.

Page 487

Smack! Smack! Smack!

The Forman's hand cracks on your bottom with a relentless rhythm. You ride through the pain, eager that this lowly functionary does not perceive any discomfort from you. If there's anything you've learned from living on Westjack Island it's that a girl can enhance her reputation by enduring with stoicism.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

The Forman becomes increasingly annoyed, spanking you harder to elicit a response. He even resorts to smacking the back of your legs, which you are not sure is legal. None the less you make not the slightest complaint -- and long before you reach discomfort the Forman is forced to quit his labours on account of his sore hand.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

"Well ... you took that like a lady," he is forced to concede.

Gain 1 point of Dignity , and 1 point of Reputation.

"Thank you, sir," you say courteously. "May I rise?"

"Yes ... of course," concedes the Forman. "All wrongs have been righted."

You smile at him as you slide your knickers back up and roll down your skirt. Tradition has been satisfied and you have exceeded yourself. In a very strange way you feel as if everyone has benefitted from this encounter.

Nodding politely you saunter off towards the office.

Turn to page 488.

Page 488

The inside of the rig is very industrialised and plain. Numerous warning signs, arrows and diagrams are screwed onto the walls, and the place feels cold and damp even on the inside. Men and women pass you by, dressed warmly against the constant cold, endlessly busy with their many tasks.

The secretarial office is just off the entrance corridor and has a few more feminine touches. Plastic flowers sit in vases, and birthday decorations are strung up along one girl's pod. As soon as you enter the secretaries, five of them, stand up to attention from their desks. A pretty brown haired girl approaches you.

"Good morning, miss," she says warmly. "Are you here to see someone?"

"Angela Carmichael -- is she in?" you ask.

"No -- but she'll be back very shortly," replies the girl. "She just had to ... sort out a little problem in the canteen. Can I get you a drink? Tea? Coffee?"

"A coffee would be lovely," you smile. "I'm frozen from the trip!"

"Just step into Ms Carmichael's office and we'll bring it through -- I'll turn the heater on," assures the girl, purposely guiding you into the inner office.

The office itself is efficient but not entirely Spartan. There is a photo board on the wall showing the office girls at some kind of party. They are all smiles, clinking drinks, some posed in mid-dance. The additional figure of the group must be Ms Carmichael ... she towers over the other girls, looking muscular and fit in her sleeveless party dress. It looks like she has a very happy team.

You turn to ask about the photo and have to supress a gasp. The girl is currently on her knees trying to turn the electric heater on under the desk, bent over. Her skirt has risen up and her knickerless buttocks are on display, quite criss-crossed with the tell-tale tracks of cane strokes.

"Oh..." you say, unable to think of anything else to say.

The girl quickly stands and brushes down her skirt. "Sorry, miss, didn't mean to flash," she says, her face flushing. "You're English, yes, so you're probably completely shocked."

"No -- no, I'm not shocked," you lie. "I was just thinking ... is it normal for a Westjack girl to go without knickers? I'm not being sarcastic -- I genuinely don't know..."

"Oh," flushes the girl. "No -- that's Ms Carmichael's decree. She's a bit unorthodox. She likes us knickerless so we're always conscious of our bottoms. You know ... to keep our minds on the work? She says she has our knickers down so often it's wasting company time."

She giggles as if this is the most hilarious joke in the world, but quickly straightens when she sees you are not joining in. "Seriously, though -- she's not cruel. We all love her to bits! She's just strict."

"So I see," you say nervously. "Well ... should I sit anywhere? I don't want to sit in the wrong place and end up in the same situation as you..."

"No, she won't mind that ... but why don't you sit here, by the heater?" she smiles, directing you into a nearby swivel chair. "If it's alright I'll get back to work -- I've got so much to do."

"Of course -- thank you," you say, sitting down to get yourself comfortable.

You pass the time by briefly looking across the office. Everything is very neat and tidy, organised into alphabetical and numerical order on the shelves. There is a small picture of a man in a silver frame next to her computer. He looks Spanish, or possibly South American. Is this her husband, you ponder?

Suddenly the door opens with a sudden clunk, quite jumping you out of your skin. Ms Carmichael, all six foot of her, strides into the office, her long, curly black hair a veritable frizz around her face. She looks to be in her mid-thirties and in perfect health. She smiles as she sees you and extends her hand.

"Miss. Hathaway?" she asks.

"Yes -- and please, it's Dianne," you reply quickly taking her hand.

"Damn good to see you Dianne," she says, almost laughing. "Have my girls got you a drink?"

"They were just making me a coffee, I think..."

"They're always halfway through doing things," laughs Angela, shaking her head. She quickly turns and opens the door. "Tina! Are you waiting for the beans to grow? Where's Miss. Hathaway's coffee?"

"Coming ... just coming!" insists Tina, trotting along with a cup of coffee in her hands. She quickly steps in and places the coffee reverently before you. "I'm sorry, Miss. Hathaway, I was chatting and got distracted. Would you like me over the chair or touching toes?"

"I ... err..." you blather.

"She's asking how you want to beat her, Dianne," explains Angela. "Tina -- do try to make yourself clear. It sounds like you're coming on to the poor woman."

"Oh!" giggles Tina. "I definitely didn't mean that!"

How do you want to navigate this strange situation?

Will you punish Tina yourself? Turn to page 489.

Ask Angela to do it for you? Turn to page 492.

Or will you pardon Tina for her 'crime' of chatting? Turn to page 493.

Page 489

Well ... in for a penny, in for pound. Besides, you might end up impressing your new employee.

"Oh -- the chair will be fine, Tina," you say graciously. "It's not exactly a hanging offence. Here, you can use mine."

You rise from your chair and indicate it to Tina. You have barely left the seat when Tina quickly kneels onto the seat, grasping the armrests and pushing her bottom out. Her skirt again rises, so that you get a teasing view of the crease of her whipped bottom as she arches her lower back.

Angela smiles, grasping the hem of the skirt and flipping it up to nestle in the curve of Tina's lower back. Tina's buttocks, round and fulsome, are now on display -- a network of still fresh cane strokes intertwining across the glorious globes.

"Do you have anything I could use?" you ask Angela. "I'm afraid I normally travel light, you see."

Angela nods and opens up a large metal cabinet in the corner of the room. It no longer surprises you that it contains a series of canes, crops and whips -- it seems that in Westjack a punishment cupboard is as common as a stationary one is in England. Ms Carmichael carefully takes out a three foot long glistening cane, with only slight striations along its length. It looks smooth, light and flexible. She hands the weapon over to you.

"My rattan," she smiles. "Since you're a guest."

"Thanks," you say unsurely, flexing the magnificent cane. "I'm going to make it a dozen, Tina, so hold on tight," you say, measuring the cane up against the poor secretary's bum. Tina sucks in her breath, her bottom trembling, as she awaits your first stroke.

If you have the codeword TRAINED, Turn to page 490.
Otherwise, read on.

This is going to require some steel on your part. As far as you're concerned there's no way Tina deserves a dozen strokes of the cane for being late with your coffee -- but that's how things are done here. You'll have to supress your sense of mercy and get on with it. Fortunately Tina and Angela are making it very easy for you -- it's unlikely Tina will hold any grudges after her punishment.

If your Ambition is 3 or more, Turn to page 491.
Otherwise, read on.

Vip!

Full of nerves you slash the cane down at a terrifying rate, cutting the air with an awful swish before slicing into Tina's bottom. The poor girl yelps in shock, an angry red welt immediately decorating her already thrashed behind.

"Oh! Sorry!" you cry instinctively.

Tina turns her head around with a puzzled expression on her face. Angela raises an eyebrow.

"That was a bit too strong, sorry," you repeat.

"Tina," barks Angela. "Face to the front -- you'll get another dozen from me later for breaking position."

"Sorry, miss -- yes miss!" squeaks Tina, quickly turning her head around the right way.

"Continue, Dianne," says Angela coolly.

You are mortified at the gruesome stripe you have inflicted on the poor girl. Your next stroke is a feeble tap. The following strokes merely perfunctory, failing to raise so much as a blush on Tina's bottom. This feeble performance continues throughout the whole dozen, and you are unable to summon up the will to hurt the poor girl. Tina, confused as to exactly what her response should be to this pathetic punishment, merely remains stock-still, and waits for you to finish.

"You can get up now," you say at last, when your final little stroke taps her rear end. Tina thanks you, rises stiffly and quickly leaves the office.

Angela makes her way to her seat, shaking her head. "Well," she says, "you've a lot to learn about crowd control, Dianne."

You can't help but agree.

Lose 1 point of Dignity , and Turn to page 494.

Page 490

This shouldn't be difficult. You have a good cane, a compliant subject, and all the time in the world. Carefully lining up your cane you swish it down in a firm, controlled slice, to cut into the centre of Tina's whipped buttocks.

The girl stiffens as the sharp pain of the stroke courses through her, her fingers gripping the chair arms. She does not cry out, but you are pleased with your stroke. You know you can make her whimper towards the end.

Vip!

A stroke you plant just a little lower causes Tina to jolt her buttocks up slightly, an action you quickly control by pressing the length of the cane across her top cheeks to steady her. She is soon obediently back in position.

Vip! A stroke even lower, just above her legs, produces the first cry, and you nod appreciatively as Tina's buttocks clench tightly from sizzling shot.

Vip! Vip! Vip!

A steady, careful rhythm of strokes has Tina twisting in her chair, her scalding cheeks contorting to escape the even blows to her behind. Angela watches with professional appreciation as you make her secretary suffer, but never take your blows to the heights of cruelty. Tina is having a testing time, but you moderate your blows, hard and soft, according to the little changes in her poise and the pitch of her cries.

Vip! Vip!

At the last two strokes, which you deliver in quick succession to confuse the girl, Tina gives a throaty groan -- her succulent globes spasming uncontrollably. Angela gives you a hearty nod. You've impressed her.

Gain 1 point of Ambition and 3 points of Reputation.

"Well, Tina," says Angela smiling. "I think it's fair to say that you'll not be chatting over the coffee machine for a few days, yes?"

"Absolutely, miss!" agrees Tina. "May I rise?"

"Yes," you say benevolently, returning the cane to Angela as Tina struggles stiffly out of position. "And perhaps you could get me another coffee? This one's gone cold."

"Yes, miss!" snaps Tina, quickly taking your cold coffee and dashing out the door to obey. It's going to be the fastest cup of coffee anyone has ever made you...

Turn to page 494.

Page 491

You have no technique or skill with the cane. You'll just have to play this as an uber bitch! Full of nerves you slash the cane down at a terrifying rate, cutting the air with an awful swish before slicing into Tina's bottom. The poor girl yelps in shock, an angry red welt immediately decorating her already thrashed behind.

"Quiet, Tina! Don't make a fuss!" you chide raising the cane again.

Vip! You cut into Tina's bottom at a random slant, slicing along her previous welts, causing a throaty groan to emerge from Tina's mouth. Tina's bottom jiggles furiously, desperate to alleviate the stinging pain.

She deserves it, you tell yourself, she brought you cold coffee after all!

Vip!

Another meaty blow across the centre of Tina's buttocks produces a wail. There is a sadistic part of you that is enjoying this -- a flick of the wrist, or the swing of an arm, creates a symphony of pain from the poor girl. And she has to take it ... that's the thrilling thing -- the girl has to take what you give her...

Vip! Vip!

You crack your cane across Tina's backside with vigour, determined not to show any weakness. Indeed, Angela's eyebrows are arched in surprise as she watches the polite English girl who entered her office transformed into a cruel demon. Tina shakes through her punishment, gripping onto the chair back for dear life. Her backside is practically glowing with welts, deep purple beginning to etch around her old stripes. You are probably caning this girl much too hard -- but you can't pull back now. You have a persona to keep up with.

Vip!

"Oh!"

Vip!

"Ngg!"

Vip!

"Ahhh!"

Tina cries out at every stroke -- and by the last she is heartily sobbing.

"Buck up, Tina -- it's all over now," you reassure her.

"Th ... thank you, miss," she sobs, struggling from her position to stand. "May I ... may I touch my..."

"Permission granted," you say sternly.

"Ouch!" she whimpers as she clutches her sliced globes, the tears brimming in her eyes. "That was ... very tight, miss."

"Well -- next time be a little more attentive," you scold. "Other visitors might not be as gentle as I am."

"Yes, miss ... may I go, Miss. Carmichael?" pleads Tina.

"Yes ... and no chatting!" warns Angela, as Tina dashes out the door, one hand clutching her scalding cheeks as she goes.

"Well," says Angela, looking upon you warily. "Remind me never to get on your bad side, Dianne."

Gain 1 point of Ambition .

Turn to page 494.

Page 492

"If it's all right, Angela," you say, "I'd like to see how you handle this. It has a bearing on why I'm here."

Angela pauses, a little unsure. "Alright," she agrees quietly. "Tina -- bent over, touching toes. Six strokes of the willow, and not a sound."

"Yes, miss," nods Tina, immediately bending over tightly, her fingers jabbing into her toes. The young secretary's bottom, already lashed from previous errors this week, swells to full prominence before you. Your eyes are no more than two feet away from the taut backside, and you watch as it begins to tremble slightly as Angela produces a short cane from her cupboard.

Ms Carmichael pats the cane sharply against Tina's backside, like she is moulding a beanbag. Tina's springy buttocks immediately bounce back into shape after each tap, her legs stiffening in anticipation.

The short, thick cane is pulled back and swept forwards with sharp speed, Angela flicking her wrist as she follows through. Vap! Tina lurches on her tiptoes, gasping as a red bar of pain paints itself across her bum.

Vap! Vap!

Two quick strokes have Tina gasping, and she is chastised with a slap to her reddening behind when she bends her knees to absorb a stroke.

Vap! Vap! The air currents from the swishing cane caress your cheeks as the girl is beaten point blank before your eyes.

"Ouch!" cries Tina, unable to hold back as her manager thrashes her arse with another cruel pair of blows.

"That's a repeat, Tina -- I said not a sound!"

Tina pushes her buttocks up higher, straining onto her big toes to demonstrate her acceptance. Angela nods curtly, and thrashes down.

Vap! Vap!

It is all Tina can do to supress a groan as Ms Carmichael plants the final two strokes into the girl's lower bottom. You watch from indecent closeness as Tina's skin blushes an ever darker red from the bludgeoning cane.

"Well -- I expected a little better of you, Tina, but I suppose you did well enough," shrugs Ms Carmichael. "You may rise."

"Thank you, miss," groans Tina. "And Miss. Hathaway, I really am dreadfully sorry about the coffee."

"Well ... punishment is over now, so all's forgiven," you say charitably.

Tina thanks you again, before making her way out of the office.

So -- you've seen Angela Carmichael's caning skills from up close! She's clearly comfortable with office discipline, Westjack-style. Now all you need to do is get her on your team.

Turn to page 494.

Page 493

"Well," says Angela sardonically. "It looks like it's your lucky day, Tina. I suggest you apologise again and get out whilst the going is good."

Tina looks momentarily confused, but quickly grins in victory. "I'm very sorry about the coffee, Miss. Hathaway," she smiles, before giggling and making for the door.

She has just opened it when Angela coughs. Tina turns around, looking tense.

"Tina," says Angela quietly.

"Yes, miss?"

"You've escaped nothing ... twelve strokes, from me, before you go tonight -- clear?" says Angela coolly.

Tina goes pale. "Yes, Miss. Carmichael," nods Tina, before leaving the room quietly, closing the door behind her.

Angela shakes her head as she makes her way to her seat. "You can slacken the reins, Dianne," she chides, "but you can never release them. I'll not let cheek like that go unpunished in my office."

You swallow. You can't help but feel you've let Angela Carmichael down...

Lose 1 point of Ambition , and Turn to page 494.

Page 494

"Well, Dianne," smiles Ms Carmichael. "I have to say we're all very excited about your new project over here. I can't wait to get my hands on a smart-phone."

"Really?" you exclaim. "I think you're the first person I've on Westjack to show any enthusiasm..."

"There's more of us than you realise," she smiles. "Most people on Westjack know that there comes a time when you have to let the outside in. The oil rig in the fifties, the airport in the sixties, computers in the nineties. Every so often the people of Westjack accept change, and it's normally when it hits them in the pocket."

"How so?" you press.

"There's trouble brewing ... everyone can feel it," she says, looking out her window towards the mainland. "The 'good old days' are fading. There's fewer visitors to the island -- we were once the secret getaway of rich businessmen who would come here to relax, smack a few bottoms, get wined and dined by the Authority, and then smack a few more bums. They loved it -- the power to spank a woman, completely casual and normal here, is a dark desire for men with money and a wish to abandon responsibility."

"But the island is now feeling increasingly primitive," she darkens. "The internet is changing things -- people want to be connected, even while they are in their private sanctuaries. Those rich businessmen, sponsors of so much of the island's commerce, are beginning to fade away. These men need to work even during their vacations, and that's becoming impossible."

"In any case ... the oil, Dianne, the oil won't last forever," she whispers. "Already one platform has been shut down. More will follow. Without the oil, and without our secret backers, Westjack will become poverty stricken. We need new ways to survive."

This is indeed interesting information. Record the codeword POVERTY .

"Well," you say. "That is what brings me here. My staff tell me you worked at the Telephone Exchange before. Would you ever consider coming back?"

"Not really," admits Angela. "The pay is terrible. It's not much better here, but at least I have the respect of my colleagues."

You smile. "I'll pay you twice what you're earning to join my team -- and I promise that you won't get any disrespect from me."

Angela looks surprised, but cautious. "What's the role?"

"You'll be a floor manager ... keep the projects ticking over when I'm not there," you say. "Also ... I need someone to keep order -- you know -- traditionally."

Angela smiles. "You need someone to thrash bums for you, you mean?"

"Yes," you say uncomfortably. "It's a part of the job I don't have much enthusiasm for..."

Angela pauses a moment, running a hand through her tightly curled hair. "I'm tempted ... but are you sure you want me? I'm awfully strict. You see how I run things here. Do you really want to inflict that on your staff?"

You blush slightly but press on. "Look, Angela -- it's a whole different culture here, I know that now. People have different expectations of management. I need to be able to get on with my work without having to worry about rebellions or people taking the micky because they think I'm too soft. I need a second in command who'll lay down the law -- and you're it."

Angela looks steadily at you, fixing you with her eyes. "So, you're willing to inflict me on the bottoms of your staff -- without ever having felt, first hand, exactly what you're getting?"

A predatory look enters Angela Carmichael's eyes.

What do you say?

Since you're going to be her boss it would be inappropriate for Angela to beat you? Turn to page 495.

Explain that you honestly don't care how hard she whips your staff, as long as they get the job done? Turn to page 499.

Say that you are not afraid of taking what your staff take -- and that if she's unsure she can punish you now? Turn to page 501.

Page 495

"That would hardly be appropriate," you say archly. "Besides I'll be your boss -- let's make that clear now. I'll have to answer to Mr Stevenson."

If you have the codeword KNOW, Turn to page 496.

If your Dignity is 6 or more, Turn to page 497.

Otherwise, read on:

Angela's smile falls. "You come off as rather spoiled, Dianne," she says darkly. "I'm not sure I can work for someone like that -- I don't like it when the English throw their weight around..."

Angela rises from her desk, walking casually over to her cupboard. "Bent over, touching toes, Dianne. That is how you English girls took your licks in the old days, wasn't it?" she says coldly, not bothering to look at you as she selects a long, glistening cane from the cupboard.

What do you do?

Wish her good day and storm out of the office? Turn to page 498.

Or appease her, sharply bending over to take what she wants to give you? Turn to page 502.

Page 496

There is a confident edge to your voice -- you really do know better, after all, having been patiently tutored by Susan, the business lady on the plane.

"I see," says Angela, nodding. "You must forgive me, I'm rather unconventional. Naturally I cannot compel you to do any such thing."

Turn to page 507.

Page 497

Your almost regal bearing cannot be denied. Angela Carmichael is a confident woman, but even she is intimidated by your natural grace and charisma.

"I see," says Angela, nodding. "You must forgive me, I'm rather unconventional. Naturally I cannot compel you to do any such thing."

Turn to page 507.

Page 498

"I think you need to brush up on your interview technique, Angela," you say icily. "Here's a hint -- next time don't threaten to spank the interviewer."

With that you abandon Angela Carmichael, cane still gripped in her hand.

You book the first flight back to the mainland.

Gain 1 Dignity point for refusing to go along with Angela's galling demand.

Turn to page 789.

Page 499

"I think you're assuming that I'm a fair and caring employer," you say sharply. "I'm not. I'm here to do a job and I intend to see it done. I'm offering you a crate load of money to help me. If my staff have to be whipped from morning to evening, so be it. This project will be completed on time!"

Tough stuff. If your Ambition is 5 or more, Turn to page 500.
If not, read on.

Angela shakes her head. "You'll get a taste of what your employees get or I'm not interested," she says firmly. "I don't mind being used as your personal guard dog, but first you need to know how my bite feels. That way you'll know what your staff are getting."

Angela rises from her desk, walking casually over to her cupboard. "Bent over, touching toes, Dianne. That is how you English girls took your licks in the old days, wasn't it?" she says coldly, not bothering to look at you as she selects a long, glistening cane from the cupboard.

What do you do?

Wish her good day and storm out of the office? Turn to page 498.

Or appease her, sharply bending over to take what she wants to give you? Turn to page 502.

Page 500

Angela is quite taken aback. The firmness of your voice, the absolute authority of your tone cannot be denied. She raises her eyebrows.

"Well," she says surprised. "At least I know what to make of you now..."

Turn to page 507.

Page 501

"I'm not afraid of punishment," you say firmly. "If I have to prove myself to you ... by all means, take your best shot. I can take anything my staff get."

Angela was expecting more resistance -- your fearlessness impresses her. Gain 3 points of Reputation .

"I'm glad you feel that way," she says earnestly. "I don't think much of a leader who hasn't tasted the sting of the cane across her arse. Now I can see what you're really worth."

Angela rises from her desk, walking casually over to her cupboard. "Bent over, touching toes, Dianne. That is how you English girls took your licks in the old days, wasn't it?"

You have no idea. But you're going to find out, very soon.

Turn to page 502.

Page 502

Well -- you've conducted many interviews in your time, but none have ended up like this! You sincerely hope that Angela Carmichael is worth all the trouble you've undertaken to employ her. Now you are going the extra mile -- about to be thrashed by your prospective employee so you can understand the sting that you will be inflicting on your staff's bottoms. Enlightenment has never been so painful.

You have bent yourself sharply over, touching your toes in a painful but by now practiced manoeuvre. It's a very disempowering position ... a grovelling position ... and it makes the already six foot tall Angela Carmichael look like a towering giant above you.

Casually, with the end of her cane, she flicks the hem of your short skirt over your stretched backside to take a first view of her target.

"Lovely knickers," she comments. "Frilly white. Must be appreciated by the boys. I don't allow them myself. I prefer my girls self-conscious and always thinking about the vulnerability of their backsides. It keeps them honest. You have no objection to removing them, I trust?"

"No ... no, of course not," you warble, acutely aware of the agitated cane twisting in Ms Carmichael's hands. She's clearly eager to begin. You clumsily tug your knickers down from your bent over position, unsure of the protocol for standing during a punishment. Angela smiles as your gleaming buttocks are exposed to the cold Atlantic sunlight.

"I can't be bothered with the sexism of Westjack," she admits. "I find the idea that men are somehow superior to be laughable. But I have no objection to our other little cultural peculiarity ... you can leave your knickers at your ankles, Dianne."

"Thank you, Ms Carmichael," you say -- you had been fidgeting with your knickers ever since they slid down your long legs, unsure if you were supposed to step out of them completely.

You almost yelp as you feel the cane suddenly tap against the centre of your bottom, the rattan cane cool and even across your cheeks.

"Indeed," continues Ms Carmichael, raising her cane high, "I find the application of corporal punishment as an enforcer of good manners and hard work to be a genius idea..."

Vip!

With the crack of an expert canestroke Ms Carmichael brings the rattan sharply across the centre of your bum cheeks, her arm gracefully following through with a shot that almost pitches you over.

"Ahh!" you shriek at the picture-perfect stroke, a blazing sharp line of fire erupting across your centre cheeks.

"Did you know that I worked in London for a time? Hated it..." she says contemptuously.

Vip!

You grit your teeth at another powerful slice that cuts into your lower cheeks, physically lifting you up onto your tiptoes. It burns sharply.

"Do you know what they use as punishment over there? Stress..."

Vip!

"Oh!" you whimper, the cut stinging.

"They constantly threaten you with half-formed warnings, bully you about reducing your pay, say you're not measuring up..."

Vip!

Tears spring to your eyes as the cane bites into your top cheeks, a fraction below the spine.

"Here -- if your boss is angry or disappointed with you, it's the cane -- quickly administered and on the same day..."

Vip!

"No stress..."

Vip!

"Uhh!"

"No anxiety..."

Vip!

"Ah!"

"Just the agony of cane..."

Vip!

Your knees flex under another potent stroke to your flaming central buttocks, now bright red with welts.

"And if you mess up again, you get the cane again..."

Vip!

"And you get it every time until you change your ways..."

Vip!

"Uhh!" The cane bites deep into your lower cheeks, just above the line that separates bum from legs. You are shuddering in pain -- Ms Carmichael is a fierce caner, and has no lack of technical skill with her implement.

Vip!

"Ah! Please ... please, Ms Carmichael..." you beg. "At least tell me how many I must take..."

"Twenty one," she says. "An adult number. By the last one you'll understand the full impact of employing me ... then it's a matter for your own conscience to decide if you can inflict me on your staff!"

Vip!

You whimper and shuffle as stroke after stroke slices into your up thrust buttocks. This woman's skill is unimpeachable, but is your own endurance good enough to match up to her?

Raise your Bum Status by 2 Levels .

If your Willpower is 5 or more, Turn to page 503.
If not, read on:

Vip! Vip! Vip!

You break down into choking sobs as Angela whips your bum raw. At the seventeenth stroke you collapse on the floor, weeping, your hands firmly clenched around your blazing backside.

Lose 1 point of Dignity .

Angela pauses as you writhe on the floor, placing her cane on the desk. She opens the office door and commands Tina to fetch you a glass of water, which she does with impressive speed.

Tina and Angela help you up, Angela commanding you to take sips of water to help you compose yourself. Through shaking hands you stand there, still half naked, clutching onto the glass for dear life, sipping continuously to ease the tightness of your throat. Angela dismisses Tina with a wave of her hands, and once again you are left alone.

"I'm afraid, Dianne, that we'll have to start again from the beginning," she says softly, comforting you with an arm wrapped around your shaking shoulders. "Touching bum before the end of a caning is strictly forbidden around here..."

"Oh ... Angela..." you sob, looking at her with pleading eyes.

"There's nothing for it, I'm afraid Dianne ... but I'll give you a minute to compose yourself before we start again," she adds kindly.

Oh Lord! How could you bear up again for such terrible punishment?

What do you do?

Tell her to forget the whole thing and quickly make a break for it? Turn to page 504.

Bravely face up to your fears and, once you've composed yourself, bend over for twenty one more of Angela's dreaded cane? Turn to page 505.

Page 503

There's not many more to go -- besides, although the blows are sharp they are honourable. Angela makes no attempt to whip you when you are unready, to perform a crafty double stroke to put you off or to 'accidentally' cut short and strike you somewhere indecent. And as she is honourable so must you be.

That is not to say that you do not whimper or cry out, for how can a girl not when she is so sorely tested, when her bum is sliced again and again by a woman who understands how to hurt a girl? But you bite down and grip on, stabbing your fingers into your toes as Angela Carmichael tests your very soul.

Vip! Vip! Vip!

"Uhhh!" you moan, as the twenty-first stroke sinks into your bruised bum flesh. Your bottom feels positively painted with fire. Raise you Bum Status by 1 Level.

Angela nods, impressed. "You may stand now, Dianne," she says, "and rub your bottom too. You took that well -- though your endurance wasn't really the point of the exercise. The point is you now know exactly what will happen to each member of your staff if you employ me. So ... tell me, have I got the job?"

You rise, clutching your scalding buttocks, and survey the beautiful woman who has just so mercilessly thrashed you.

Do you:

Give Angela the job? Turn to page 508.

Decline to give Angela the job? Turn to page 509.

Page 504

"No! No ... I can't..." you sob. "I ... I understand now ... why you did this. And I can't ... I can't possibly employ someone like you -- I'd never be able to live with myself."

You quickly gather up your knickers, pulling them over your squirming cheeks and head to the door.

"You do not intend even to finish your punishment, Dianne?" demands Ms Carmichael. "That's a poor show..."

"I don't have anything to prove!" you insist. "If I'm not going to employ you, there's hardly any point in taking any more."

You storm out of the office, Ms Carmichael's girls staring at you as you painfully waddle to the exit. Angela Carmichael slowly shakes her head.

Lose 5 points of Reputation . Walking out on a punishment half way through is considered the height of bad manners and poor character.

Turn to page 789.

Page 505

"I'm sorry for being such an awful wimp," you say, passing the glass back to Angela with a less shaky hand.

"I don't think you're a wimp at all -- I think you're very brave," says Angela, taking the glass and leading you back into the centre of the floor. "It's when you've been broken once that the cane holds its true fear. The fact that you're willing to brave up to it again speaks volumes. Bend over please -- touching toes, just as before."

You swallow as Angela removes her arm from your shoulders, leaving you vulnerable and alone to take the cane again. With tremendous willpower you bend back over, your throbbing buttocks aching in complaint as you stretch them tight for another dose of punishment.

You wince as the rattan returns to tap against your welted cheeks. "I'm sure you understand that I cannot go gently on you ... that this second caning will be as fierce as before," says Angela sorrowfully. "Stiff upper lip, old girl, and prepare yourself."

The words both terrify and inspire you. If you're going to get through this at least it will be real -- no pity or holding back. It's time to find out what you're made of...

Vip!

As ruthless as ever, the Angela's cane thrashes into your soft cheeks. You supress a sob as the fire reawakens in your backside.

Vip! Vip!

You yelp, your palms slick with sweat as your sticky fingers jab into the toes of your shoes. You toss your head wildly to disperse the awful pain.

Vip! Vip! Vip!

You couldn't take this before. Do you really think you can take it again? If your Dignity is 3 or more, Turn to page 506.
Otherwise, read on.

You wail, sobbing, as the cane slices into your well-whipped cheeks, your arse on fire from the stinging pain. Your knees bend, and thick tears roll down your cheeks to splash on your shoes.

"That's it, Dianne, let it all out..." sooths Ms Carmichael, raising the cane again.

Vip!

"Ahh! Oh! Miss!" you sob hysterically.

Vip!

"Uhh!"

"The cane is humbling you, Dianne," says Angela coolly. "It happens to us all, sooner or later. All our pride and dignity is absorbed and crushed by the relentless power of the cane..."

Vip! Vip!

"Ah! Ohh!"

"Just keep your hands down and stay bent over," warns Angela. "Keep those hands away from your bum and your suffering will end in time. Not now, of course, but in time..."

Vip! Vip! Vip!

It is impossible to accurately describe your state. Your eyes are puffy with weeping, your arse purpled and welted with thick tracks where the cane has crossed and re-crossed. You are a wreck, and you take your strokes because you must, not because you can.

Vip!

With a final flourish, Ms Carmichael delivers the last stroke, right atop the central bruise that spans the middle of your cheeks. You howl in complaint, shivering in defeat.

Raise your Bum Status by 3 levels , and lose 1 point of Ambition , Dignity and Willpower. This trying caning has seared you to the very soul...

Angela nods. "You may stand now, Dianne," she says, "and rub your bottom too. You took that very poorly -- though your endurance wasn't really the point of the exercise. The point is you now know exactly what will happen to each member of your staff if you employ me. So ... tell me, have I got the job?"

You rise, clutching your scalding buttocks, and survey the beautiful woman who has just so mercilessly thrashed you.

Do you:

Give Angela the job? Turn to page 508.

Decline to give Angela the job? Turn to page 509.

Page 506

All you have left is your pride. The caning hurts, and you cannot stop your tears, nor the shaking of your body as your poor bottom is whipped and whipped again by the bitterly fair Angela Carmichael. But you'll not make a fuss -- you'll not beg for mercy. You've made your decision, and now you'll take the consequences.

Vip!

With a final flourish, Ms Carmichael delivers the last stroke, right atop the central bruise that spans the middle of your cheeks. You give a terrible moan of release, but your twitching, bruised buttocks have survived, and so have you.

Raise your Bum Status by 3 levels , and gain 1 point of Willpower for conquering your demons.

Angela nods. "You may stand now, Dianne," she says, "and rub your bottom too. You took that very poorly -- though your endurance wasn't really the point of the exercise. The point is you now know exactly what will happen to each member of your staff if you employ me. So ... tell me, have I got the job?"

You rise, clutching your scalding buttocks, and survey the beautiful woman who has just so mercilessly thrashed you.

Do you:

Give Angela the job? Turn to page 508.

Decline to give Angela the job? Turn to page 509.

Page 507

"I'll take the job," says Angela after a good deal of thought. "I have my reservations ... but I believe your project will be good for the future of the island, and I'd like a part in it. You did say double wages, yes?"

You smile. "I did."

"Then give me a day or two to wind up here and I'll join you on Thursday morning," she says. "The oil company won't like my leaving so suddenly -- but who cares? I can hardly turn down an opportunity like this, can I?"

You've done it -- Angela Carmichael is on the team! Though she has reservations about you, she is a professional worker who, even independently, furthers the mobile phone project. Gain 6 Progress Points .

More importantly Angela motivates your staff very well. From now on, every time you go to the Event Hub and calculate how many Progress Points you get, you can add an extra point. Angela will 'motivate' any slackening staff beautifully. If you are earning the maximum amount of Progress Points, Angela grants two extra points. She is so inspired by your example that she works (and whips) extra hard!

Gain the codeword TRANSFER , and the codeword ANGELA.

Now Turn to page 789.

Page 508

"Yes," you moan, rubbing your scalding buttocks. "Now I know what you're capable of, I want you more than ever. With you on the team there's no chance of even a moments slackening off -- and that's what I need."

Gain 1 point of Ambition for putting the project before the comfort of your staff -- you're certainly made of tough stuff, Dianne!

"I'll take the job," says Angela warmly, "and very gladly too. I believe your project will be good for the future of the island, and I want a part in it. You did say double wages, yes?"

You smile. "I did."

"Then give me a day or two to wind up here and I'll join you on Thursday morning," she says. "The oil company won't like my leaving so suddenly -- but who cares? I can hardly turn down an opportunity like this, can I?"

You've done it -- Angela Carmichael is on the team! She is a professional worker who, even independently, furthers the mobile phone project. Gain 9 Progress Points .

More importantly Angela motivates your staff very well. From now on, every time you go to the Event Hub and calculate how many Progress Points you get, you can add an extra point. Angela will 'motivate' any slackening staff beautifully. If you are earning the maximum amount of Progress Points, Angela grants two extra points. She is so inspired by your example that she works (and whips) extra hard!

Gain the codeword TRANSFER , and the codeword ANGELA.

Now Turn to page 789.

Page 509

"No..." you say after a few moments thought. "No -- it just wouldn't be moral. You're far too cruel -- I won't have my staff suffer unnecessarily, even for a project as important as this. Thank you, though -- you were right to show me your ... management style. At least I could see what I was getting."

Gain 2 points of Dignity -- you have suffered for your staff and can hold your head up high.

"No hard feelings then," agrees Angela. "I hope you manage to complete your project ... I understand social networking is meant to be rather fun, and I'd like to try it."

"You will," you promise. "Good day, Ms Carmichael."

You return to the island on the first flight back.

Turn to page 789.

Page 510

"I can't believe that this hasn't already been done!" you exclaim at the weekly meeting, looking at the dozens of incomplete files before you. "Are the council really going to insist we fill in every one of these files? They were the ones who wanted the network project in the first place!"

"Licence Authorisation," says Phil Washington, your finance analyst, grimly. "I hate these things. You have to fill one out every time you build a shed, put up a sign ... install double glazing -- everything."

"How did we manage build so many transmitters without completing them?" you ask, bewildered. "Surely we had to get these files filled in first?"

Pauline Weatherly, your legal manager, pipes up. "Strictly speaking you can part build anything you like on your land as long as it is not functional before submitting paperwork. It's a weird bylaw of the island -- because the phone masts and server centres were not yet activated your predecessor used that loophole as an excuse to avoid the paperwork. Legally, though, we have to get every modification signed off before we can turn on the network."

"And there's dozens of them," says Julian Bennett. "It takes about a month to fill them out accurately."

"Well we don't have that long," you say firmly. "We're not going to let this drag on. I want every one of these Licence Authorisations finished this week!"

"This week! Impossible! There's just no way...!" gasps Phil.

"We drop everything else," you insist. "The whole team are going to be working on this. We work late, come in early, we work the weekends - we don't take calls, we don't stop for lunch. Every minute God sends us is going into these authorisations from now on!"

Pauline shakes her head. "Miss. Hathaway ... you'll never get the team to..."

You slam your fist on the table. "I don't want to hear never, Pauline!" you insist hotly. "This has to be done, and it has to be done now. Otherwise all the work you've been putting in for years will go to waste. And that won't happen on my watch! This will bind us together as a team, not drive us apart!"

Julian seems enthused. "Well -- you can count me in, miss!" he says eagerly. "I'm desperate to get this project up and running. And let's face it; there may not be jobs for us at the end if this project fails."

"It won't," you insist. You turn to Pauline and Phil. "What do you say -- are you with me?"

The two junior managers briefly look at each other before nodding. "Maybe with you in charge we stand a chance..." admits Pauline.

Later that day you go into overdrive getting everything organised. You arrange with Mr Stevenson to keep the building open and heated, with security to keep the place manned and safe, and then announce to your staff your intentions. Some of them do not look enthusiastic, but a few of them seem quite excited.

"Gosh! I've never done overtime before!" exclaims Marjorie Wallace with a glint of excitement in her eye. "Do we get to order food in and eat at our desks?" she asks, as if this is the most exciting thing that has ever happened to her.

"Absolutely!" you enthuse. "We'll get all that work that's been hanging over our heads clear so we can concentrate on the current stuff."

"Sounds fun!" she cries. "But ... I'd better just clear it with my mum ... she'll get awfully cross if I'm late for tea..."

Hmm. There's a point. In your excitement you forgot about your nine o'clock deadline! You'd better clear it with Mrs. Hamilton if you're not going to get a tanned arse each night...

With your staff cracking on with the licences you retreat to the office, pick up the phone and ring the Hamilton's house. Your conversation does not go well...

"Absolutely not!" cries Mrs. Hamilton on the other end of the phone, almost deafening you in her outrage. "Do you think I run a bordello? I'll not have a guest of mine sloping in past nine o'clock, what will the neighbours think?"

You try to supress a sigh of frustration ... but fail. "Mrs. Hamilton," you sigh, "I'm a grown woman -- a leader of industry. Manager of the most complicated technical project in this island's history ... I'm not a sulky teenager going out on the razz..."

"I don't care if you're the Queen of Sheba!" insists Mrs. Hamilton. "You'll be home at nine, or I'll thrash that backside of yours so hard you'll be sitting on cushions for a month!"

At that, she hangs up. Impossible woman! Still ... the threat is there...

What do you do?

Reluctantly obey her instructions, close the office at 8:30, and be home for nine o'clock? Turn to page 511.

Go home at 8:30 -- but insist your staff work on into the night? Turn to page 512.

Or defy your landlady, and work until midnight if you have to? Turn to page 513.

Page 511

It is with a great sense of gall and disappointment that you instruct your staff to stop working at 8:30. You really wanted to engender some kind of London-style work ethic amongst your team. But it's only fair that they stop work at the same time you do.

Your staff still think they are working hard and well -- and indeed the effort is not wasted. A large number of licenses are completed, gain 3 Progress points . But at the end of the week it cannot be denied that large numbers of them remain incomplete.

Despite what Pauline says you don't think this will be a show stopper. The council have spent millions on this project, after all, and they will want to see it turned on! But you get a feeling that whatever blushes you have saved your backside from Mrs. Hamilton will be more than compensated for when Mr Stevenson's cane judges your performance!

Gain the codeword HALF .

Turn to page 789.

Page 512

Your decree about late working does not go down well ... especially when you announce that you are heading home at 8:30. Accusations about your lack of support circulate amongst the staff, even as you tuck yourself into your small bed at the Hamiltons. Most staff work the first night -- a few even work the second ... but after that there is not even the pretence of following your instructions, pretty much all but the most enthusiastic of your staff abandoning you in the evening due to dubious reasons of ill-health, medical appointments or long pre-arranged dinner parties.

Some work, but not much, is done. Gain 1 point of Progress . However, you must lose 3 points of Reputation . Your staff don't think much of a manager who quits early whilst they work into the night.

The end result is that the licences are still far from completion. Perhaps you'll be able to blag a reason to the Westjack Council when they ask to see your paperwork? One thing's for sure -- you'll not be able to fool Mr Stevenson. It's almost like you can hear the whistle of his descending cane towards your bottom...

Turn to page 789.

Page 513

That night you and your team work and work hard. Without the distraction of the telephone, and with every employee in the office focusing on the same thing, you really get some work done.

You send Pauline out to get fish and chips for everyone, and almost a party atmosphere of intense camaraderie forms across the office. Everyone feels very important and driven, and whilst Westjack sleeps your staff crack on, completing dozens of authorisations in just one night. You finally call a halt to proceedings at half past one. You've worked later in London, but your team are clearly becoming exhausted. Besides, they've done good work and shouldn't be worn out on their first day. Thanking them all for their hard work you dismiss them, and then begin the dreaded journey back to the Hamilton's house.

Gain 3 Progress points .

Since Mrs. Hamilton refuses to give you a key you have to knock at the door to gain entrance, the street dead quiet except for the distant crashing of waves and the blasts of strong wind that seem omnipresent on Westjack. Just as you are beginning to suspect that Mrs. Hamilton is going to leave you on the doorstep the door opens. Framed within that gloomy portal is Mrs. Hamilton, quietly seething at your late arrival.

"And where have you been, young lady?" she demands.

"Working, Mrs. Hamilton," you say archly. "As I informed you on the phone."

"Presumably you know the punishment for staying out late," she replies darkly.

"I assume I'm going to find out shortly?" you reply venomously.

"You are correct -- I will punish you in the kitchen," she curtly informs you. "Kindly step inside the house, there is a draught."

Sighing wearily you step through the door, the aged Mrs. Hamilton closing it sharply behind you. She strides to the kitchen, not bothering to look back. There is no need for her to do so -- you are bound to obey her rules and punishments or else forfeit the only house willing to home you.

Following miserably behind you enter the spotless kitchen, Mrs. Hamilton already fetching down her beloved tawse from the cupboard. "We'll have that mischievous and disobedient bum here -- and naked, if you please!" chides Mrs. Hamilton, tapping the end of the wooden kitchen table. "There's none of that sissy 'knickers on' rubbish for punishments on Westjack!"

You never assumed for a moment that there would be. At least she has not called her husband to see to your punishment -- you have no doubt that he would make a bigger meal of your bottom than his stroppy wife.

Bending over the table like a good girl, you expertly fold your skirt up to your hips and quietly slide your knickers down your legs. You press your legs together to keep yourself as protected as possible -- the action combined with your high heels -- causes your bum to rise high above your prostrate body. You grip onto the table with your hands, dearly hoping this thrashing will be both short and mild.

Mrs. Hamilton slaps your buttocks with her free hand, as if to test the meat, before swinging the tawse in a wide arc towards your proffered bum...

Snap!

The stinging stroke slaps across your bottom, the twin straps of the tawse doubling the shock.

Snap! Snap!

You try to supress a wriggle as Mrs. Hamilton energetically thrashes your bottom, but it is difficult indeed. More than anything it is the audacity of this woman, nothing more than a simple housewife, having the nerve to spank a high earning business woman like you. You try to keep in mind that this is merely a means to an end, that successfully getting the licences complete means enduring some discomfort for the benefit of your future career in London -- but this is a difficult lesson to absorb indeed whilst being so pitilessly thrashed.

Snap! Snap!

The last of a dozen strokes finishes its work upon your bottom. Perhaps it is her age, or the lateness of the hour, but Mrs. Hamilton's punishment has barely taxed you. Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

"Now straight to bed, young lady!" she barks. "And don't be late for breakfast!"

Mrs. Hamilton leaves you in your prone position with a great huff, carefully rehanging the tawse before making her way up the creaking stairs to join her husband. Grimacing ruefully you tug your knickers up and quickly make your way to your bedroom.

Your bottom is still sore in the morning, and as you quietly breakfast with Mr and Mrs. Hamilton you consider that your landlady is probably willing to beat you every evening until you obey her commands. Six more days of this treatment still await you.

What do you do?

Realise that your bottom can only take so much punishment and quickly cancel the long overtime hours you've planned? Turn to page 514.

Or are you determined to push on, regardless of Mrs. Hamilton's threat to your bottom? Turn to page 515.

Page 514

Common sense must rule the day. Mrs. Hamilton is able and entitled to beat you at will -- at some point you will capitulate to her demands so it might as well be now.

Ruefully you inform your staff that they have done enough overtime, and that it is time to return to normal hours of work. They are relieved, but you are nervous. Mr Stevenson won't like the fact that numerous licences are going to be still outstanding. At least he'll take it out on your bottom quickly, though, rather than over six days of torture!

Lose 1 point of Willpower .

Turn to page 789.

Page 515

You'll not be bullied into submission by Mrs. Hamilton! Not yet, anyway. You reason that you may as well carry on for as long as possible -- each night you can endure Mrs. Hamilton's strap is another batch of licences completed. Besides, the old girl doesn't hit that hard...

You have another successful evening, your staff completing dozens of licences to the soft music of a small radio station. With everyone on hand to help all sorts of technical issues and problems are overcome quickly, and the work load steadily lowers. Gain 2 points of Progress .

Your theory about the weakening of Mrs. Hamilton does not play out quite as well. She is positively glowing with rage when you cross the threshold of the house -- at well past two in the morning.

"You wretched little tart!" she thunders. "And after I was so lenient on you last night! Did I not make myself clear, yesterday?"

"I have to work, Mrs. Hamilton!" you insist. "Just get on with what you have to do, I'm tired and I need sleep!"

Mrs. Hamilton grabs you by the arm and pulls you into the kitchen, practically throwing you over the kitchen table. You hurriedly raise your skirt and lower your knickers whilst Mrs. Hamilton fetches her tawse, eager not to let your landlady have the pleasure of doing it herself.

Snap! Snap!

Mrs. Hamilton rains blows down upon your nude buttocks, a new strength borne of anger in her blows. Nor does she stop at a simple dozen like the previous night.

Snap!

"It's two dozen tonight, you wretch!" shrieks Mrs. Hamilton. "And it will be an extra dozen every night until you start behaving yourself!"

Snap! Snap!

"I'll not have a guest of mine working whore's hours at my house!"

Snap! Snap! Snap!

Your poor backside reddens cruelly under the blows, and soon you are hissing in pain and frustration. You must keep your temper! If you are thrown out of the house your career is over!

Raise your Bum Status by 2 levels .

Mrs. Hamilton does not announce the end of your punishment. Rather, when she has finished, she simply hangs up her tawse and storms out of the kitchen and up the stairs, leaving you sore and angry.

As you miserably climb into bed you begin to realise just how tough this is getting. If Mrs. Hamilton is going to keep upping your strokes your backside will become a welted mess in no time. The cruel old hag is enjoying herself, of that you have no doubt. She doesn't care how much she hurts some English girl she considers little better than a street walker.

What do you do?

Call off the overtime scheme -- your bottom won't be able to take this sustained bombardment? Turn to page 514.

Or, even if just out of spite, will you continue on determined? Turn to page 516.

Page 516

Over breakfast the next morning Mr Hamilton nonchalantly peeks over his morning newspaper. "Was that raised voices I heard last night?" he enquires gently.

"Just a little domestic dispute -- all settled now," says Mrs. Hamilton archly, giving you a warning glare.

"Good," he says. "I dislike having my sleep disrupted, as I'm sure you can understand. I would appreciate it if both of you could lower your voices, or I might have to intervene on both of your backsides."

Great! A double thrashing from both the Hamiltons? "We'll keep it down, Mr Hamilton, I promise," you add quickly.

"I'm sure you will..." grins Mr Hamilton, returning to his paper.

That evening more hard work is completed, but your staff can't help but notice that you are looking a little sore and weary.

Gain 1 Progress Point .

At about ten o'clock Pauline Weatherly takes you aside, concerned. "Have you been upsetting people again, Miss. Hathaway?" she asks, briefly glancing her eyes down to your backside which you have been compulsively rubbing all evening.

"Oh ... gosh ... it's my landlady," you confess, wincing as you caress your sore cheeks. "She's been beating me every night I come in late. She's being completely unreasonable."

Pauline nods. "The same thing's been happening to some of the other girls in the office -- thank God my own husband supports my work."

"I don't know what I'm going to do, Pauline," you admit sadly. "I owe it to the team to try to get this project completed. But I'm not made of stone -- I just don't think I can handle a beating every night, and from a woman I just can't stand!"

Pauline thinks for a moment, wincing as she swigs down some of her cold coffee.

"You live with the Hamilton's, right?" she asks.

"That's right," you confirm.

"Have you tried speaking to George? Mr Hamilton, I mean? He's a bit more reasonable than his wife."

"The last conversation I had with him he threatened to strap me if I made too much noise while his wife punished me..." you say sulkily.

"Quite right too -- but have you tried actually talking to him? About staying late just to complete this project?" pressed Pauline.

"Well ... not as such," you admit. "I mean, he might punish me if I suggest staying out late..."

"Maybe," admits Pauline. "But you don't know if you don't ask. Perhaps he'll be willing to over-rule his wife?"

Hmm. It sounds risky. If Mr Hamilton takes your request the wrong way he might make an example of your bottom if you ask him to over-rule his wife. Yet, you also get the impression that he's quite a fair man who might hear you out.

What do you wish to do?

Briefly head home and have a talk with Mr Hamilton before he goes to bed? Turn to page 520.

Or will you keep this matter between yourself and Mrs. Hamilton and try to endure whatever she deigns to give you? Turn to page 517.

Page 517

In the years following your adventures on Westjack Island your strongest memory is your trial of wills with Mrs. Hamilton. Each day you complete an eighteen hour day of work, only to come home to a furious thrashing from your pitiless landlady.

For Mrs. Hamilton it becomes the highlight of her evening. You later learned that she would have afternoon naps so she could be fully alert and strong for your daily beating. You can feel the pleasure oozing from the bitter old woman as she whips your dancing backside each and every evening. For you, the exhaustion, pain and humiliation build to a wearing climax. Just how much more punishment can you take from this evil woman before you buckle?

Decide how many evenings you feel you can endure, and raise your Bum Status and Progress Point score accordingly.

Nights of Beating Raise Bum Status Progress Points

1 2 1

2 4 2

3 6 4

4 8 6

(Remember to lose attribute points if your Bum Status goes above Blazing)

If you endure between one to three nights of beating, Turn to page 518.

If you endure all four nights, Turn to page 519.

Page 518

There is an old saying in Westjack -- 'the strap endures over the flesh' -- and this you find to be true. There was no way you could take so many beatings over such a short time. Your poor backside feels black and blue, and one night, bent over the kitchen sink with your scarlet arse high in the air behind you, you finally break and promise Mrs. Hamilton there will be no more late evenings.

Mrs. Hamilton exults in her victory, tormenting you for your folly. Lose one point of Dignity, but gain a point of Willpower. You managed to stick it out far longer than Mrs. Hamilton dared imagine and you have fared admirably.

You only hope that Mr Stevenson will not judge too harshly your narrow failure. But then again, Mr Stevenson is a very harsh man...

Record the codeword HALF .

Turn to page 789.

Page 519

The next evening you return to the house at the more reasonable hour of six o'clock, sitting down (painfully) on the kitchen chair just opposite Mr Hamilton for your supper.

Mrs. Hamilton, lost in the steam of her cooking, suddenly notices your arrival after your brief pleasantries with her husband.

"Ah! Dianne!" she crows. "How lovely to see you back at a reasonable hour! It seems that the old Westjack method of taming wild spirits is still effective!"

You fain ignorance. "I'm not sure I know what you mean, Mrs. Hamilton."

"I mean that you have saved your backside from another beating!" she says bluntly. "Especially now that you have packed in this ludicrous 'overtime' idea."

"Overtime?" you say with confusion, before pretending to sudden enlightenment. "Oh! That!" you laugh. "Why, that is all finished Mrs. Hamilton. All the licences are completed with not the slightest hitch. As for your beatings, well -- I'm sure they are an effective deterrent for Westjack girls. In England we're a little too busy to be bothered by such things. But thank you for trying to improve my character -- it was very amusing."

Mrs. Hamilton trembles with rage, spooning your baked beans onto your plate with a fierce splat. Behind his newspaper Mr Hamilton shakes with supressed laughter -- it seems he doesn't mind his wife being brought down a peg or two.

Gain 1 point of Dignity and 2 points of Willpower for surviving this fierce trial of endurance with your dignity intact.

Record the codeword LICENCE .

Turn to page 789.

Page 520

Assuring your staff that you will be back shortly you quickly make your way back to the Hamilton household. Mrs. Hamilton receives you with some surprise -- it's only just gone ten-thirty, much earlier than your usual late nights.

"Only an hour and a half late!" she cries sarcastically as she opens the door to greet you. "Why I'm barely tired yet! How good of you to think of me. It's still two dozen for your wayward behind though. Can't let you think I'm going soft..."

You coldly step into the corridor, waiting for Mrs. Hamilton to close the door before addressing your landlady. "I'd like to bring this matter to your husband's attention, Mrs. Hamilton," you say formally. "I insist he deals with me instead of yourself."

Mrs. Hamilton looks a little put out. "Don't be silly," she chides. "George is a much tougher strapper than I am -- just go into the kitchen and take your medicine."

"I believe it's my right to be punished by the man of the house, Mrs. Hamilton," you assert acidly. "Unless Westjack tradition means nothing to you..."

Mrs. Hamilton frowns, but has little choice but to concede. She brings you into the lounge where Mr Hamilton is filling in a crossword, the black and white television playing quietly in the corner.

"Good evening, Dianne," says Mr Hamilton, still apparently engrossed in his crossword. "Is there a problem?"

"I wonder if I might have a chat with you, Mr Hamilton ... alone..." you say deliberately, staring hard at his wife.

"Of course!" he says lightly, lowering his newspaper. "Give us a few minutes alone, would you dear?" he asks his wife.

Mrs. Hamilton looks put out, but obeys, and soon you are seated alone with Mr Hamilton who looks upon you with twinkling eyes. "I assume you are after me to perform your nightly beating," he nods. "Don't worry, I do not take offence. I know how it can be amongst women, especially two such fierce and ambitious women such as my wife and you. If you'd rather I performed your punishment I must of course concede..."

"Sir ... may I speak frankly with you?" you interrupt.

"I'd expect nothing less!" he grins. Mr Hamilton sits back in his chair and awaits your speech.

You clear your throat. You had better make this pitch good.

"Mr Hamilton," you say carefully. "I would very much appreciate it if you would exempt me from one of your house rules -- namely the one about not coming home late."

Mr Hamilton frowns. "You feel you should be allowed to go out drinking deep into the midnight hours, do you? That would reflect poorly on my reputation."

"I have no intension of going out drinking!" you say with great restraint. "The fact is I am a senior manager from an internationally recognised company. I need to be able to work late."

"Nine o'clock is surely late enough..."

"No, Mr Hamilton, it isn't!" you press. "Look, whether you agree with what I'm doing or not you can surely appreciate that my work is complex and important. I've been brought in to try to save this project from collapse. I can do it -- but I need to be able to work when I wish. I'm not a Westjack girl -- but I want to do the best I possibly can for this island. Please be tolerant towards me and let me do my work without fear of endless punishment!"

Mr Hamilton leans back into his chair, his brow knotted with thought.

If your Dignity is 7 or more, Turn to page 521.

If your Dignity or Ambition is 5 or more, Turn to page 522.

If not, Turn to page 529.

Page 521

Mr Hamilton considers you carefully for some time, before smiling gently. "I sometimes forget you are English, Dianne," he admits. "You carry yourself with the decorum of a Westjack girl. You have a Westjack girl's sense of restraint and dignity -- I noted how you did not insult or blame my wife despite your obvious animosity towards her. I pity you, Dianne. You are a real woman, thrown into the wolf pack of a man's world. You have far more responsibilities than I ever had to bear, and yet you are so young and delicate."

A small tear enters Mr Hamilton's eye and he quickly rises from his chair and walks over to the fireplace to hide it from you. "I shall not inconvenience you further," he says resolutely. "If a girl as dignified as you cannot be trusted to behave responsibly what hope is there for womankind? I exempt you from our house rule, and you may now return at any hour you wish."

Gain the codeword EXEMPT .

"Thank you, Mr Hamilton!" you cry. "This means so much to me. I won't let you down."

"You never could, I think, Dianne," he smiles. "Go on, back to your late-night slogging. I'm sure you have a thousand phone masts to put up."

Returning to work in triumph you attack the licence authorisations with a new zeal. Your happy demeanour and enthusiasm is infectious, and the rest of your staff crack on with the work with a new determination. Three long nights later the final licence authorisation is complete. What is more your unharmed backside gets three days of complete rest, putting you in an even better mood.

Lower your Bum Status by 1 level . Gain 9 Progress points , and 1 point of Ambition.

Perhaps the greatest joy you have is the expression on Mrs. Hamilton's face; each night you come in late you flash the bitter old woman a smile before sauntering off to bed. The acute pain Mrs. Hamilton feels at letting a 'loose woman' such as yourself off Scott-free without so much a smacked bottom is more agonising to her than all the bum strappings in the world.

Gain the codeword LICENCE .

Now Turn to page 789.

Page 522

Mr Hamilton considers deeply before answering. "You are a good girl, Dianne -- but I can't give you free licence to return when you wish..."

"But sir...!" you cry.

"Allow me to finish!" he barks, rising from his chair menacingly. "That is to say that I can't give you free licence without giving you some punishment in advance. That way I can hold my head up high when my neighbours complain about your behaviour. This is what I suggest, Dianne. I shall allow you free access to return to this house at whatever time you please, but first you must accept a provisional punishment of ten minutes of strokes across your backside with my favourite slipper. This will provide an indemnity of advanced punishment, in case you get up to anything unseemly. This punishment does not exempt you from any additional bad behaviour I hear about during your evening antics. You can either accept this punishment now or go straight to bed, with no more of these late night shenanigans taking place. "

Mr Hamilton has offered you a deal. What do you do?

Accept his proposal, ten minutes of swats across your bum for freedom? Turn to page 523.

Decline his proposal, and head straight for bed? Turn to page 528.

Page 523

The slipper doesn't sound so bad ... surely less bad that the fierce strap his wife is so keen on using! You get the impression Mr Hamilton is rather on your side, and that he feels the need to punish you only to protect his good name from the snide remarks of his neighbours.

"I accept, Mr Hamilton -- thank you for being so reasonable," you say diplomatically.

"Kindly fetch my slipper from the wardrobe," he says airily, returning to his newspaper. "It's upstairs in my study. You'll quickly identify it -- the sole is rubbed white from use. I reserve it for female guests who get above themselves. Funnily enough, I don't think I've ever actually placed it on my foot."

You swallow in fear. You have every reason to suspect that this will be a telling punishment. You miserably make your way up the stairs, trying to ignore Mrs. Hamilton's mocking smirk as you pass the kitchen, obediently making your way into the study. You know full well that fetching the implement of your correction is all part of the humiliation of the punishment ritual -- having to scrabble on your hands and knees to find the device that will shortly be smacking your behind, to be compelled to hand over the slipper to your punisher only to feel it crack against your bum skin a few seconds later. These men of Westjack have this ritual down to a fine art, and you can already feel a small part of your spirits giving way as you dutifully open the study wardrobe.

Lose 1 point from either your Ambition or Willpower as you subserviently obey your landlord's demeaning demands.

As you suspected you are compelled to scrabble on hands and knees to find the appropriate slipper, the upper part of the wardrobe being occupied by suits and shirts. The bottom of the wardrobe is slightly messy -- presumably Mrs. Hamilton is forbidden from interfering with its contents -- and there are several sets of shoes and comfortable slippers piled over each other. You carefully check each slipper to see which is the most 'worn'. You eventually identify a tan-coloured chequer felt slipper, with a tough vulcanised sole, to be the implement Mr Hamilton means. The top half of the slipper is indeed a white-grey colour with ware. Surely Mr Hamilton is joking when he says he has never worn it on his foot! Mind you, the slipper does not seem to have a partner and looks a good deal older than the other footwear -- perhaps it is a sentimental punishment slipper?

You are just about to leave with slipper in hand when you notice something. Underneath the slipper there is a gaudy looking magazine with a rather slutty looking lady licking her lips on the cover. Unable to control your curiosity you take the magazine out for a quick peek. Its contents are undoubtedly pornographic, with pictures of cheap looking women in all kinds of compromising positions. The magazine is old and looks well thumbed. It must belong to Mr Hamilton!

What do you do?

Take the magazine and show it to your landlord, threatening to show his wife if he doesn't rescind your punishment? Turn to page 524.

Or, since the magazine is none of your business, put it back where you found it and present the slipper to Mr Hamilton? Turn to page 525.

Page 524

You'll not bear your naked arse to this hypocrite! Clearly the only reason he's so keen on spanking you is to fulfil his own depraved pleasures. And from a man of his age!

You stride down the stairs with the magazine clutched in your hand, storming right into the living room where Mr Hamilton continues to read his damn paper. Closing the door curtly behind you, you address him.

"I found this in your wardrobe, Mr Hamilton," you say sharply. "You'll give me freedom of the house or I'll tell your wife immediately!"

Mr Hamilton glances over his paper at the brandished magazine. He raises an amused eyebrow. "Edith! Could you step in here a for a moment, please?" he calls, much to your mortification.

Mrs. Hamilton enters, flushing with embarrassment as she sees the magazine. "Oh..." she says quietly.

"Kindly don't store you're filthy trash in my wardrobe, dear," he chides smoothly. "Just put it wherever you hide the rest of your silly magazines."

"Yes ... yes, dear," she says, red as a beetroot, snatching the magazine from your hands and quickly departing the room.

Mr Hamilton laughs as you stand impotently in the room. "My wife is a notorious lesbian, Dianne. It's hardly a secret, but not generally mentioned in polite society. You're a very silly girl, Dianne."

You tremble with fear. "I'm ... I'm very sorry, Mr Hamilton."

"Not yet, Dianne ... but soon I should think," he says, the smile fading from his face. "Await me in my study. Something sturdier than a slipper awaits you for violating my family's privacy."

"Yes, sir..." you swallow.

That night Mr Hamilton demonstrates to you the full folly of attempting to blackmail your landlord. His cruel, biting strap -- kept for just such occasions -- lashes your naked behind for a full half an hour. You can do nothing but tremble in your decreed nudity, kneeling on the soft office chair that cushions your naked limbs, gripping onto the chair back for dear life as Mr Hamilton thrashes your bucking arse again and again. Deep, angry welts are painted across your behind, and your cries are clearly audible to an elated Mrs. Hamilton, who stands just outside the door listening to your every moan and whimper.

Raise your Bum Status by 4 levels and lose 2 Dignity points .

As you quiver, whimpering in your bent over position, Mr Hamilton exacts a promise from you to come home early every evening from now on. Your backside is now so sore and damaged that there can be no hope of opposing his will. The licence applications will just have to wait -- as you will for Mr Stevenson's inevitable punishment.

Turn to page 789.

Page 525

Gain 1 point of Dignity for respecting Mr Hamilton's privacy.

Grasping the slipper in your hand you tremulously descend the stairs back down to the living room. Mr Hamilton is still engrossed in his paper, so you quietly close the door behind you and wait, hands nervously clutching the slipper before you.

After he has left you to stew for a few minutes Mr Hamilton quietly folds his paper, putting it on a nearby side table. He holds out his hand for the slipper, and you dutifully place it into his grasp, praying that you have found the right implement.

"Good girl," he say grandly, inspecting the slipper. "Now let's have everything off below the waist and have you over my knee. Ten more minutes and it will all be over."

You wish Mr Hamilton wouldn't insist on your semi-nudity -- but at least he's less voyeuristic than some men of the island. Wishing to be pragmatic yet dignified you carefully remove your heels and roll down your tights before peeling off your skirt and knickers. Padding over to him on your bare feet you gracefully lower yourself over his lap, allowing him to move your bottom into the right place with his hands grasped to your hips. Your spread your hands and grip your fingers into the thin carpet, instinctively raising onto tiptoes as Mr Hamilton guides your waist up.

"Can you see the clock where you are, Dianne?" he asks kindly, his hand stroking your naked backside.

You twist your head to see the mantelpiece. "Yes, sir -- it's two minutes to eleven."

"That's right," he confirms. "We'll start at eleven o'clock -- then you'll receive ten minutes of vigorous slippering, then everything will be square and even between us."

Those two minutes feel acutely awkward. Bent half naked over your landlord's lap, his hand resting on your naked bottom, pressing yourself up on your hands to stop the blood rushing to your head, you can do little more than twist your neck and watch the television. You don't think you've ever seen black and white television before, the old, curved screen distorting the picture horribly to your modern eyes. It looks like a repeat of 'I love Lucy' is playing, demonstrating that the television network on Westjack is scarcely more modern than its telephone system. That will all change once your new network is in place...

Splat!

A sharp pain in your behind shocks you from your reverie. A quick glance at the clock demonstrates you have lost track of the time, and your punishment has begun.

Splat! Splat! Splat!

A rhythmic beating of your buttocks now commences. Mr Hamilton is a fair and predictable punisher, strictly alternating strokes between each buttock. With each slap of the slipper your poor behind ignites, jolting you with the hot pressure of impact.

Splat! Splat!

If your Willpower or Ambition is 4 or more, Turn to page 526.

Otherwise, read on.

You jerk and dance upon Mr Hamilton's lap, and he is compelled to hold down your kicking legs with his free hand to keep you in punishment position.

"Please, Dianne," he chides, continuing to slipper your behind without pause, the meaty smacks resounding across the living room. "Try to show some grace and poise."

You flush with embarrassment and quickly apologise -- your punishment is not cruel, but it is so relentless that it is hard to stop yourself bucking and wriggling. Lose 1 point of Dignity .

Turn to page 527.

Page 526

Despite the constant battery you realise that Mr Hamilton is really being very gentle with you. He could have used his fierce strap, or even taken a cane to you if he felt genuinely aggrieved. Mr Hamilton is doing you a favour, cutting you a break, with his modest punishment, and you need to respect his kindness towards you.

Pushing your bum up higher and going taut on tiptoes to prevent yourself wriggling, you bite your lip and endure as Mr Hamilton thrashes your aching bum with his slipper. He's warming your buttocks up into a proper fire -- but he has to do what he has to do. You, likewise, must endure so that honour can be satisfied.

Turn to page 527.

Page 527

Splat! Splat! Splat!

Your fiercely reddened buttocks twitch and clench under the rapid bombardment, and your breathing becomes horse and strained. All you can do is shake your head, your long hair cascading about your upside-down face, and cling on.

Splat! Splat!

The beating suddenly stops. Your bottom trembles in dreadful anticipation. Is your time up, or is Mr Hamilton teasing you for one last crafty stroke?

"And that is that, my dear," says Mr Hamilton warmly. "You may rise."

Raise your Bum Status by 2 levels .

You glance in wonder at the clock -- ten minutes past eleven. That was never ten minutes, surely? As you rise stiffly from Mr Hamilton's lap a strange sense of disappointment creeps into you. It's almost as if ... it wasn't long enough...

"Thank you, Mr Hamilton," you say dreamily, rubbing your aching buttocks absent-mindedly with a free hand, the other hand rubbing through your hair to set your locks in order.

"I officially grant you permission to return to house at whatever time suits you best," he says benevolently. "I shall inform my wife accordingly. Feel free to dress."

"Oh!" you say, suddenly realising you are still standing half-naked before him. "Yes, sir -- thank you, Mr Hamilton." You hurriedly begin to replace your clothing.

"You'll want to go back to work, I dare say -- would you care for an escort?"

"Oh, no -- I'm quite comfortable walking there myself," you bluster, tugging your knickers painfully over you scorching behind. "But thank you for the offer. Good night, sir."

"Good night, Dianne!" beams Mr Hamilton, collecting his newspaper.

Record the codeword EXEMPT .

Carrying your heels in your hand you leave the room -- practically bumping into Mrs. Hamilton as you exit. Clearly she has been listening against the door during your punishment. You smirk at her as she scowls at your sudden freedom.

"Well -- if you'll excuse me, Mrs. Hamilton, I must get back to work," you smile. "I shall be back very late -- just leave the front door key under the plant pot, I'll let myself in."

Mrs. Hamilton says nothing, but her defeated scowl is enough to fortify your spirits.

Returning to work in triumph you attack the licence authorisations with a new zeal. Your happy demeanour and enthusiasm is infectious, and the rest of your staff crack on with the work with a new determination. Three long nights later the final licence authorisation is complete. What is more your unharmed backside gets three days of complete rest, putting you in an even better mood.

Lower your Bum Status by 1 level . Gain 9 Progress points , and 1 point of Ambition.

Perhaps the greatest joy you have is the expression on Mrs. Hamilton's face; each night you come in late you flash the bitter old woman a smile before sauntering off to bed. The acute pain Mrs. Hamilton feels at letting a 'loose woman' such as yourself off Scott-free without so much a smacked bottom is more agonising to her than all the bum strappings in the world.

Gain the codeword LICENCE .

Now Turn to page 789.

Page 528

You've entertained you landlord quite enough. Subjecting yourself to additional punishment is plainly demeaning when you haven't done anything wrong.

"I'm not willing to do that, Mr Hamilton," you say archly. "I would hope that you would put the good of the island above your house rules. But very well, I shall abstain from going out. If I was a man, I think I could get more understanding from you."

"Well," says Mr Hamilton darkly, picking up his newspaper. "You don't seem to be a lady, Dianne. At least not one with any fortitude. I'll hold you to your promise, young woman."

Gain 1 Ambition point for standing up to Mr Hamilton.

Unfortunately, although you have done quite well with the authorisations, you have not completed them all. Perhaps Mr Stevenson will show leniency for your hard work. It is a hope you cling to tightly as you imagine his flashing cane swishing towards your helpless buttocks!

Gain the codeword HALF .

Now Turn to page 789.

Page 529

"I'm sorry, Dianne," says Mr Hamilton, shaking his head sadly. "My wife is quite right; it just isn't done for a young lady to be out after hours. Your company should have understood our traditions and social rules when they assigned you to this post. There will be no more overtime -- or I'm afraid I will have to ask you to leave the house."

You doubt you'll be able to find anyone else willing to take in an English girl who wants to 'ruin' the island. You have little choice but to accede to Mr Hamilton's wishes.

Unfortunately, although you have done quite well with the authorisations, you have not completed them all. Perhaps Mr Stevenson will show leniency for your hard work. It is a hope you cling to tightly as you imagine his flashing cane swishing towards your helpless buttocks!

Gain the codeword HALF .

Now Turn to page 789.

Page 530

One grey day, with an Atlantic storm thrashing the windows outside the meeting room, you call your managers in for a private conference.

"I've been through the personnel files and our productivity records -- and I've come to a very grave decision," you say darkly to your colleagues. "We simply aren't producing enough work given the large number of staff in the department. Either we are all working at half pace, or some of us are working hard and others doing practically no work at all. This can't go on, so I've decided to make a redundancy."

There is an intake of breath around the table. "Miss. Hathaway," murmurs Pauline Weatherly, your HR manager. "Sacking someone is considered a very serious breach of protocol. This island is a very tight-knit community..."

"Pauline," you say sharply. "Our deadline is only weeks away. The island has invested millions into this project, and if we can't be operational on schedule it will never get off the ground. I need everyone working at full capacity. Fire one and the rest will fall into line! Now -- I want some names, who do you think we should consider for redundancy?"

The table icy quiet, your managers looking hard at the table or their shoes. None of them seem willing to tick their heads above the parapet.

"Very well," you say. "I have some names here myself. Staff members that appear to be less than productive. First name: John Harbourman."

Julian reacts with shock. "You can't sack old John!" he cries. "He's special ... I mean ... he's like a mascot."

"Everyone loves John!" sighs Pauline. "He's so kind and gentlemanly. He'll always make you a nice cup of tea when you're down, and listen to all your problems without judging you..."

"Making the tea seems to be all he's good at," you say dryly. "He has the lowest productivity score on the team."

"Well ... I like him..." sulks Julian.

"Well, if not John, how about Anne Fairweather?" you suggest. "Apparently she makes the highest number of mistakes in the office. According to your report, Pauline, she once lost three weeks' worth of contract data."

"For which she was suitably punished!" insists Pauline. "She accepted her punishment and we've moved on..."

"But she keeps making mistakes..." you point out.

"And she will continue to be punished for them!" insists Pauline. "That's how things work here."

"Not in my office!" you thunder. "I expect the best! Now! One of these two has to go!"

At this Phil Washington, your finance analyst, mutters something under his breath which causes the rest of the team to shift uneasily.

"What was that you said, Phil?" you demand, loudly.

Phil swallows. "I said 'we all know who should go'."

You wait patiently for elaboration, Phil eventually giving way. "You should take a close look at Nigel Stevenson, in accounts."

"Nigel?" you say puzzled. You quickly check your records. "He seems to have adequate scores. If the rest of the team had these numbers there wouldn't be a problem."

"None of that work is his own," mumbles Phil. "He gets other people to do it for him."

"What do you mean?" you ask confused.

"I mean he makes other people do his work for him. Nigel hasn't done a day's work since he came to the phone exchange three years ago."

"Why not? Why would someone do his work for him?" you press.

"Because ... he's Mr Stevenson's son," confesses Phil. "And he's very close to his daddy."

A shiver goes down your spine. Why do things have to be so complicated?

Which of the three candidates do you want to examine further?

John Harbourman? Turn to page 531.

Anne Fairweather? Turn to page 532.

Nigel Stevenson? Turn to page 542.

Page 531

"I don't run a charity, I run a business," you say coldly. "Whatever Nigel's supposed crimes at least he's getting his work done one way or another, which is more than you can say for Mr Harbourman. Pauline, ask John to see me immediately. Thank you, everyone."

Your team quietly gets to their feet, almost as if they were attending someone's funeral. They leave just as quietly, looking shell-shocked and crest-fallen.

It's almost ten minutes later before John Harbourman enters (presumably Pauline had spent some time giving him warning as to what was about to happen). He is an old man, but still healthy but for his over-large belly. He looks pale and wan, chewing his bottom lip in anxiety as you ask him to take a seat.

"If it's all the same to you, Miss. Hathaway I'd rather stand," he quavers. "I know what you're going to say. Please don't spank Pauline too hard but ... she told me all about what happened in your meeting."

"I see," you say quietly.

"This was bound to happen sooner or later ... I don't blame you, miss," he trembles. "The fact is ... I haven't really been able to concentrate on the old job for a number of years now. Just an old duffer, really. I realise the island is changing -- and I wish you well. I really do."

You swallow. "Thank you for being so understanding," you say.

He is just about to leave when he turns around. "Just between you and me ... these poor girls, eh? These poor girls. Every day one of them gets spanked, or caned, or strapped. And here's me ... silly old John, who's got away Scott-free. I hate it, Miss. Hathaway. They don't deserve it, do they, miss?"

"No," you agree. "They don't deserve it. Goodbye John. I'll make sure your redundancy money comes through."

"Never worried about that," says John sadly leaving your office. "Just my pride, that's all..."

Sacking John will mean that his tasks, previously left abandoned, can be done by someone more energetic. Gain 4 Progress Points . However his sacking has made you enormously unpopular -- you are now seen by your staff and the island as a cold English career woman more interested in results than an old man's pride. Lose 6 points of Reputation . On the other hand, having a reputation as a queen bitch does motivate people to do things your way. Gain 1 Ambition point .

Record the codeword DISMISS .

Turn to page 789.

Page 532

"It sounds like Anne is our girl, let's organise her redundancy payments and get this show on the road," you say cooly.

If you have the codeword ANGELA, Turn to page 533.
If not, read on.

"Don't you think you should try taking her in hand first?" demands Pauline hotly. "It seems hardly fair to sack the girl before you've even tried punishing her yourself."

That's just the kind of bizarre viewpoint you've come to expect on this island. Only here is it considered a right to be thrashed on the bare bottom instead of being dismissed with dignity.

"That's really not my scene, Pauline," you say exasperated.

"Your team will expect you to do it," insists Pauline. "Please, Miss. Hathaway, please listen to me!"

What do you do?

Agree to give Anne one last chance after personally punishing her? Turn to page 534.

Or insist on sacking her immediately? Turn to page 541.

Page 533

Angela Carmichael, the manager you employed from the oil rig, leans over to you. "Miss. Hathaway, might I ask you to leave this matter in my hands? Rather than sack the poor girl I could give her some ... personal tuition -- to make sure that her concentration doesn't slip."

You suppose it's worth a try. "Alright, Angela," you concede. "But if she's not a top performer before the week is out..."

"... you can cane me six dozen," finishes Angela for you. "Don't worry -- I can make her behave."

The whole table seems to plead you with their eyes, hoping you'll take Angela up on her offer.

"I must be going soft -- fine, one week!" you snap. "Or you'll both be over my desk!"

"Yes, Miss. Hathaway," nods Angela, her eyes sparkling.

Over the next week you make several surprise inspections on the office floor. Without exception you see poor Anne Fairweather, a beautiful brown haired girl in her mid-thirties, being harassed by Angela.

Angela keeps her on a brutally tight leash, checking on her every fifteen minutes. The slightest error has her bent over her chair, naked bum in the air, for a swift six with the cane. Even whilst you are doing paperwork in your office, her cries are regularly heard through the door, shrieking as Angela's pitiless cane lashes her naked globes.

On a good day she escapes with just thirty strokes, but more often it is many, many more. Typo's, spending too long in the toilet, failing to hit her quota by so much as a second, everything ends in a lashing from Angela's cane. Soon Anne is reduced to little more than a spiritless robot, her daydreaming, fussing around and gossiping all annihilated from her as Angela stalks behind her office chair, checking every word she types on her computer.

Gradually the caning eases off, and Angela gives her more and more freedom. But Anne's relentless drive for perfection does not fade. By the end of the week she is the most productive girl in the team.

"You've worked wonders on that girl, Angela," you confess. "Hiring you was the best decision I ever made."

"Thank the cane, not me," says Angela modestly. "It's the greatest instructor of all."

"I thank the woman behind the cane," you say, checking her. "Never let them off the leash, Angela -- and I think we'll get this project done..."

"Yes, Miss. Hathaway," smiles Angela.

Anne is a new woman, bringing vigour and relentless drive to the team. Gain 7 progress points . Also gain 3 points of Reputation for dealing with this matter the Westjack way.

Turn to page 789.

Page 534

This is hardly something you're looking forward to. How will you explain this to your colleagues in London when they ask you how you handled the staff? Still, if it has to be done, it has to be done.

Anne Fairweather is soon ushered into your office, a kindly looking woman in her mid-thirties with thick, shoulder-length blonde hair. She surveys you with no small amount of trepidation.

"You wanted to see me, miss?" she asks nervously.

"Yes," you reply. "Take a seat please Anne."

She quickly seats herself, folding her hands into her lap in an outdated but very feminine display of grace.

"It's your work record, Anne -- specifically your productivity," you say sharply. "It's much too low. There is a huge amount of work to complete and you're not pulling your weight."

"I'm sorry, miss," blathers Anne. "It's the computer, you see, it got changed recently and nothing seems to be in the right place on the screen..."

If you have the trait Knowledgeable, Turn to page 535.
Otherwise, read on.

"Well that's not good enough," you snap. "There's plenty of technical help available in the office. I'm sure Julian Bennett would..."

"Oh! I wouldn't want to bother him, miss!" she cries. "It's not done for a clerk to speak to a manager without being spoken to first."

You slap your hand on the table and rise to your feet, towering above poor Anne. "I'm sick of crazy Westjack traditions holding back this project," you thunder. "Julian isn't God-almighty! You are on the same team! You don't need permission to talk to him! Besides, I rather suspect that your failure to get results is larger than a simple computer fault."

Anne clutches her hands together in her lap, averting your gaze. "Please don't sack me, miss! My husband would be furious! I'd never get another job if people knew I was sacked from my last one."

"Well," you say more measuredly, walking round theatrically to the stock cupboard, taking from it the old cane your predecessor used in situations like this. "You have Pauline Weatherly to thank ... she has suggested that I give you one more chance to improve."

You flex the cane in your hands, much to Anne's discomfort. "She suggests that a good, solid caning to your behind should improve your performance. Well? Do you think this is a good idea, Anne? Or shall I save your blushes and let you go with your dignity intact?"

Anne rises from her chair. "Oh, thank you, miss!" she gasps with relief. "You can give me the cane, of course! I thought I was in real trouble when I came in. Don't worry -- I'm sure to learn my lesson this time!"

Perhaps she didn't mean it, but you can't help but detect a trace of sarcasm in Anne's voice. She clearly feels that a swift beating from her puny English manager will get her off the hook. Your blood boils to feel so slighted.

"Bend over the desk, Anne," you say coldly. "And stick that bottom right up. You don't think you're in trouble, eh?"

Anne goes pale, and quickly obeys. "I didn't mean it that way, Miss. Hathaway," she says as she fluidly hikes up her skirt and tugs down her knickers, her rather sizable arse coming into full bloom in the harsh office light. "I only meant I was glad not to be fired."

"You still will be if you don't improve," you snap. "Take this lesson and learn from it, Anne. They'll be no more second chances."

Brandishing the cane in your hand you must now decide how to handle your victim.

What do you do?

Give Anne a proper thrashing of two dozen strokes, intentionally trying to hurt the girl? Turn to page 536.

Give her a single set of a dozen, but with all the skill you can muster? Turn to page 537.

Give her a single dozen, but show leniency. You think the poor girl gets the point? Turn to page 540.

Page 535

You suddenly soften a little. "You're on the new operating system, then?"

"Yes," she confesses. "But all the little buttons have gone. It's been replaced by this strange ribbon where nothing is in the right place. I had my old computer set up just the way I like it, but now I can't find anything."

You smile softly. "What is it you can't do? What's slowing you down?"

"Well," she says, shuffling in embarrassment, "I used to be able to select an area to print, instead of printing the whole spreadsheet? But that button has gone, so I have to delete every column and row I don't want, save it as another file, and then print it. It takes ages ... I hate it...!"

Anne begins to well up with tears.

"No one has given you any training?" you ask.

"Nothing ... I just had to figure it out myself..." she sniffles.

"Right," you say decisively. "Anne ... let's go to your computer -- I'll show you where everything is."

You rise and offer your hand (as well as a tissue from your desk). Bewildered that a manager would actually take interest in her work, Anne leads you to her computer. You spend a good few hours with Anne showing her where everything is on the new programme. She whoops with delight as she rediscovers her lost 'print area' button, and soon she is completely up to scratch.

"I take it this will improve your speed?" you say dryly at the conclusion of your training.

"Oh yes, miss!" she cries, overjoyed. "Now I know where everything is I'll be fine!"

"Just make sure you ask me, or Julian if I'm not around, if you have any computer troubles. We're a team, not a slave galley."

"Yes, miss," she repeats dutifully.

"And if I catch you chatting by the water cooler for half an hour at a time I really will take a stick to you!" you threaten.

She laughs, then goes grave as she sees the steely look in your eye.

Gain 1 Dignity point for resolving this staffing issue humanely. Also gain 4 Progress points . Anne's extra productivity really pays off!

Turn to page 789.

Page 536

Understanding Westjack culture is a hard thing for an outsider to do. Perhaps you thought unleashing your full wrath against Anne's erring behind was the most culturally appropriate course of action? Well, it's your right to do it, but the law of unintended consequences is a harsh thing.

Without skill or grace you lash into poor Anne's backside, the cane whistling through the air like a sword stroke. She squeals from the first poorly laid on hit, which cuts into her left cheek only, leaving a savage bruise from the first.

"Quiet Anne!" you snap. "Take your punishment with some dignity!"

You lash again, the blow striking bum and thighs equally, a violent red line springing up across the struck skin.

Vip! Vip! Vip!

Tolerating no pleas for mercy you lash poor Anne beyond the limits of her endurance, your cane landing this way and that without poise or grace. By the end of her session she is sobbing, her backside looking dangerously raw.

Gain 1 point of Ambition for your ruthlessness.

Anne sobbingly pleads that she will work harder, and dashes from the office in great distress. In fact, Anne's performance does improve, but your staff are shocked at the violent caning she has received. Although none dare confront you, for fear of receiving a similar lashing, your undisciplined caning is considered an affront to decent, traditional Westjack beatings, which are always carried out with decorum and restraint. Lose 3 points of Reputation .

Gain 1 progress point for the slight improvement in Anne's workload.

Turn to page 789.

Page 537

A moderate number of strokes, strictly applied, seems to be the best way forward -- but most managers would only undertake such a challenge after years of training. This won't be easy...

If you have the codeword TRAINED, Turn to page 538.
If not, read on:

You've seen other canings on the island, you'll just have to copy them. The important thing is not to be a wimp and to focus on accuracy. Anne will be expecting something rigorous from a manager of your rank, and it's important you do not disappoint her.

You carefully line the cane up against her backside, pressing against the very centre of her clenching buttocks.

If your Ambition is 5 or more, Turn to page 539.
If not, read on.

This sort of thing just doesn't come naturally to you. Even as you pull back your cane to strike, you make sure that you do not pull back too far ... and even as your bring your arm forward you suffer a crisis of conscience, striking the buttock cheeks all too softly. The final result is more of a tap that a stroke, with not even the distinctive whoosh of the cane audible.

Anne does not so much as flinch. She quietly waits for you to continue.

For the next few strokes you slowly increase the impact, but Anne's lack of sound causes you endless consternation. Is she suffering in silence, or barely feeling anything? By halfway through the lack of significant marks on her bottom encourages you to increase your strength, but it is all too little too late. Only your second to last stroke causes a grunt to pass Anne's lips, and, disastrously, the sound makes you pull your stroke for the twelfth, the cane bouncing off Anne's undamaged cheeks as if shunned.

You swallow. "Well ... that's all, Anne," you say, inwardly ashamed. "Just make sure you increase your productivity or I'll have you over this desk again."

"Yes, miss," says Anne smartly, tugging up her knickers and smoothing down her dress as she rises. "I wouldn't want to go through that again, would I?"

There is more than a little sarcasm in that tone. Lose 1 point of Ambition for this disastrous performance.

Needless to say Anne's performance does not improve, and her churlish boasting to her colleagues about what a wet caner you are does nothing for your standing. Lose 2 points of Reputation .

If you wish you can fire Anne for her lack of improvement. If you do this you can gain 4 Progress points (her work passes to a more productive colleague) and gain the codeword DISMISS , but lose another 4 points of Reputation. Firing a girl just after you've punished her is the very height of bad manners in Westjack!

Turn to page 789.

Page 538

Fortunately you have been well instructed by one of the finest caners on the island -- a simple, professional thrashing should be sufficient for the naughty Anne.

Vip!

With a confident, swift stroke you cut into Anne's proffered buttocks, a ruler straight horizontal line of scarlet igniting on her jolting behind.

"Ouch!" she cries in shock and alarm, quite unprepared for such a skilful stroke.

"Do be quiet, Anne, people are trying to work," you chide airily, before slicing down again.

Vip!

"Oh!"

Vip!

"Ouch!"

Vip!

"Ah!" shrieks the beaten Anne, her buttocks shuddering under the firm impacts from the cane.

With tremendous measure and patience, you line up stroke after stroke, allowing your wrist and the cane to do most of the work, your arm swinging to a minimum. The narrow slice of the cane is textbook, and Anne quivers under your professional bombardment, her knuckles white with strain as she grips onto the desk. This is much more than she bargained for...

Vip! Your final slice cuts into thin flesh between buttock and thigh, causing Anne to emit a great yelp. Her bottom is positively glowing with your strokes, such that you can almost feel the heat blazing from her abused buttocks.

"Now, Anne," you say sharply. "Can I expect an improved performance from you?"

"Of course, miss!" she bleats. "I had no idea an English woman could be so ... talented...."

Your salutary caning has the desired effect. Anne's efforts increase markedly over the next few days. Gain 3 Progress points and 1 point of Ambition. Also gain 3 points of Reputation . Your staff are pleased that you motivated Anne conventionally rather than resorting to sack her.

Turn to page 789.

Page 539

You need to be firm and in control. Fortunately your experiences on the island have inserted a sliver of ruthlessness in your soul. You have every intention of making Anne feel every one of your strokes!

Vip!

With a confident, swift stroke you cut into Anne's proffered buttocks, a ruler straight horizontal line of scarlet igniting on her jolting behind.

"Ouch!" she cries in shock and alarm, quite unprepared for such a skilful stroke.

"Do be quiet, Anne, people are trying to work," you chide airily, before slicing down again.

Vip!

"Oh!"

Vip!

"Ouch!"

Vip!

"Ah!" shrieks the beaten Anne, her buttocks shuddering under the firm impacts from the cane.

With tremendous measure and patience, you line up stroke after stroke, allowing your wrist and the cane to do most of the work, your arm swinging to a minimum. The narrow slice of the cane is textbook, and Anne quivers under your professional bombardment, her knuckles white with strain as she grips onto the desk. This is much more than she bargained for...

Vip! Your final slice cuts into thin flesh between buttock and thigh, causing Anne to emit a great yelp. Her bottom is positively glowing with your strokes, such that you can almost feel the heat blazing from her abused buttocks.

"Now, Anne," you say sharply. "Can I expect an improved performance from you?"

"Of course, miss!" she bleats. "I had no idea an English woman could be so ... talented...."

Your salutary caning has the desired effect. Anne's efforts increase markedly over the next few days. Gain 3 Progress points and 1 point of Ambition. Also gain 3 points of Reputation . Your staff are pleased that you motivated Anne conventionally rather than resorting to sack her.

Turn to page 789.

Page 540

You're not a monster like these male Westjack brutes! The fact is you find the whole idea of caning someone barbaric, and you certainly have no intention of hurting this poor girl. How you wish you had stuck to your guns and simply dismissed her -- still, you'll have to pay lip-service to her caning now.

Your blows are little more than firm taps, just enough to blush her skin, but certainly not enough to leave any nasty marks. You know how a spanking feels, and you wouldn't wish that pain on anyone.

Anne is bemused by her soft treatment. Are you belittling her? Do you really think she's incapable of taking more? Nonetheless she does not complain -- far from it, she actually encourages the further weakening of your strokes by making pained grunts at occasional intervals, glad that you cannot see her mocking face locked in a permanent smirk at how easily she is escaping her punishment.

At the final blow, delivered no more harshly than the others, you lower your cane. "Well ... that's all, Anne," you say, a little awkwardly. "Just make sure you increase your productivity or I'll have you over this desk again."

"Yes, miss," says Anne smartly, tugging up her knickers and smoothing down her dress as she rises. "I wouldn't want to go through that again, would I?"

There is more than a little sarcasm in that tone. Lose 1 point of Ambition for this disastrous performance.

Needless to say Anne's performance does not improve, and her churlish boasting to her colleagues about what a wet caner you are does nothing for your standing. Lose 2 points of Reputation .

If you wish you can fire Anne for her lack of improvement. If you do this you can gain 4 Progress points (her work passes to a more productive colleague) and gain the codeword DISMISS , but lose another 4 points of Reputation. Firing a girl just after you've punished her is the very height of bad manners in Westjack!

Turn to page 789.

Page 541

You grit your teeth. "I have no intention of going through a ludicrous caning charade, only to have Anne swan off and do just as badly as before. There is neither the time nor any point in indulging in your ludicrous cultural pastimes! Anne is gone, and her work can pass to someone who'll actually get the work done!"

Gain 1 point of Ambition for this ruthless power play.

Pauline seems to almost wither under your tirade, but finally acknowledges your ruling.

Sacking Anne Fairweather does indeed lead to good results, gain 4 points of Progress for the improvement in productivity. Your staff remain bitter and nervous at your decision, however; if someone can be sacked even without a warning punishment then none of them are safe! Lose 4 points of Reputation .

Record the codeword DISMISS .

Turn to page 789.

Page 542

"Well," you say with determination. "If he's a dead-weight, he should go."

Pauline's eyes flash in alarm. "Phil!" she cries, pointing her finger at your finance analyst. "Why did you mention Nigel?"

"It just ... came out ... I'm sorry..." blathers Phil, desperately.

"Miss. Hathaway," says Pauline quickly. "No one expects you to really tackle Nigel! It was unfair of Phil to say anything..."

"Yeah -- just forget it!" agrees Phil. "Mr Stevenson is very sensitive about Nigel. No one will think any the worse of you if you let it drop."

Julian agrees. "Seriously, miss -- let it slide, yeah? The last person to criticize Nigel ... well, she couldn't sit down for weeks. I can't imagine how bad it would be if you actually tried to sack him! Pick one of the other two, you'd be much better off."

A terrible chill runs down your spine. Your team are genuinely afraid for your safety. It doesn't take much imagination to imagine what Mr Stevenson is like when he's angry -- your bum twitches in complaint just thinking about it.

But it can't be right to let him continue to abuse the workforce ... can it?

What do you do?

Swallow your fear and sack him on the spot? Turn to page 543.

Choose to get rid of John Harbourman? Turn to page 531.

Or, Anne Fairweather? Turn to page 532.

Or are you resolved to get rid of Nigel ... but maybe a bit sneakily? Turn to page 548.

Page 543

You'll not jeopardise this project for anyone, not even Mr Stevenson's son. You realise that you are signing your own doom -- but you will be manager of your own department. Those who can't keep up are out.

Gain 1 point of Ambition .

"Pauline," you say quietly. "Get me a termination of employment form."

"Miss -- no ...!" chokes Pauline, tears flooding her eyes.

"I've made up my mind, Pauline -- get that form," you say firmly.

"Yes ... yes, miss," she sobs, quickly departing the meeting room.

Phil and Julian bite their lower lips in the awkward silence, their hands fidgeting with their pens in agitation.

"You're dismissed, boys," you say firmly. "Go and crack on with something, will you?"

They nod and move to go, Julian hanging back, closing the door behind Phil. He turns to you, his eyes moist.

"I just wanted to say ... I thought you were the best manager we ever had here at ComLondon," he says, his voice warbling.

You laugh. "I'm not going anywhere, Julian..."

"He'll ... he'll break you, Miss. Hathaway," says Julian sadly. "You won't be the same when you come back."

You pause, dumbstruck by Julian's claim. In the intervening silence he quietly leaves the meeting room sending you into a whirl of fear. People are treating you as if you were attending your own funeral!

Screwing your courage to the sticking place you deftly fill out the termination form and present it to Nigel personally. He is astonished. "You can't do this -- I was employed by my father!" he booms, causing all heads in the office to turn and look.

"And you're being fired by me," you say flatly. "You haven't done a day's work in three years. You are a distraction, Nigel, and I want you out."

"Dad will never stand for this!" he threatens darkly, rising from his chair and storming out of the office.

People are dumbstruck. They can't believe this is happening! The office girls bite their lips in apprehension, or perhaps sympathy, all imagining the fierce beating that is coming your way. My goodness, the tension is awful!

Lose 1 Willpower point as the dread begins to claw into your gut.

"I'll be in my office," you announce. "When Mr Stevenson calls put him straight through, will you?"

You stride into your office, closing the door behind you and leaning on it, a terrible shaking beginning to tremble through your body. You quickly open a bottle of mineral water and gulp down the contents to stop your throat from rising. This is going to be bad -- really bad.

You return to your desk, numbly turning the pages of a report, unable to take in its contents. The waiting is truly awful, and you're not sure you can stand the tension.

The phone suddenly rings, making you squeal in surprise. With trembling fingers you pick up the phone. "Hello?" you say timidly.

"Dianne -- it's Jenny," says the voice of Mr Stevenson's secretary. It is full of concern and angst. "He wants to see you."

"Okay," you whimper. "Tell him I'll be right up."

You hang up. You rise stiffly, as if going to the gallows, exit your office and slowly walk across the main office floor. Your team, every man and woman of them, are gathered in a long line towards the door -- on their feet as a last sign of respect.

"Good luck, Miss..."

"Stiff upper lip, old girl..."

"Be strong, Miss. Hathaway..."

They utter reassuring benedictions as you walk past them, closer and closer towards the main office door. It is a physical relief when the lift finally opens and closes behind you, finally blocking you off from their line of sight. You punch the button for the top floor and burst into tears. You know that what is about to happen is dreadfully inevitable, that you will be cruelly punished beyond all endurance. How you despise Westjack and its cruel ways!

The lift door opens, and Jennifer is waiting for you in the lobby. She immediately takes you into her arms and hugs you tightly as you weep.

"I know, I know, I understand," she chants reassuringly, rubbing your back as you cry your heart out. "Shhh ... I know..."

"I don't think I can go in there..." you sob.

"You must," she replies. "Or you'll forever live in fear of him."

Jennifer holds you at arm's length and put's her hand under your chin to raise your head. "We're English, Dianne," she says firmly. "We grin and bear it. And we certainly don't let the colonials see us cry."

She passes over half a dozen tissues to mop your eyes with, quickly taking you to the toilets so you can fix your make-up.

Slowly the tears stop and you pull yourself together. She's right -- you can beat him if you can just cling on. This is the deciding moment. If you can overcome Mr Stevenson's full wrath you can do anything, and this project will be completed. If not ... then you would never have made it anyway.

With a final carefully applied application of eyeliner you announce you are ready. You breathe slow and deep as you approach Mr Stevenson's door. Through the glass window you can see him, apparently nonchalantly writing on some papers. Rubbish -- he's just as agitated as you are. Time for the showdown.

Jennifer knocks on the door.

"Enter," booms Mr Stevenson.

Jenny opens the door smoothly, ushering you in. "Miss. Hathaway to see you, Mr Stevenson," she announces.

"Good," he says, still intent on his paperwork. "That will be all, Jennifer. You can go home -- my business with Miss. Hathaway will take some time."

"Sir, if it's alright with you, I'll stay by my desk," says Jennifer, in a rare show defiance. "I think someone will need to look after Dianne after your ... meeting."

Mr Stevenson looks up from his papers briefly. His face is an ugly red. His eyes pass you yours and then back to his secretary. "That would probably be appropriate. Don't let me catch you peeking."

"No, sir. Thank you, sir," she says, quickly squeezing your hand in solidarity before ducking back into her office, closing the door behind her firmly.

Mr Stevenson looks back down at his paperwork, continuing his intense scribbling of notes. "You'll re-employ my son immediately," he says flatly. "Then we'll discuss what sort of punishment is appropriate."

"I'll do no such thing, Mr Stevenson," you say flatly, swallowing hard.

"He's a hard working boy, your dismissal was unfair," he responds calmly.

"Nigel hasn't done a day's work since I came to Westjack..." you begin.

"Rubbish!" cries Mr Stevenson, suddenly leaping to his feet, his face a beetroot red. "He's extremely scrupulous!"

"He is not, sir -- he's a layabout!" you respond fiercely. "And there is no place for him in my team."

"You're a liar!" roars Mr Stevenson, spittle flying from his lips, and with such volume it would terrify even the dead.

If you have the trait 'I'm sorry, Mr Stevenson...' Turn to page 544.

If your Ambition is 10 or more, Turn to page 545.
If not, read on.

You close your eyes and turn your head from the monstrous Mr Stevenson. "I am not a liar," you say quietly. "And I will not re-employ your son."

"Then what follows," he says darkly, "you brought on yourself!"

Turn to page 546.

Page 544

Your heart hammers in your chest and you feel as though you might pass out. My goodness, what have you done! Lose 2 points of Willpower .

You close your eyes and turn your head from the monstrous Mr Stevenson. "I am not a liar," you say quietly. "And I will not re-employ your son."

"Then what follows," he says darkly, "you brought on yourself!"

Turn to page 546.

Page 545

"Oh -- get a grip, sir!" you thunder back, with a volume you did not realise you possessed. "If I'm a liar then so is everyone on my team -- everyone in the whole building. Your family problems are not my concern. I'm here to do a job, and Nigel Stevenson is holding me back. It's my team and I'll run it exactly as I please! And as for you, Mr Stevenson, you can either back me or sack me. Your son will still be letting you down long after I'm gone, I'm quite sure of that. You can deal with Nigel in your own time whilst I get your bloody project finished!"

Mr Stevenson is reeling from your powerful retort -- literally rendered speechless. His mouth bobs open and shut like a stunned fish.

"Now, if you'll excuse me I have a meeting at five o'clock," you say breezily. "Julian wants to take me through some of the network protocols, whatever the hell they are."

You smartly exit the office, closing the door behind you. Jennifer is gazing at you in open mouthed wonder. You flash her a quick smile, before sauntering out of the office, almost feinting in relief.

Gain 12 Progress points for getting rid of Nigel Stevenson. Also gain 8 points of Reputation . No one, in the history of the Telephone Exchange, has ever tamed Mr Stevenson. And certainly no female employee has escaped from an emergency meeting with an intact behind!

Record the codeword UNWANTED .

Turn to page 789.

Page 546

Mr Stevenson is intent on making you change your mind -- on breaking your will with the cane. There are few on the island who could resist him. As his whistling cane impacts into your naked buttocks, dozens of strokes crisscrossing the abused globes, doubt begins to enter your mind. Is sacking Nigel really worth this agony? Is the project itself really worth such suffering?

If your Willpower is 10 or more, Turn to page 547.

If your Ambition and Willpower are 7 or more, Turn to page 547.

Otherwise read on:

Vip! Vip! Vip!

Your voice has long broken into a strained grunt as your sweat-drenched, scarlet-lined backside is thrashed into oblivion. Mr Stevenson didn't give you a total, he seems content to whip your backside until you surrender to his will, which, inevitably, in time you do.

"Enough! Oh please, enough!" you sob, begging. "I'll re-instate him -- just please stop!"

Lose 2 points of Dignity and Ambition, and raise your Bum Status by 4 levels .

Mr Stevenson nods wisely, delivering one extra cracking stroke to your behind as final punishment for your disobedience. He walks back around the desk and replaces the cane, before calmly picking up the Notice of Termination of Employment form you signed for Nigel, and ripping it in two.

"Go home," he commands grimly. "Return in the morning with a wiser head on your shoulders. Now get out."

Sobbing freely, not even bothering to pull up your knickers, you shuffle from the office and straight into the waiting arms of Jennifer, who calmly sooths you after your ordeal with a cup of tea and a shoulder to cry on.

Despite your failure you do not lose any Reputation points -- in fact you gain 1 point. Being brave enough to stand up to Mr Stevenson, even when you inevitably fail, is enough to garner respect from your work colleagues.

Turn to page 789.

Page 547

The agony in your scalding buttocks is unbearable -- but your stubbornness is stronger than Mr Stevenson's arm. Even a private hour between yourself, Mr Stevenson and his lashing cane is not enough to weaken your resolve. Frankly, as far as you are concerned, Mr Stevenson can beat you until you feint, and you'll still not give into his demands.

Vip! Vip! Vip!

Mr Stevenson's rattan makes pretty work of your bottom, bruising your backside from thigh to spine, with purple welts gathering at the centre. Halfway through your beating you caustically ask permission to step out of your knickers and skirt completely, since the garments keep slipping down as your bottom writhes through its torment. Permission being granted, you groan and sob through dozens of strokes, laid on hard with a mind to hurt you.

Raise your Bum Status by 7 levels .

But as darkness falls, and the yellow light of the office reveals the full damage to your backside, Mr Stevenson realises that he can beat you no further. There is not one patch of skin on your behind unkissed and unwelted by the cane. He has been defeated.

"Ridiculous girl!" he thunders. "Why don't you give in?"

"Because I'm right, Mr Stevenson," you croak, your voice hoarse from crying out. "And I'm trying to protect you, though you don't realise it."

Mr Stevenson's hand touches your bruised arse, and you hiss in pain as he feels the damage he has inflicted. "I don't agree with what you've said about my son," he says darkly. "But I can't deny your right to dismiss him. You clearly feel strongly about it, however. So ... I'll let it pass..."

"Thank you, sir," you moan.

"Now get out!"

Stiffly, your bottom boiling with pain even at rising, you prise yourself off Mr Stevenson's desk, and stagger out of the office, clutching your skirt and knickers in one hand as if they we're a victory trophy. Beyond, in her secretarial office, Jennifer immediately closes the door and lets you collapse into her arms.

"I've never seen such cruelty, even from him," murmurs Jennifer, with a combination of awe and terror in her voice. "Why didn't you give in...?"

"Because I'm here to do a job, and do it well," you say earnestly.

"You're incredible, Dianne," she says with tears of admiration in her eyes. "You deserve to succeed!"

Gain 12 Progress points for getting rid of Nigel Stevenson. Also gain 10 points of Reputation . No one, in the history of the Telephone Exchange, has ever endured such a beating and not succumbed to Mr Stevenson's will. Add one point to your Ambition, Dignity and Willpower. You have exceeded yourself.

Record the codeword UNWANTED .

Turn to page 789.

Page 548

If what your staff are telling you about Nigel Stevenson is true there must be evidence. No one is so corrupt for so long without getting lazy.

If you have the trait 'Knowledgeable', Turn to page 549.

You discover that Nigel spends a lot of time in special 'meetings' where he 'gathers data' for his reports. It might be worth following him to one of these meetings. Of course, snooping around is a very unladylike thing to do and might end up with you getting caught.

Would you like to follow Nigel, one day, and see where he ends up going? Turn to page 550.

Go for the easy option and choose to get rid of John Harbourman? Turn to page 531.

Or, Anne Fairweather? Turn to page 532.

Page 549

Checking computer access logins over the last few months, you can see that on numerous occasions whole days have passed without Nigel even logging onto his computer.

Furthermore a quick hack of his email accounts reveals that pretty much every report he has ever 'written' was first emailed to him by Marjorie Wallace. Double checking the completed reports he has submitted to you and Mr Stevenson you quickly find that there is no difference between the draft copy written by Marjorie, and the final version he submits as his own work.

Printing off reams of the data you march up into Mr Stevenson's office, having first booked an appointment with the great man himself.

As your boss makes his way through the evidence you have submitted, looking aghast as he does so, you decide to play the man very carefully.

"I think this evidence demonstrates," you say softly, "that Nigel is unhappy in the mobile project team. Perhaps it's not stimulating enough for him? Perhaps a transfer to something more immediate and less cerebral would be better for him? I've checked with Mrs. Sandstrom, and there is an opening in the operators department. Perhaps that would be a better fit?"

Mr Stevenson seems practically relieved that you have come up with such a face-saving suggestion, especially given the long standing evidence of terrible slacking from his favourite son!

"Good thinking, Dianne," he says, nodding emphatically. "I'll see to the transfer myself. Thank you for bringing this to my attention. There are many managers who would not understand, or seek to undermine my authority..."

"I assure you, you can always expect loyalty from me," you smile reassuringly.

Gain 12 Progress points for getting rid of Nigel Stevenson. Also gain 2 points of Reputation . Your gentle cunning is well appreciated by both your staff and Mr Stevenson.

Gain the codeword UNWANTED .

Turn to page 789.

Page 550

Cars aren't very common in Westjack unless you have a profession that justifies owning one. It is therefore fairly easy to follow Nigel on foot one lunchtime as he attends one of his regular 'research meetings'. Being sure to stay out of sight you follow him as he walks through the centre of town before stopping off at an ironmongers. You loiter outside a little time until you catch sight of him again through the basement window of the ironmongers just underneath the emergency stairs.

He has evidently gathered with several other men, but what they are doing or saying is very unclear from where you are standing.

What do you do?

Sneak up to the basement window to get a better look? Turn to page 551.

Sneak into the ironmongers and try to get into the basement so you can hear? Turn to page 564.

Or ask the ironmonger what Nigel is doing here? Turn to page 558.

Page 551

Although you are rather exposed, you decide it's better to sneak up to the window than trespass on private property. That could really get you into trouble!

Getting as close to the window as you can you try to peer through the smoky glass. After a few minutes it becomes obvious what is occurring. Nigel is gambling, some kind of poker game, perhaps?

Clearly he shouldn't be doing this! Thinking quickly you take out your mobile phone and start taking pictures (about the only use your mobile has on this island at the moment). You have taken several before you hear a noisy cough behind you.

Turning round you see the dread form of Constable Farley towering above you.

"What's going on here, then?" he demands.

What do you do?

Admit you were spying on Nigel, to see where he goes during his meetings? Turn to page 552.

Claim you were overcome with female curiosity about what was going on in the basement? Turn to page 553.

Insist that you weren't doing anything wrong? Turn to page 554.

Page 552

"Nigel's been skipping work," you insist. "I've just taken photographs proving he spends his afternoons gambling rather than working."

Constable Farley's moustache bristles. "An intolerable breach of a young man's privacy!" he cries. "That phone will be confiscated, and you shall immediately go over my knee for your just desserts!"

There is no arguing with the law in Westjack! Your phone is taken and your punishment delivered immediately. The Constable slings you over his lap, flipping up your skirt with practiced ease, and tugs your knickers down to constrain your feet.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

Constable Farley's hand beats your bottom with firm rigor, and your bound ankles kick in complaint as he slaps your wobbling cheeks.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

During your spanking you see Nigel leave the ironmongers, smiling gloatingly at your unfair punishment. "Not very nice to peek, is it Miss. Hathaway," he laughs, before making his way back to the office.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level . Also lose one point of Dignity for your mortifyingly public beating.

With Nigel onto you there is now no chance he's going to make another slip-up so soon. It looks like you'll be putting up with Nigel Stevenson for quite a bit longer!

Turn to page 789.

Page 553

Constable Farley nods wisely. "A far too common fault," he admits. "Well, let's have you over my knee and we'll say no more about it."

You are aware that you don't want your spanking to alert Nigel -- but neither do you want to cross the Constable unnecessarily. "It really was very naughty of me," you admit. "Would you rather spank me over by the park bench? It's a bit private here and I wouldn't want people to think I was trying to hide my shame..."

"A laudable spirit," agrees the Constable. "Perhaps a more public spanking will dissuade others from the vanity of female curiosity."

Trying your best to look penitent and ashamed you allow the Constable to escort you far away from the Ironmongers and into the nearby park, where you are quickly up-ended and heartily spanked. The constable has your skirt up and knickers down in less time than it takes to take a breath, and soon you are squirming penitently over his lap.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

The Constable is perfunctory and not cruel. Raise your Bum Status by 1 level . Lose 1 Dignity point for this public spectacle, but gain a Reputation point. The Constable will speak well of a girl who assists the law in its execution of duty.

The most important thing is that you have evidence on your phone of Nigel's wrongdoing!

Turn to page 601.

Page 554

You bat your eyes and look innocent as you express to Constable Farley what a good girl you are.

If your Dignity is 6 or more, Turn to page 556.

If your Reputation is 20 or more, Turn to page 556.

If not, read on.

The constable is having none of it. Unable to determine exactly what you have done wrong he takes you down to the station and arrests you for suspicious behaviour.

You are held for several days, your possessions confiscated including your mobile phone, while your guilt or innocence is determined.

If you have the codeword HOLD, Turn to page 555.

Each day you are interviewed by the police, and spanked soundly by the jailor as a suspected criminal. You reputation suffers even though the police do not bring any charges against you, so prurient and gossipy are the locals of Westjack. Lose 5 points of Reputation and raise your Bum Status by 2 levels .

Eventually you are released without charge -- but your mobile phone is impounded by the police for future evidence against you.

Needless to say, by the time you return to the office, with every one of your co-workers looking at you as if you were a criminal, trying to sack Nigel Stevenson is the last thing on your mind.

Turn to page 789.

Page 555

Your previous criminal behaviour on the island comes back to haunt you. Constable Farley is forced to reveal to the police sergeant your indiscretions aboard the waste container ship. Your recent suspicious behaviour re-enforces his opinion that you are either some sort of spy or other criminal.

You are to be deported from island in disgrace. But before that the police sergeant intends to carry out a little rough justice on your behind with the prison strap. Your return to England will be both uncomfortable and ignominious.

Your adventure ends here...

Page 556

Who could mistrust such an angel? Constable Farley's heart softens as you inform him you simply got lost in town trying to find your way into the Ironmongers.

"The front door is generally the best way in," says the Constable dryly. "I'll give you an escort."

Thanking the constable you allow yourself to be escorted to the front door. You suppose it's now impossible to sneak inside, what with the constable watching you.

What do you do?

Go in, quickly buy a fire poker, and leave as soon as possible? Turn to page 557.

Browse for a bit until the constable has gone, and then interview the ironmonger? Turn to page 558.

Page 557

Smiling curtly you quickly make a purchase and leave. At least you have your mobile phone with the evidence on it! Now to do something about getting rid of Nigel.

Turn to page 601.

Page 558

You step into the Ironmongers. It's like a blast from the past, a shop from the 1940's, with wrought iron displays above each set of goods. In the corner a roaring fire blazes, just next to a display of manacles.

After browsing the goods a little you approach the counter.

If you have the codeword FAVOUR, Turn to page 560.

If not, read on.

The balding man behind the counter surveys you cautiously. "Can I help you with anything, madam?" he asks imperiously.

"I was just wondering," you ask nonchalantly. "There was a man who just came into this shop -- I think he's in your basement now. I just wonder exactly what he's doing down there."

"The matter is private -- some sort of business meeting I understand," the shopkeeper says. "Not something I would discuss with a customer."

He says this with a terrible finality, as if to press further would be a mistake. You take the hint and leave.

If you have taken a photo of Nigel in the basement, Turn to page 559.

Otherwise it seems there is no evidence to incriminate him. You're just going to have to accept that Nigel Stevenson will be on your team for some time to come.

Turn to page 789.

Page 559

A pity you didn't get anything out of the ironmonger -- but the incriminating photo is enough to go on for the moment. Now it's time to decide how to use it.

Turn to page 601.

Page 560

To your great surprise and delight you recognise the ironmonger. It is Alfred Kishorn, the butler of the Club. He recognises you at once.

"Dianne!" he cries with genuine pleasure. "How wonderful to see you. You're an awfully modern girl to be frequenting my old establishment!"

"I suppose I am," you smile. "You're awfully indulgent to let an English girl like me in your club..."

"Not a bit of it -- you passed the test," he says waving his hand. "It's always such a pleasure to get a new member. You can't understand how many gentlemen you make happy with your attendance."

"Alfred -- I'm in a pickle, I wonder if you can help me?" you ask, cutting to the chase.

"Of course, old girl, anything for a club member," shrugs Alfred.

You wet your lips. "Nigel Stevenson came in here a few minutes ago -- I need to know what he's doing..."

Alfred frowns. "Why?"

"I'm his boss, and he's slacking," you say firmly. "I can't cane him, he's a man. But getting rid of him seems impossible because my boss Mr Stevenson is his father."

Alfred covers his eyes with his hands. "You put me in a real bind, Dianne," he says. "Nigel is a friend, so is his father. And yet I am bound by Club tradition to help a fellow member."

"I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important," you say earnestly. "Nigel is in a lot of trouble, it's best for him and his father if I can sort this out discretely."

Alfred looks thoughtful for a few moments. "I assume Nigel has been swinging the lead -- been absent from work a lot? That's the only way he could spend so much time with the McStanley boys. Perhaps I could convince him to transfer out of your department?"

If your reputation is 30 or more, Turn to page 561.
If not, read on.

"Of course," he smiles, "I'd want something in exchange ... there's a little experiment I've been playing with in my spare time. A little challenge for the girls at the Club. I need a volunteer to try it out, make sure it's safe for general consumption, that sort of thing."

"Safe ... is it dangerous, then?" you swallow.

"Shouldn't be if I've made it right ... but, there is a risk," he says frankly. "Are you game?"

This sound interesting ... and risky, even for a Club girl like you. What do you do?

Agree to test out Alfred's latest device, in exchange for his help in getting rid of Nigel? Turn to page 563.

Or politely decline ... you don't want to get in over your head with this whole spanking thing! Turn to page 562.

Page 561

"You're an exceptional woman, Dianne -- and a proper Westjack girl," says Alfred definitively. "I know you wouldn't harm a member of this island community unless it was absolutely necessary. Very well -- I'll have a word with Nigel in a few minutes. I think you'll be getting a transfer request from him very soon."

You thank Alfred for his help, and leave your business card with him. "Just in case you don't manage to convince him, give me a call," you say reassuringly.

Alfred's warm face goes suddenly cold and dark. "I can be very persuasive, Dianne," he says menacingly. "Expect me to succeed."

"Yes, sir ... Alfred..." you quickly correct, chilled by the sudden change in the blacksmith.

Indeed, later that afternoon a very chastened looking Nigel Stevenson enters your office, looking white as a feather. "It's not working out Miss. Hathaway," he says nervously. "I've spoken with my father and I'm going to transfer to the engineering department. I'm starting next week -- sorry about the short notice..."

You smirk inwardly but maintain a cool, professional exterior. "Of course, Nigel -- I'm sorry this project wasn't your cup of tea. Thank you for all your hard work."

Nigel nods uncertainly and then quickly leaves the office as if a great weight had been taken off his shoulders. You punch the air in celebration. You've managed to sack the boss's son without any fallout from the big man himself. Gain 12 Progress points for ridding the department of this deadweight.

Gain the codeword DISMISS .

Turn to page 789.

Page 562

"On reflection," you add hastily, "I'd rather not put either of us in a difficult position. Perhaps we should keep Club business out of this affair?"

"Of course," nods Alfred. "I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable ... without your consent, that is..." he adds mischievously.

You swiftly leave the shop before he changes his mind.

Have you taken photographs of Nigel in the basement? If so Turn to page 559.

Otherwise it seems there is no evidence to incriminate him. You're just going to have to accept that Nigel Stevenson will be on your team for some time to come.

Turn to page 789.

Page 563

"Wonderful!" exclaims Alfred, his face lighting up. "What a helpful girl you are! I'll just close up the shop ... wouldn't want anyone disturbing us, would we?"

Alfred quickly makes his way to the shop door, flicking over the 'closed' sign and locking the door with heavy bolts.

"Why don't you go and stand by the fire ... keep yourself warm whilst I prepare things downstairs?" he advises. "I'll come and collect you in about ten minutes, after which I'll expect you to call me 'sir' and to obey all instructions without hesitation."

"Yes, sir," you say obediently, reasoning that you may as well start buttering him up now.

It is a long ten minutes ... and you spend your time anxiously by the fire. While there is no doubt that the Club answers a special need in you the terrible fear of the unknown is still wretched to bear.

In time Alfred returns, beckoning you with his hand towards the basement stairs. "For your own dignity I will bear you a route that bypasses Nigel and his friends," he says graciously. "This, however, will be the last nod to your dignity I will make until my experiment is concluded -- do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," you answer firmly, expecting nothing less from the fierce Alfred. Obediently you go with him, slowing padding down the dark basement steps to your oncoming doom.

Record the codeword DEAL .

Turn to page 581.

Page 564

Timing is all important with this sort of thing, especially if you want to avoid getting caught! You wait until another customer enters the shop, a well-dressed elderly lady in a wide brimmed floral hat, before following her in quietly.

You unassumingly begin to browse the selection, quickly checking every now and again if you are being watched.

If you have the codeword FAVOUR, Turn to page 565.
If not, read on.

The old lady begins to chat to the ironmonger, catching up on business, gossip and family. The conversation proves an excellent distraction.

You quietly nip through the staff door and down a set of dark stairs to the basement, padding as softly as possible. The basement is rather large, with several rooms along a long corridor. It's not hard to find the right door, however, as you can hear laughter and joking going on behind the one at the far end of the corridor.

Sneaking up you begin to listen in to their conversation. Nigel and his friends are evidently gambling, perhaps poker or some other card game. Stakes are high, but the card game warm and friendly. There's certainly no meeting going on, that's for sure!

What do you do?

Enter the room and confront Nigel? Turn to page 566.

Record their conversation on your mobile phone? Turn to page 567.

Knock politely and ask to join the poker game, with an eye to trapping Nigel later? Turn to page 570.

Page 565

To your great surprise you recognise the ironmonger. It is Alfred Kishorn, one of the great instructors of the Club. He recognises you at once.

"Dianne!" he cries with genuine pleasure. "How wonderful to see you! Let me just finish with Maggie here and I'll be right with you!"

Your heart sinks -- there goes any chance of sneaking in! Maggie, the old lady, quickly defers to you, happy to let Alfred speak with an old friend. She leaves the shop after a few gentle farewells and Alfred gives you his whole attention.

"Well!" says Alfred, beaming. "You're an awfully modern girl to be frequenting my old establishment!"

"I suppose I am," you smile. "You're awfully indulgent to let an English girl like me in your club..."

"Not a bit of it -- you passed the test," he says waving his hand. "It's always such a pleasure to get a new member. You can't understand how many gentlemen you make happy with your attendance."

"Alfred -- I'm in a pickle, I wonder if you can help me?" you ask, cutting to the chase.

"Of course, old girl, anything for a club member," shrugs Alfred.

You wet your lips. "Nigel Stevenson came in here a few minutes ago -- I need to know what he's doing..."

Alfred frowns. "Why?"

"I'm his boss, and he's slacking," you say firmly. "I can't cane him, he's a man. But getting rid of him seems impossible because my boss Mr Stevenson is his father."

Alfred covers his eyes with his hands. "You put me in a real bind, Dianne," he says. "Nigel is a friend, so is his father. And yet I am bound by Club tradition to help a fellow member."

"I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important," you say earnestly. "Nigel is in a lot of trouble, it's best for him and his father if I can sort this out discretely."

Alfred looks thoughtful for a few moments. "I assume Nigel has been swinging the lead -- been absent from work a lot? That's the only way he could spend so much time with the McStanley boys. Perhaps I could convince him to transfer out of your department?"

If your reputation is 30 or more, Turn to page 561.
If not, read on.

"Of course," he smiles, "I'd want something in exchange ... there's a little experiment I've been playing with in my spare time. A little challenge for the girls at the Club. I need a volunteer to try it out, make sure it's safe for general consumption, that sort of thing."

"Safe ... is it dangerous, then?" you swallow.

"Shouldn't be if I've made it right ... but, there is a risk," he says frankly. "Are you game?"

This sound interesting ... and risky, even for a Club girl like you. What do you do?

Agree to test out Alfred's latest device, in exchange for his help in getting rid of Nigel? Turn to page 563.

Or politely decline ... you don't want to get in over your head with this whole spanking thing! Turn to page 562.

Page 566

You swing open the door, much to the surprise and shock of Nigel and his card-playing friends.

"I thought so!" you thunder. "Nigel Stevenson! Why aren't you at work?"

"Miss. Hathaway!" he cries. "What ... how dare you follow me!"

"Don't give me that, you little shirker!" you snap. "I've had quite enough of your lazy attitude and constant ducking of responsibilities. It's time we had a word with your father..."

"Is there a problem?" says a voice at the door. You spin around to see the Ironmonger framed in the doorway, looking down on you menacingly.

"Yes, Alfred, there is!" cries Nigel. "It looks like we have a trespasser...!"

You swallow. "I'm his boss," you blurt. "He's been..."

"But you are not mine, young lady," snarls the Ironmonger. "You are trespassing on private property."

It looks like there is trouble ahead for your backside...

Turn to page 569.

Page 567

You quietly record their conversation on your mobile phone, pressing the mike to the crack under the door for the best possible recording. It's certainly incriminating stuff, Nigel waxing lyrical about how much work he's missing, boasting about how he has the rest of your team wrapped around his little finger. There are also several suggestions that he intends to take you over his knee before your tenure as his manager is over.

If you have the trait 'Sneaky', Turn to page 568.

If not, read on.

The recording is so delightful you fail to check behind you with sufficient regularity.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" booms the voice of the ironmonger behind you.

Thinking quickly, you swiftly tuck your mobile phone back into your jacket pocket, before slowly turning round. The ironmonger is already upon you, grabbing you by the scruff of the neck, opening the door, to toss you face first into the cold stone room beyond.

You see Nigel and some of his friends bolt in surprise. "My God! It's the boss!" he cries. "Alfred -- what's going on here?"

The ironmonger responds. "Someone trespassing on private property," he snarls. "And an Englishwoman to boot."

Uh oh! You have a feeling your backside is about to get awfully sore...

Turn to page 569.

Page 568

You let your mobile phone do the listening whilst you continually check behind you in case the ironmonger should descend. It's a good job you do, as, all of a sudden the basement door opens swiftly but quietly, a shaft of light from upstairs alerting you.

You quickly duck into an adjoining room, a place full of manacles and old, heavy stocks. You crouch into the shadows pleading silently not to get caught.

The ironmonger strolls past the room, quite oblivious, opening the door to the gambling den and strolling inside.

"I've closed the shop for lunch," he declares. "I thought I might join you boys for a few hands?"

"Sure, Alfred, take a seat," you hear Nigel enthuse, happy to take someone else's money for a change.

Gripping your mobile phone, you wait until all the players are engrossed in their hands before quietly slipping out of the shop and back to the office with your evidence. Now you just have to decide what to do with it!

Turn to page 601.

Page 569

You are forcibly sat in a chair at the gambling table whilst your fate is discussed by Alfred the ironmonger and Nigel Stevenson.

"Clearly this cheeky minx needs to be taught a lesson!" cries Nigel with relish. "I'll take her over my knee and see if I can't improve her behaviour."

"It's more serious than that," says Alfred darkly. "A crime has been committed. I can't let this pass with a simple spanking. I don't want any old vagabond or thief thinking my shop is an easy target."

"I suppose you are the victim here," mopes Nigel reluctantly. "I hear you're a tremendous belter -- I bet that would put Dianne back on the straight and narrow."

"The punishment I had in mind was rather more taxing than that," says Alfred. "But we should seriously consider calling the police instead."

"The police!" moans Nigel. "That sounds rather dull! I'd rather have her over my knee than that..."

No one has asked your opinion yet, and you assume that unless you speak now no one will. You can't let the police get involved with this -- your reputation would plummet! What will you suggest?

That you should be punished by Alfred, the ironmonger? Turn to page 581.

That Nigel should be allowed to have his way with you? Turn to page 575.

Page 570

To say Nigel and his friends look surprised is an understatement as you stroll confidently through the door.

"Room for another one?" you ask cheekily.

"Miss. Hathaway!" cries Nigel.

"Please, we're not at work -- it's Dianne. May I join you?" you smile.

Caught with his pants down, as it were, gambling on company time he can hardly refuse. The men quickly stand and offer you a chair, dealing you in a hand.

"It's ten pounds a hand to be in," clarifies Nigel helpfully, and you nod, throwing a tenner into the centre of the table casually.

You're not quite sure what your ultimate plan is here. For the moment it's best to see how the cards treat you.

Count how many Codewords you have collected on your character sheet.

If the total is an even number, Turn to page 571.

If the total is an odd number, Turn to page 572.

Page 571

Hmm. It's not going great. You've lost over half your money in the opening rounds. Nigel is a difficult man to bluff and you just haven't had the winning hands.

If you have the trait 'Independently Wealthy' you can overcome this hurdle by tapping into your emergency wallet, Turn to page 572.

If not you must make a choice:

Do you want to keep gambling and hoping your luck will change? Turn to page 579.

Or bail out now, whilst you are still in money? Turn to page 580.

Page 572

After a bumpy start your hands soon start to improve, and you start cleaning out Nigel's friends. It ultimately comes down to you and Nigel, bidding your great piles of money against each other. Even the ironmonger, Alfred, from upstairs comes to watch, having shut up the shop early to see the result of this epic match. You have a strong poker hand, a full house. Pretty good. You can tell that Nigel also thinks he has a strong hand as he continually raises against you.

After a particularly high raise by yourself Nigel starts to sweat.

"Problem, Nigel?" you ask airily.

"I'm ... out of money -- has anyone got fifty quid they can lend me?" he asks desperately. His friends empty their pockets, but what they have doesn't come close.

You lick your lips. "How about this, Nigel?" you say. "I'll show you my hand with what you've bid. But if I win you hand in your notice."

"What ... why?" bleats Nigel.

"Because you are lazy, Nigel Stevenson," you snap sharply, your feminine demur gone in an instant, "and I want rid of you. Since you always scurry to your dad like a little boy every time something bad happens to you I can't fire you. But I want you out. If I win this hand you can keep your stake -- but you hand in your notice, here and now."

Nigel looks outraged, his face flushing an ugly red just like his father's. He looks at his friends who do not even bother to hide their smirks -- he's being outmanoeuvred by a woman!

"A counter proposal!" he insists. "I'll agree to your terms ... but if I win you go over my knee for the spanking of your life!"

"Done," you say, more than happy to risk a red bottom to get rid of this lame shirker.

You lay your hand down. "Full house," you say. "Three kings, two queens."

Is this enough to win? Add up your three attributes, Ambition, Dignity and Willpower.

If the result is even Turn to page 573.

If the result is odd Turn to page 574.

Page 573

Nigel's face falls. He drops his hand onto the table. Another full house -- three jacks, two eights. You've won.

The men at the table laugh loudly, one of them slapping you on the back for your bold play. You take back your stake and ask Alfred the ironmonger for a pen and paper. "Nigel needs to write me a little note," you smile.

"Yes miss," grins the ironmonger, immediately setting off to get the paper.

With all his friends watching, and Alfred there to countersign, you watch as Nigel miserably writes a resignation notice.

"It's probably best that you don't complain to your father, Nigel," you suggest. "I think that when he finds out that you composed this letter in Alfred's gambling den he might not be too pleased with you."

"No," agrees Nigel quietly.

Gain 12 Progress points for ridding the contract of Nigel's stupidity and laziness. In addition gain 2 Fun points . It may have been all for the project, but winning at poker certainly cheers you up!

Record the codeword UNWANTED .

Turn to page 789.

Page 574

Nigel grins smugly as he drops his cards on the table. It's a straight, ten high. No wonder he was so desperate to match your bid.

Unable to control his delight he carefully scoops up all the notes on the table and folds them into his wallet. "Would you like a drink, before we begin -- or would you like to pop over my lap now?" he leers.

You exhale in frustration, your bum twitching in sympathy below you. No point hanging around, is there?

Turn to page 577.

Page 575

"I think ... morally ... Nigel is the wronged party here," you say quickly. There is something about the cold and mechanical ironmonger that you don't like ... that makes you think a punishment from him would be more cruelly imaginative than one from Nigel.

If your Dignity is 5 or more, Turn to page 576.

Otherwise, read on.

Nigel obviously detects the fear in your voice. His primary desire is to teach you a lesson, not lessen your suffering.

"No -- I think Alfred has thrashing rights," he decides finally. "Since you're not keen to go to the police."

The police probably would be a bad idea. If Mr Stevenson heard you had been arrested all hell would break loose!

"Come with me, then, Dianne Hathaway," intones the ironmonger menacingly. "From here on in you shall do exactly as I say until your punishment is complete. And you may call me 'sir'."

"Yes, sir," you say trembling, rising to meet your inevitable doom.

"I shall punish the young lady in private," declares Alfred, much to the chorus of disapproval from Nigel and his friends. "In private, I say! This is for a lady's benefit, not for the lecherous pleasure of you lot!"

Somehow you doubt that Alfred's coming punishment of you will be entirely dispassionate, but you cannot help but heave a sigh of relief as you are led away from the grinning, sneering Nigel Stevenson. At least he won't witness what is to come...

Turn to page 581.

Page 576

You fix Nigel with such a look of succulent desire that he is quite overcome. He simply must have a go on that backside!

"Alfred," he growls, bursting with lust, "if you value me as a friend you will let me take Miss Dianne Hathaway over my knee!"

Alfred the ironmonger shakes his head at Nigel's foolishness but concedes. "As you wish -- but such meagre punishment will not be enough to tame her..."

"Who cares?" he shrugs. "I've wanted this girl over my knee from the moment she started bossing me around! Revenge will be sweet!"

Turn to page 577.

Page 577

This is the ultimate humiliation. The man whom you plotted to sack for his laziness and corruption now has you over his lap, your naked bottom lying defenceless before him. Nigel Stevenson licks his lips in barely disguised delight as he strokes your quivering backside, his gambling friends and the sinister ironmonger watching on with interest.

Lose 1 point of Dignity or Ambition (your choice).

"Not too much squealing and squirming, darling," he drawls. "Or a ten minute spank will become a twenty minute one -- understand?"

You swallow, inwardly determined not to make more of a fool of yourself than you have already. "Yes, Nigel," you say meekly, hoping not to provoke him further.

With all preparations made Nigel begins.

Smack!

You wince slightly as you right buttock cheek is struck with a resounding slap. It's not unbearable, but it's far from the softest treatment you've had.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

A routine and rhythmic battering of your bum cheeks begins, Nigel's friends pulling their chairs closer to observe your bouncing buttocks redden.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

If your Willpower is 3 or more, Turn to page 578.
If not, read on.

The spanking is rather rapid, the swiftness of the blows compensating for their low power. The stinging pain is more than you can handle, and you compulsively wriggle throughout your spanking.

"Another ten minutes, then, you bad girl!" mocks Nigel. "You'll have to learn to be stiller than that if you want to get on here!"

Completely humiliated you squeal and squirm through another ten minutes of bare-bottom spanking, Nigel's friends laughing heartily at the 'silly English girl's' wriggling.

Raise your Bum Status by 2 levels and lose 1 point of Dignity .

When he finally ceases, resting his hand on your scalding buttock cheeks, he chides you one more time before sending you on your way. You are escorted curtly out by the ironmonger.

Do you have a recording on your mobile phone of Nigel's activities in the basement? If so Turn to page 559.

Otherwise it seems there is no evidence to incriminate him. You're just going to have to accept that Nigel Stevenson will be on your team for some time to come.

Turn to page 789.

Page 578

Nigel is not half the man his father is -- you could take a spanking like this all day let alone for a feeble ten minutes. Remaining still and poised, with not so much as a squeak exiting your lips, you allow Nigel to do his worst upon your naked buttocks. Indeed, you begin to wonder if Nigel is somehow being gentle with you ... but his bragging and teasing suggests that, in fact, he is trying his best.

Taking your blows with such obedience and silence impresses your audience, gain 1 point of Reputation and raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

When he finally ceases, resting his hand on your warmed buttock cheeks, he chides you one more time before sending you on your way. You are escorted curtly out by the ironmonger.

Do you have a recording on your mobile phone of Nigel's activities in the basement? If so Turn to page 559.

Otherwise it seems there is no evidence to incriminate him. You're just going to have to accept that Nigel Stevenson will be on your team for some time to come.

Turn to page 789.

Page 579

The cards are not with you tonight. Your determination to outdo Nigel becomes so great you rashly bid your own backside on the one strong hand you have. When even that hand is crushed beneath Nigel's straight-flush the time to pay the piper comes around all too quickly.

Turn to page 577.

Page 580

Perhaps Nigel is cheating -- or maybe you're no good at cards. Either way you decide to cut your losses and run. Nigel is disappointed, clearly he wanted to milk you for every spare pound you have.

"What's the matter, Dianne," teases Nigel. "Not man enough to see the game through?"

"Not stupid enough risk all on a losing streak," you clarify. "Don't be long -- I want you back in the office in an hour."

He shrugs. "Of course -- count on it!" he smirks.

You leave the gambling den thoroughly dejected. You can hardly sack Nigel now you've joined him in his business-time card game! Like it or not Nigel Stevenson will be with you for some time to come...

Lose 1 point of Ambition .

Turn to page 789.

Page 581

Following Alfred the ironmonger obediently, you enter an isolated basement room. The sound of Nigel and his gamblers is immediately blocked when the door is shut and locked behind you, plunging you into darkness.

Record the codeword IRON .

A moment later Nigel throws the light switch and you take in your fearful environment. The room is full of ironwork restraints, manacles, chains and curiously constructed whipping frames occupy much of the space.

"Every device here was built by my own fair hands," explains Alfred with obvious pride. "This is my hobby, and I am a master of my craft. Your punishment will take place on this device..."

He indicates a tall, vertical frame of curious construction. It is composed of a pair of dangling iron rings attached to two chains. There are ankle restraints, likewise made of iron, set into the base of the structure. At the back is a large metal sliding plate, positioned to protect the bottom from attack like an iron shield. Curiously, the plate can move if the iron rings are pulled down, causing the shield to rise and to protect the back instead, leaving the bottom vulnerable and exposed.

"The device gives the subject an unusual amount of freedom of choice," he explains. "The idea is that a certain number of blows shall be inflicted with a heavy strap, I suggest four dozen in our case. The victim can either take them on her back, where the skin is thin and the blows very painful, or voluntarily pull the rings and expose her backside to the strap instead. Naturally, the backside is preferable being better padded and more used to this sort of punishment. However, there is a catch. The plate is rather heavy and requires some strength to pull up. In order to expose your backside you must strain against the weight. When your strength fails, which it inevitably shall, you shall allow the plate to fall back and cover your bottom whilst simultaneously being stretched up by the rings to allow a decent blow to your back. Ingenious, no?"

You are horrified by the sadistic machine -- but you asked for this punishment, you can't back out now. In any case, some small part of you is intrigued to try it...

"This device requires that you be naked for its operation," Alfred breezily explains. "Kindly remove your clothes now."

If you have the codeword NAKED, Turn to page 582.

If not, Turn to page 583.

Page 582

Without so much as a blink you strip off your dress and jacket, allowing them to fall to the floor. Your shirt and underwear follow shortly. Surprisingly Alfred even asks you to remove your heels, which you do without complaint.

Stripping naked is no big thing for you now. You only hope the rest of your punishment is similarly un-trying.

Turn to page 584.

Page 583

Your throat is too choked with emotion to say anything, so you just nod numbly.

You have never taken your clothes off in public. You find the task acutely shameful. Slowly removing your work jacket first, you fold it up and place it neatly on the ground next to you. You remove your skirt next, reasoning that your top at least covers your knickers for a few precious seconds as you do so.

Still under the accusing eyes of Alfred you slowly pull off your top, leaving you in your underwear. Which to remove first? You suppose dignity demands that you reveal your breasts first, and you unclasp your bra with trembling fingers that delays the final release of your round tits delightfully.

Just the knickers to go. Trying to suppress your tears you swiftly tug your knickers down and clamber out of them, your naked buttocks rolling and generous breasts bobbing as you complete the manoeuvre.

You've never felt less ready, more vulnerable or nervous. Lose 1 point of Ambition , Dignity and Willpower as Alfred drinks in your nakedness.

Gain the codeword NAKED .

Turn to page 584.

Page 584

Now suitably naked, Alfred commands you to step into the machine, inviting you to open your legs and slide your ankles into the manacles, which he locks shut with an audible clunk!

"Now hold onto the rings and keep hold throughout," he says, lifting your arms to prompt you to grasp the rings high above you. They are just within reach, causing you to rise on tiptoes to grasp the cold rings. They feel heavy, the weight of the iron plate seemingly unabated by the pulley system that connects it to the metal screen that hides your bottom from view. "Don't let go of them, or you could damage the machine," he chides. "If you release the rings before we are through it will be an extra dozen!"

You shiver in your stretched position, your bare breasts thrusting forward from your over-pulled stance. It seems strangely comforting having a solid iron shield protecting your behind -- one that you can put in place at any time of your choosing just by relaxing your arms. But to be whipped on the back ... that is an unknown quantity.

Alfred steps behind you, retrieving a long strap dangling from the wall. "I shall start in five seconds, decide on your first position accordingly," he informs you.

What will you do?

Pull the rings and expose your bottom to the strap? Turn to page 585.

Or leave the rings slack and let the first blows strike your back? Turn to page 586.

Page 585

Deciding you'd rather take Alfred's blows on your ample rump rather than your thin-skinned back you tug hard on the rings. It's heavy ... not impossible, but tough. About as heavy as the weights you used to pull in gym back in London. You could do about ten pulls in a row before weakening there. Of course no one was trying to lash your behind back in London...

Snap!

Alfred's heavy belt cracks against your behind, jolting your bum forwards into the air. You groan as a heavy red track forms across the centre of your cheeks.

Snap!

Another blow licks your bottom, lifting you up onto your tiptoes. You whimper and your arms tremble at the sudden shock, weakening your grasp. Your muscles failing you are suddenly pulled into a stretched position on tiptoes, the chains yanking you up and the bottom plate clanking down noisily to protect your rear, leaving you back painfully exposed...

Snap!

"Ah!" you cry throatily as the belt cracks across your revealed back. The sting is terrible, much worse than your bottom, and prompts you to pull hard on the rings again to shield your back from the horrible strap.

Snap!

A blow to your now exposed bottom makes you shriek. The pain is not much less severe, made more terrible by the great and trembling effort of keeping the rings pulled down.

Alfred chuckles behind you, delighted with his new invention. "Oh -- poor Dianne!" he says with unconvincing sympathy. "It's not easy to concentrate with this old beast licking your behind, is it?"

Snap! Snap!

You howl through the first dozen, your cries giving strength to your arms. Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

Your arms are trembling potently ... you're not sure you can hold the rings down for much longer.

What do you do?

Resolve to take the next dozen on your back to give your arms some strength? Turn to page 587.

Or keep pulling on the rings, desperate to keep the strap from your tender back? Turn to page 590.

Page 586

Clearly the idea here is to spread the blows evenly between your bum and back, so as to not get too sore in either place. You reason that you might as well take the first few blows to your back and save your strength for when Alfred finds his rhythm.

There is a great creak of leather followed by a...

Snap!

"Ah!" you cry out as your back is scalded with the strap. That ... was painful! Much worse than on the bum!

Snap! Snap!

"Uh! Ahh!" you cry as the strap twice more slaps against the thin skin of your back. You back blossoms with scarlet and you cringe against the rings, the bottom plate clattering as it hovers between being raised and released.

Snap!

"Ohhh!" This is awful! You must protect your back from this wretched strap! You tug hard on the rings -- they're heavy, really heavy. Your eagerness to protect your scalding back lends you strength and you tug hard, sending the bottom plate high up to cover your welted back.

Snap!

Your newly exposed bum is kissed by the strap with such force you lose your momentum, your arms giving way to send the plate crashing back down to cover your bottom.

Snap!

"Gnnn!" you grunt, once again thrashed across your shoulders, your arms quivering impotently against the rings.

Lacking any of the padding of your behind, your back whipping cuts deep into your self-control. Lose 1 point of Willpower .

At the end of the first dozen you are dangling impotently, sobbing from the scorching fire etched into your back. You must regain control of yourself and decide how you are going to handle your whipping!

What do you do?

Resolve to take the next dozen on your back as well to save some strength for the end? Turn to page 587.

Or start pulling on the rings, desperate to keep the strap from your tender back? Turn to page 588.

Page 587

In an act of calculated self-sacrifice you let yourself be pulled up by the heavy rings of the machine, stretched onto vulnerable tiptoes to expose your back. This is a long game, and you need to save your strength for the end...

Snap! Snap!

You cry out in pain as Alfred coldly whips your back, intrigued as to whether you can hold position. You feel helplessly trapped and vulnerable, biting your lip to try and reduce the noise you are making.

Snap! Snap!

You twist and groan in the rings, gripping lightly to save your arm strength as your back takes the full force of the blows, snapping across your shoulders to lick your taut breasts. By the end of this second dozen you are frantic, your reserves being ground down by this merciless punishment.

Lose 1 Willpower point .

What will you do for the third dozen?

Pull on the rings and keep them close to your chest -- your bottom can take the next series of blows? Turn to page 597.

Or remain dangling taut to save your strength for the last set? Turn to page 598.

Page 588

With a mighty groan you tug hard on the rings, sending the bottom plate rising up to shield your back. You only hope that your bum is better suited to this cruel strapping.

Snap! Snap!

Your arse is licked by two stinging strokes, causing a squeal to emit from your open mouth. You feel your arms tremble against the strain as the shock undermines your strength.

If your Willpower is 4 or more, Turn to page 589.
If not, read on.

With a defeated groan your arms go limp, stretching you back into a vulnerable back-whipping position, the bottom plate clanging down with a tremendous racket.

Snap! Snap!

You wail as your defenceless back is lashed, the pain cutting right through you to further weaken your resolve.

You can do little more than hang limp as Alfred lashes your back mercilessly. Quite losing track of the number of strokes you sob through your assigned punishment, reduced to a snivelling wreck as your back is bruised purple.

Lose 2 points of Willpower and 1 point of Dignity.

When he finally stops Alfred rehangs the belt, coming round to wipe the tears from your cheeks.

If you have the codeword DEAL, Turn to page 599.

If not, Turn to page 600.

Page 589

Hugging the rings tightly to your chest as if they were a lover you wince and bounce as Alfred decorates your bum with a full set of twelve stingers.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

Your arms are trembling fiercely ... the rings are so heavy...

What do you do for the third set?

Keep the rings pulled and take them on your bum? Turn to page 592.

Or relax your arms to take them on your back? Turn to page 598.

Page 590

With a mighty groan you tug hard on the rings, keeping the bottom plate high up to shield your back. You only hope that your bum is better suited to this cruel strapping.

Snap! Snap!

Your arse is licked by two stinging strokes, causing a squeal to emit from your open mouth. You feel your arms tremble against the strain as the shock undermines your strength.

If your Willpower is 6 or more, Turn to page 589.
If not, read on.

With a defeated groan your arms go limp, stretching you back into a vulnerable back-whipping position, the bottom plate clanging down with a tremendous racket.

Snap! Snap!

You wail as your defenceless back is lashed, the pain cutting right through you to further weaken your resolve.

Lose either 1 point of Dignity or 1 point of Willpower.

How will you take the third set?

What will you do for the third dozen?

Pull on the rings and keep them close to your chest -- your bottom can take the next series of blows? Turn to page 597.

Or remain dangling taut to save your strength for the last set? Turn to page 598.

Page 591

Your arms quivering from the weight, pushing down with your whole body onto the rings you attempt to lock yourself in place for another searing bum punishment.

Snap! Snap!

Alfred is eager to break you, his blows increasing in strength and rapidity. Trying to endure such a licking whilst your weakening hands cling onto the iron rings is almost unbearable.

If your Willpower is 7 or more, Turn to page 592.
If not, read on.

With a groan of defeat you let your arms give way, and shoot up taut into a back whipping position, the bum plate clinking down into place to protect your bruised bottom.

Snap! Snap!

"Gnn ... ahh!" you moan, twisting in the rings, your back flaming in protest at the decent of the mean strap. Your left breast is struck during your involuntary spin, causing a shriek of surprise and pain to escape your lips.

Lose 1 point of Willpower .

Your back and bum feel on fire -- but you must concentrate and decide how to take the final set! Will you:

Pull again on the rings now you have had a small break, hoping for the strength to protect your blazing back? Turn to page 596.

Or hang defenceless in the rings, reigning yourself to a final dozen cruel back whips? Turn to page 594.

Page 592

What steel you are made of! Though your shoulders ache and your arms tremble convulsively, you keep those rings pulled down taking every stroke onto your clenching cheeks!

Snap! Snap!

You whimper and groan, but you do not budge, your proffered bottom taking everything Alfred can dish out.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

There is a brief pause, signalling that the final dozen will shortly begin. Your arms feel like lead, the weight of the plate straining every sinew. What do you do?

No matter what, keep the rings pulled down? Turn to page 593.

Or, realising the last of your strength has deserted you, take the blows to your back with as much dignity as you can muster? Turn to page 594.

Page 593

Your arms shake violently as you keep the rings wrapped close to your chest, practically bent forward to push your bruised backside further out for Alfred's punishing strap.

Snap! Snap!

You feel like you are holding down a ton weight, your limbs strain and pain lances across your shoulders and arms. If your Willpower is 8 or more, Turn to page 595.
If not, read on.

The sting in your behind and your straining ligaments conspire to weaken you at the final hurdle. With a defeated groan you relax your arms, being pulled taut as the heavy bottom plate clanks down to protect your scalding rear. Seeing he has broken you Alfred extracts the musical pain he desires by whipping your back mercilessly.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

You sob in failure as Alfred lashes your back, your arms in agony from their heavy exertions. Unable to offer even courtesy protection to your back you dangle despairingly, howling through the final bitter set.

Lose 1 point of Willpower as the strap cuts itself unprotected into your back.

Finally Alfred lowers his strap, his forty-eight blows spent. With one final appreciative glance at his handiwork upon your naked body he reluctantly releases you from bondage.

If you have the codeword DEAL, Turn to page 599.

If not, Turn to page 600.

Page 594

You couldn't hope to keep pulling down on those rings if you tried. Relaxing your arms, the bottom plate firmly protecting the delicate peach of your behind, you resolve to take the last dozen across your back.

Snap! Snap!

It is not easy. Alfred's strap searchingly punishes your thin back-flesh, bruising it swiftly. You cannot help but howl as the wicked leather cuts in, wrapping round to snap at your hoisted breasts, causing you to toss your hair in despair.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

Alfred cuts you to the quick, and you cannot help but be diminished by his cruel use of you. Lose 1 point of either your Willpower or Dignity.

Finally Alfred lowers his strap, his forty-eight blows spent. With one final appreciative glance at his handiwork upon your naked body he reluctantly releases you from bondage.

If you have the codeword DEAL, Turn to page 599.

If not, Turn to page 600.

Page 595

With a strength you did not know you possessed, and a determination to protect your vulnerable back, you keep the rings pulled down despite the fire in your limbs and the blaze in your behind.

Snap! Snap!

Alfred cannot break you, even as his strap licks the sore, delicate peaches of your bottom. A struggling supporter of your own punishment, dripping with sweat from your exertions, your tug down with all your might on the rings just to allow Alfred the pleasure of beating your behind.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

Clearly impressed, Alfred strikes you with all his skill, putting his best efforts into his strokes. But there is no force that can convince you to release your dead-man's grip upon the rings, and finally, his forty-eight strokes all spent, Alfred informs you that your punishment is complete.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 Level .

With a groan of pure relief you release the rings, the bum plate clanging down noisily behind you. Your arms tremble with pain, but you are jubilant in your victory. Even Alfred the Ironmonger, master of restraints, cannot break your will.

Gain 1 point of Dignity .

If you have the codeword DEAL, Turn to page 599.

If not, Turn to page 600.

Page 596

With renewed vigour you tug down hard, keeping the rings wrapped close to your chest, practically bent forward to push your bruised backside further out for Alfred's punishing strap.

Snap! Snap!

The weight is heavy, but you're prepared to take the strain. If your Willpower is 4 or more, Turn to page 595.
If not, read on.

The sting in your behind and your straining ligaments conspire to weaken you at the final hurdle. With a defeated groan you relax your arms, being pulled taut as the heavy bottom plate clanks down to protect your scalding rear. Seeing he has broken you Alfred extracts the musical pain he desires by whipping your back mercilessly.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

You sob in failure as Alfred lashes your back, your arms in agony from their heavy exertions. Unable to offer even courtesy protection to your back you dangle despairingly, howling through the final bitter set.

Lose 1 point of Willpower as the strap cuts itself unprotected into your back.

Finally Alfred lowers his strap, his forty-eight blows spent. With one final appreciative glance at his handiwork upon your naked body he reluctantly releases you from bondage.

If you have the codeword DEAL, Turn to page 599.

If not, Turn to page 600.

Page 597

Your arms quivering from the weight, pushing down with your whole body onto the rings you attempt to lock yourself in place for another searing bum punishment.

Snap! Snap!

Alfred is eager to break you, his blows increasing in strength and rapidity. Trying to endure such a licking whilst your hands cling onto the iron rings is almost unbearable.

If your Willpower is 4 or more, Turn to page 592.
If not, read on.

With a groan of defeat you let your arms give way, and shoot up taut into a back whipping position, the bum plate clinking down into place to protect your bruised bottom.

Snap! Snap!

"Gnn ... ahh!" you moan, twisting in the rings, your back flaming in protest at the decent of the mean strap. Your left breast is struck during your involuntary spin, causing a shriek of surprise and pain to escape your lips.

Lose 1 point of Willpower .

Your back and bum feel on fire -- but you must concentrate and decide how to take the final set! Will you:

Pull again on the rings now you have had a small break, hoping for the strength to protect your blazing back? Turn to page 596.

Or hang defenceless in the rings, reigning yourself to a final dozen cruel back whips? Turn to page 594.

Page 598

If Alfred has any sense of theatre he will be saving his strength for the last dozen. This is your final chance to relax your arms in preparation for that last stinging set. You allow yourself to be pulled taut, stretched up onto tiptoes, your behind thoroughly shielded by the iron plate, your back now totally exposed. You just hope you've made the right decision.

Snap! Snap!

It is a painful sacrifice -- perhaps Alfred has worked out your plan and has increased the strength of his blows? Or perhaps your back is simply unsuited to take such rough punishment. Either way you cry at out each stroke, wriggling in your taut chains. You back enflames, and bruises are struck across your shoulder and spine. You are glad you are not some ancient mariner who would be forced to take such punishment regularly, for this cruel lashing saps you of much of your strength.

Lose 1 point of Willpower .

Just twelve more to go now. How will you take them?

Pull the rings and offer Alfred your Bum? Turn to page 597.

Or, if you believe the ring will be too much for you, remain stretched? Turn to page 594.

Page 599

Alfred catches your naked body in his arms as he releases you, gently leading you over to a padded chair that none-the-less stings your whipped flesh.

"What a good girl," he says admiringly. "I thought you took that with tremendous aplomb. Now, tell me honestly -- would you say the plate is too heavy, or do you think I've got it about right?"

Trembling in the aftershock, but realising Alfred will not abuse the trust of a fellow club member, you speak honestly. "It's much too heavy," you confess. "I thought my arms would come off..."

"I got that impression," agrees Alfred ruefully. "Very well, I'll lighten the load for next time. It's supposed to be fun, after all. As for Mr Nigel Stevenson -- leave him to me. I'll make sure he never troubles you again."

Gain 1 Ambition point for subjecting yourself to this torment just to advance your project. Also gain 5 points of Reputation -- helping out a club member advances your good name enormously on the island.

The next day a rueful Nigel enters your office requesting a transfer. "This mobile phone stuff just isn't my cup of tea, Miss. Hathaway," he says breezily. "I'd appreciate it if you could have a word with my father and transfer me somewhere less specialised."

You nod wisely. "Well, we'll be sorry to lose you, Nigel," you lie sweetly.

Gain 12 Progress points for getting rid of Nigel Stevenson. Also you have sacked him in such a way that his father will be none-the-wiser for your meddling! Add one point to either your Ambition, Dignity or Willpower.

Gain the codeword DISMISS .

Turn to page 789.

Page 600

Alfred the ironmonger coldly allows you to slump to the floor as he releases you from your bondage. "Honour is satisfied," he says darkly. "Nothing further will be said of your criminal indiscretions. Put your clothes back on and get out."

"Yes ... thank you, sir," you groan, crawling over to your clothes, your punished flesh stinging acutely. Gain 1 Willpower point for surviving this torment.

Soon you have staggered outside the ironmongers.

Do you have a recording of Nigel Stevenson on your mobile phone? If so, Turn to page 601.

If not, bruised and battered, you make your way back to your office. It looks like you'll have to put up with Nigel and his slack and lazy ways for some time to come...

Turn to page 789.

Page 601

It's time to confront Nigel Stevenson with the evidence you've gathered against him. The next day you summon him into your office. Showing him the data you've recorded on your mobile phone about his indiscrete gambling habits you offer him the chance to leave quietly without having to drag his father into this business.

Nigel studies you carefully, looking for weakness.

If your Ambition is 6 or more, or you have a Reputation of 30 or more, Turn to page 603.

If not, read on:

"Fine," he shrugs. "Show the old man. I'll keep my job and your bum will be lashed to ribbons."

"I've got you bang to rights, Nigel, don't test me..." you warn.

"What you've got is one incident of me slacking off for an afternoon," he says smugly. "I'll just tell my dad you've always had it in for me, and that you've had me so stressed I popped out for a quick game to soothe my nerves. Who do you think he'll believe?"

You are speechless at his audacity. Stubbing out his cigarette on your desk he nonchalantly swaggers out your office.

Your face goes red and you tremble in anger. What do you do?

Call in your team and tell them you are going to sack Nigel Stevenson? Turn to page 543.

Or, realising you've been outmanoeuvred, let him go? Turn to page 604.

Page 602

The police are called and you are swiftly arrested. You are held for several days, your possessions confiscated including your mobile phone, while your guilt or innocence is determined.

If you have the codeword HOLD, Turn to page 555.

Each day you are interviewed by the police, and spanked soundly by the jailor as a suspected criminal. You reputation suffers even though the police do not bring any charges against you, so prurient and gossipy are the locals of Westjack. Lose 5 points of Reputation and raise your Bum Status by 2 levels .

Eventually you are released without charge -- but your mobile phone is impounded by the police for future evidence against you.

Needless to say, by the time you return to the office, with every one of your co-workers looking at you as if you were a criminal, trying to sack Nigel Stevenson is the last thing on your mind.

Turn to page 789.

Page 603

"You little bitch," groans Nigel in defeat. "The old man loves you -- you can't do any wrong in his eyes. Fine ... I'll ask dad for a transfer."

You almost blush ... you didn't realise Mr Stevenson held you in such high regard. Gain 1 point of Dignity .

"Don't drag your feet Nigel," you warn darkly. "If you're not out of my department by the close of play today, I'm going straight to your father."

"Alright! Alright!" he moans, hauling himself out of your office.

Sure enough, by lunchtime, Nigel has submitted his resignation. You've managed to get rid of the little idiot, and by his own hand!

Gain 12 Progress points , and record the codeword UNWANTED .

Now Turn to page 789.

Page 604

You've been played for a sucker -- but to go against Mr Stevenson with nothing in your pocket is a fool's game. You're just going to have to accept that Nigel has beaten you. Somehow it stings more than a dozen strokes of the cane.

Lose 1 point of Ambition .

Turn to page 789.

Page 605

"So, what sort of things have been stolen?" you ask Mr Stevenson one morning. You are sitting in his office desperately hoping the great man has no intention of practicing his great skill with the cane on you.

Mr Stevenson darkens. "Plans, strategies for new booster tower placements, that sort of thing," he says. "But frankly the thefts don't bother me too much. It's the sabotage. The deleting of files, informing our enemies on the council of our next move, that sort of thing. It means we're constantly on the defensive. If we can find and reveal this spy we can potentially embarrass our opponents, and clear the way for the project to go ahead."

"Any leads?" you ask.

"None -- except that, without the internet being active, the spy must be stealing documents physically, either in paper form or from the computer's they are being held on. It can't be stolen remotely."

You carefully ponder this information as you return to your office. There are a number of likely suspects. Mr Stevenson's secretary, Jennifer, has access to everything and is at least as well trained in computer software as you -- but would she dare betray Mr Stevenson?

Julian Bennett, the computer specialist could easily be the spy. You love that boy, but you don't really know him. Somehow, in your gut, you don't think it's him.

An obvious candidate would be security. Alfred the security guard has access all night to the building -- he could get anything he wanted. But Alfred is sixty years old and doesn't strike you as either particularly tech-savvy or intelligent.

If you have the trait 'Knowledgeable' Turn to page 606.

If not, you'll have to make up your own mind. Who would you like to pursue?

Jennifer, Mr Stevenson's secretary? Turn to page 607.

Julian Bennett, your Technical Manager? Turn to page 619.

Alfred, the security guard? Turn to page 638.

Page 606

You decide to check the logon details of the hacked computers, to see if you can detect any patterns. Surprisingly most of the hacked machines have been accessed a number of times by Mr Stevenson's login details.

It can't be Mr Stevenson doing all this (or at least if it is your project is in real trouble!), but clearly someone with access to his computer logins.

With this in mind, who would you like to pursue?

Jennifer, Mr Stevenson's secretary? Turn to page 607.

Julian Bennett, your Technical Manager? Turn to page 619.

Alfred, the security guard? Turn to page 638.

Page 607

If Jennifer really has been spying for someone else you'll need to lay her a trail of breadcrumbs so you know exactly where she'll go next. On impulse you make your way up to her office, where you can see the pretty English girl filing some papers away in a draw.

"Oh, hello Miss. Hathaway!" she beams brightly as she sees you.

"Morning Jenny," you reply, fixing a concerned look on your face. "I was just wondering if I left any files in Mr Stevenson's office last time I saw him."

"I don't think so ... was it anything important?"

"I'll say -- some very controversial engineering works we're doing to get the project done," you murmur quietly. "If I lose it Mr Stevenson will whip me black and blue."

"What does it look like -- if I find it I'll tell you," says Jennifer eagerly.

"It's in a red confidential file ... I was sure I had it in my office somewhere," you curse. "Never mind. Just do me a favour, don't tell Mr Stevenson no matter what!"

"Of course I won't!" insists Jennifer, a slight sparkle entering her eyes.

Thanking her you swiftly leave the office. There -- the trap is laid.

That night you pretend the leave the office early, only to backtrack and come back in through a rear entrance. You prepare a red, confidential file and put some old engineering work in it. Placing the file on top of a cabinet, underneath a batch of other files, you hide in the cabinet, peeking through the crack in the door.

Slowly the building goes quiet and dark, and soon the only sound you can hear is your own breath as it wets the cabinet door.

If you have the trait 'Organised' Turn to page 608.
If not, read on.

Sure enough, sometime later you hear the door open. Creeping in, visible only by the emergency exit lights, comes Jennifer, carefully closing the door behind her. You watch, heart sinking, as she begins a thorough search of your room, eventually moving right up to the cupboard door when she spots a red file on top of it.

You grind your teeth. It's time to confront Jennifer!

Turn to page 609.

Page 608

Jennifer may be a sucker for punishment but she's not stupid. The very idea that the hyper-organised Dianne Hathaway would lose a confidential file is a ludicrous one. Either Jennifer was never the spy in the first place or she suspects a trap. In either case all you achieve with your late night vigil is a few cramps and a lack of sleep.

Returning dejectedly to the Hamilton's house you attempt to catch a few hours sleep before morning. Unless you have the codeword EXEMPT raise your Bum Status by 2 levels . The implacable Mrs. Hamilton tawses your backside soundly for staying out so late and making her worry!

Turn to page 789.

Page 609

Jennifer squeals as you suddenly appear, bursting from the cupboard with a colossal slam, dropping the red confidential file in shock as she does so.

"Dianne!" she cries. "What are...?"

"So you're the spy!" you cry. "I thought we were friends!"

"Spy? I'm not a spy..."

"Really? Then what are you doing here? Taking a midnight stroll?" you accuse sarcastically.

"No -- I came to help you find your file..." she pleads.

"A likely story..."

"I didn't want you to get into trouble with Mr Stevenson -- I was just going to put it on your desk, honestly!"

Her beautiful blue eyes go watery with earnestness.

Will you?

Believe her story? Turn to page 610.

Or disbelieve her? Turn to page 611.

Page 610

You swallow. Looks like you've just made a big mistake.

"Gosh -- I'm really sorry, Jenny," you gush. "I didn't think of it like that."

Jennifer picks herself up, looking relieved that you believe her. "No harm done, I suppose," she shrugs. "But it was really unsporting of you to think I was spying on you."

You flush with guilt. Lose 1 point of Dignity .

Will you?

Insist Jennifer spanks you for believing such horrible things about her? Turn to page 612.

Or quietly let her go and try to forget the whole experience? Turn to page 789.

Page 611

"You lying little tramp!" you spit. "If you wanted to help me find the file why not help me in normal office hours -- or during your lunch break? No one would break into the office at midnight to help a friend find a missing file."

Jennifer slumps her head in defeat. "What are you going to do to me, Dianne?" she asks heavily.

If you have the codeword FAVOUR Turn to page 614.

If not, what do you do?

Threaten to reveal her activities to Mr Stevenson? Turn to page 615.

Inform her that her spying had better stop now, and that she owes you a big favour? Turn to page 618.

Page 612

"Wait ... Jennifer, I feel awful," you say guiltily. "I've done you wrong ... and I think you need to punish me properly."

Jennifer looks surprised. "You ... really?" she blathers. "There's no need for that, Dianne. We're English girls, we don't have to do that sort of thing. Hard feelings and a lingering sense of betrayal are more our sort of thing."

"That's not how it's done in Westjack," you insist. "And we're Westjack girls now. Now -- are you going to do the decent thing and let me go over your knee, or are you going to let me feel awful for the rest of the project?"

Gain 2 Dignity points for this very Westjack-ish attitude. If your Dignity is now 7 or more, Turn to page 613.
If not, read on.

Jennifer swallows, then nods, awkwardly sitting in your manager's chair to carry out your sentence.

"Fancy this," she says in awe as you bend yourself over her knee. "The operator girls would never believe me if I said I had a manager over my knee."

"You won't tell, will you?" you ask distraught, as Jennifer slowly raises your skirt over your knicker-clad bum.

"Of course I will," she laughs, peeling your knickers down to rest beneath your buttocks. "We all talk about our spankings in Westjack, given or received. How else can a girl get a good reputation around here?"

Smack! Smack! Smack!

Without further ado Jennifer carries out the sentence upon your bottom. She's not a strong girl, but she knows how a girl ought to be spanked, having endured so many since she came to Westjack Island. He small hand strikes quickly, curved for greater impact, and she does her best to try you.

You cannot help but wriggle a little. You know you are doing the right thing -- at least by Westjack standards, but you can't help but be a little embarrassed that one of the office girls is spanking you, their superior.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

You begin to wonder exactly how long Jennifer intends to beat you. She clearly has a good grasp about how much a girl can take, for you are hissing and shifting as your bum is beaten red.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

Eventually Jennifer ceases, announcing that you have had enough. You frankly can't help but agree although little real damage has been inflicted upon your bum. Jennifer will be true to her word and gleefully gossip this encounter around the office. The overall impact will be to lessen your authority, but to increase your reputation. Any girl stout enough to seek forgiveness for her wrongs can't be a bad sort as far as Westjack is concerned. Lose 1 Ambition point , but gain 2 points of Reputation .

Turn to page 789.

Page 613

Jennifer's eyes water as she considers your noble sacrifice. "Oh God!" she cries, wracked with guilt. "I can't go through with it! You were right! I am the spy! Forgive me Dianne!"

Jennifer falls to her knees as she begs your forgiveness. She slumps her head in defeat. "What are you going to do to me, Dianne?" she asks heavily.

If you have the codeword FAVOUR Turn to page 614.

If not, what do you do?

Threaten to reveal her activities to Mr Stevenson? Turn to page 615.

Inform her that her spying had better stop now, and that she owes you a big favour? Turn to page 618.

Page 614

"We're both members of the Club, Jennifer," you remind the solemn girl sharply. "It is strictly forbidden for you to interfere with my affairs. In fact, you have to help me where you can. Don't make me call a council meeting..."

"No!" she cries. "Don't do that! I couldn't leave the club!"

"Who are you working for, Jenny?" you demand.

Jennifer shudders as she realises she cannot refuse to answer your question. "It's the deputy mayor, Steven Claremont," she confesses. "He's ... he's my master."

"Your master?" you ask, puzzled.

"I have to do everything he says," admits Jennifer. "I'm his willing slave. He never beats me - he makes me do things to put myself in danger, so I'm constantly subjected to spanking and humiliation."

Your head spins. "Why would you...?"

"Because I need it, Dianne!" she says, a sudden sharp fervour entering her eyes. "Maybe you wouldn't understand. You're a manager -- you want control ... dignity ... to be respected. Me? I want the opposite..."

Jennifer hugs her legs tightly to her chest and closes her eyes, tears squeezed from her eyelids. "I want to be in trouble ... to be a bad girl ... but I don't want to be responsible for my actions. That's what the psychiatrists back in England said. They said I couldn't have it both ways -- that if I wanted to be humiliated I had to face up to the consequences ... the social stigma. But not here! Not with Steven! Here I can be a respectable Westjack girl, and be spanked and humiliated. And at the end of it no one thinks any the worse of me."

You bite your lip and perch yourself upon the office table.

"Do you live with him?" you ask, curious. "The deputy mayor, I mean?"

"No," confesses Jennifer. "Of course not! He has a wife and children. He just tells me what to do, and I tell him what happens. That first day in the office? When you first arrived? I didn't forget Mr Stevenson's coffee. Steven rang me up and told me not to make it. He knew full well what would happen to me if I forgot, but I did it anyway. I've shoplifted and ended up over Constable Farley's knee ... went to the toilet in Philippe Coupe's rose bush ... spilt drinks over the Mayor's best gown ... all so Steven can hear what happened to me. Mentally he's way beyond the other members of the club. He derives pleasure not from inflicting spankings, but by creating them. He's a genius, really."

You frown. "Genius or not this has to stop. I know what you're doing now, and if it happens again both Mr Stevenson and the club will find out. As for the deputy mayor, you tell him to stay out of my business, or his wife will find out about his little pastimes. I'm going to tell Mr Stevenson that he was responsible for the spying -- which is basically the truth anyway -- don't try and defend the mayor or you will lose everything -- do I make myself clear?"

Jennifer nods and swallows, looking miserable. "Aren't you going to spank me ... for betraying you?"

"No -- you can purge yourself of your guilt at the club," you shrug, too tired to pursue the matter further. "Tell them you've been a bad girl and betrayed your friend's trust. I'm sure they'll be happy to punish you thoroughly."

Jennifer bites her lip and looks at you lovingly. "Thank you, Dianne," she weeps. "Thank you for understanding me. I owe you one -- if there's anything you need me to do in the future..."

"I'll call on you..." you interrupt. "Don't you worry about that..."

You have resolved this matter nicely. Gain 9 progress points for stopping the spy, and gain 2 points of Ambition for your neat command of Jennifer. Record the codewords AGENT and INFORM.

Turn to page 789.

Page 615

"No!" shrieks Jennifer. "You can't! Without a job I'd have to leave the island!"

"Tell me, then!" you thunder, merciless before the trembling girl.

"I ... I can't!" blathers Jennifer. "I wish I could, but I swore an oath to protect him!"

"Him?" you press.

"That's all I can say," she says desperately. "Look -- I'll stop the spying. And ... and I'll help you! Anything you need in the future, I'll do it! Please ... please say you accept ... I couldn't live without this job."

Jennifer looks at you with watery eyes.

Do you?

Accept her terms? Turn to page 616.

Refuse? Turn to page 617.

Page 616

Jennifer crawls up on her knees and thanks you repeatedly, swearing her eternal allegiance to you.

Gain 6 progress points now you've stopped the spying, also gain the codeword AGENT . The only downside to this is that you still don't know the identity of the man who is trying to steal your work. You've saved Jennifer's job (gain 1 point of Dignity for that) but at what cost to your own bum?

Turn to page 789.

Page 617

Jennifer looks at you with devastation in her eyes. Then, suddenly, her expression goes hard. "And what will you tell, Mr Stevenson?" she asks innocently. "There's a dozen people I know who will vouch that I was nowhere near the Telephone Exchange tonight."

"Don't be ridiculous, I've caught you red-handed!" you cry.

"Well in one sense that's true," agrees Jennifer. "Perhaps I'm a very bad spy ... but there is one thing I'm very good at..."

"What's that?"

"Running..." she says, rolling backwards on to her feet with incredible agility. Before you even realise what's happening she's out of the door, dashing through the office on her long legs.

You give desperate chase through the office, but she moves with the speed of a gazelle. Even as you dash down the stairs towards the main entrance you turn a sharp corner and literally ram into old Alfred the security guard.

"Oh! I'm so sorry..." you blather.

Alfred, red faced and furious cries out. "What are you doing here at this time of night, Miss. Hathaway?"

"I ... err..." you begin. But you don't get far.

Escorted briskly to the security office, Alfred curtly takes you over his knee, hitches down your skirt and knickers and delivers a cautionary spanking. You cry and jolt at this brutally unfair beating but you cannot object. If Alfred goes through formal channels, the police or Mr Stevenson, your punishment will be many times worse!

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

The next day, furious with Jennifer, you march up to Mr Stevenson's office to confront him about the truth regarding his secretary. To your great surprise you find him in the act of caning his cheeky little secretary, her buttocks already welted with more than a dozen strokes of the cane. Seeing you through the window in the door, he briskly waves you inside.

"Pay no mind to Jennifer here," he says indicating the beaten secretary, who even now clenches her whipped buttocks in agony. "No less a figure than the deputy mayor caught her drunk as a skunk, lying asleep in his front garden last night. I'm just reminding her of the need to present a dignified attitude when outside her workplace. So -- how goes the spy-catching?"

You open your mouth to speak and then close it again, looking down furiously at Jennifer. She's got this whole thing stitched up tighter than a kipper! There's no way Mr Stevenson will believe your story over the deputy mayor's.

"No progress, yet," you say at last, reluctantly.

"Well -- keep me informed," barks Mr Stevenson. "Now if you wouldn't mind leaving? Jennifer has another two dozen coming for her appalling behaviour."

You nod bitterly. "Make them sting, sir," you say venomously.

The sound of Jennifer's whipped buttocks and unrestrained cries ring in your ears as you close the door behind you. It is a sound you are likely to hear up close and personal come your next update meeting with Mr Stevenson!

Turn to page 789.

Page 618

"Yes ... yes, of course!" insists Jennifer eagerly. "Now you've caught me it would be stupid for me to continue."

"And you owe me a favour -- a big favour!" you sternly remind her.

"Of course!" she insists. "Whatever you want! Thank you! Thank you for not telling Mr Stevenson. This job means everything to me."

You shake your head in wonder. "I don't know why -- you have the worst job on Westjack island. Mr Stevenson's secretary? What possessed you?"

Jennifer shuffles awkwardly. "It was the only job going for an English girl," she admits. "When I arrived on the island everyone assumed I must be an immoral whore, just because I wasn't spanked from the day I was born! No Westjack girl would dare to be Mr Stevenson's secretary. They know how strict he is."

You feel a sudden and tight kinship with Jennifer -- at least someone on this island understands how hard it is to be an English girl alone in Westjack.

"Keep out of trouble!" you warn. "If I catch you doing anything suspicious I'll be going straight to Mr Stevenson, no matter what you say."

"I understand," says Jennifer solemnly. "And thank you!"

Gain 6 progress points for stopping the spy, and record the codeword AGENT . You just wish you had something to report to Mr Stevenson. Since you are unwilling to tell on Jennifer it will be your own behind that suffers come report day!

Turn to page 789.

Page 619

Catching Julian in the act will require a formidable feat of skill and cunning. Julian knows more about the computer filing system than anyone else on the island. It's easily possible he could have been selling secrets from the start.

You do your best to hack into his accounts, but Julian's multiple administrator lock outs and passwords are impossible to crack. So they should be! In a few weeks, if the project succeeds, he will be in charge of cyber-security for the entire of Westjack Island. You know that if you just asked Julian would unlock whatever you wanted, but that would alert him to your suspicions rendering the whole thing pointless.

It's possible you could get some help from someone else on your team to penetrate the security and look at his deleted emails. If you think this is a good path to pursue Turn to page 620.

The other possibility is a long shot. It might just be possible that Julian meets up with his spymaster once a week. Julian has always insisted that he lives a solitary life on the edge of Oldwell. You could follow him to see where he really goes, hoping that it would lead you thence to his shadowy employer.

If you want to try this, Turn to page 625.

Your only other option is to confront him directly and hammer the truth out of him. If you want to do this, Turn to page 637.

Page 621

Who do you have on the team who could help you crack the security on Julian's files? If you have the codeword ACCEPT, Turn to page 622.
Otherwise, read on.

Your only hope is Phil Washington, the finance analyst. If nothing else he is a whizz on the spreadsheets, and you think he has some coding experience. You summon him to your office and explain your dilemma, and your suspicions about Julian.

"It doesn't sound very likely," admits Phil. "Julian's a really earnest man. Very private, of course."

"Exactly!" you say. "How much do we really know about him? All I want to do is check his deleted emails, make sure he hasn't sent off any important documents outside the business."

Phil shuffles awkwardly. "He might ... have a few pictures of ... err ... naked women in there," mumbles Phil. "Julian and I ... well ... sometimes swap pictures..."

You roll your eyes. "You bloody boys! I don't care about that! All I'm interested in is what confidential files he's sent about. Don't worry -- I won't grass you up to the boss!"

Phil nods, but still looks concerned. "I can try ... but this sort of thing is rather above my head," he admits. "I don't really know what I'm doing. I'm willing to try if you insist, though."

You look at Phil carefully. He doesn't look confident. Maybe having him poke around the mainframe would be a bad idea?

If you insist he goes ahead, Turn to page 623.

Otherwise you could forget the whole idea and either try to follow Julian (Turn to page 625.
, or let the matter drop (Turn to page 789.
.

Page 622

Liz Hall is the obvious choice. She's Julian's contemporary and owes her job to you. Her advanced computer skills are exactly what's needed.

You call Liz to your office and explain your concerns. She agrees to help without hesitation, and soon she is using your computer to hack into Julian's account and old emails. You fairly blush at the amount of deleted pictures of topless women he has sitting in his trash, but after a thorough search you can find no evidence he has even uploaded any sensitive documents, let alone leaked anything.

"Well, miss," says Liz ruefully. "Except for his large collection of soft pornography he doesn't seem to have done anything wrong. I'm rather glad ... I kind of like Julian."

"Me too," you admit sadly.

On the one hand you can be relieved that your loyal comrade Julian Bennett is not a spy. On the other hand that won't help your bottom when Mr Stevenson lashes it for your failure to catch the spy.

Turn to page 789.

Page 623

That day you and Phil attempt to wade through the database, sorting through dozens of lines of code to try to find a way round into Julian's deleted mails.

If you have the weakness 'Technical Ignorance' Turn to page 624.
If not, read on.

It's a hopeless task. All this code might as well be written in Chinese for all the sense it makes to you.

"I think we should stop before we do something we'd regret," says Phil heavily, clearly as bamboozled as you are.

You sign testily, but have to agree. "Alright ... it was worth a go, I guess."

If Julian is the spy there's no way you'll find out through the computers. You've wasted enough time on fruitless spy catching. You move on to more productive work, trying to shake off the image of a furious Mr Stevenson swinging his cane towards your vulnerable buttocks!

Turn to page 789.

Page 624

Getting annoyed and desperate you begin to delete what you think might be the code that puts up the password requirement box from the system. The result is unpleasant.

"What have you done!" croaks Phil, as his terminal goes black, and a general cry of horror echoes from the office beyond.

Across the entire Telephone exchange screens go dark, or begin spewing lines of random code across screens. You've managed, somehow, to shut down every computer in the exchange.

"Fix it! Fix it!" you cry. "Get Julian! Get the computers back!"

A sudden shrill ring echoes across the room. It's your phone. Phil answers it and goes pale. "Mr Stevenson wants to see you," he swallows.

There is little ceremony when you get to Mr Stevenson's office. The dire glare the great man gives you is enough to persuade you to bend over his desk, hitch your skirt up and slip down your knickers for the inevitable punishment that awaits you.

Without even asking you about the cause of the computer failure he sends his cane whistling towards your bared buttocks, the slim wood slicing into your bottom cheeks as if they were warm butter.

You shriek and moan through three dozen strokes, angrily enacted. By the end your backside is a criss-cross of blazing red welts.

Raise your Bum Status by 3 levels .

"You will receive the same again if those computers are not back in action by the end of the day!" warns Mr Stevenson sharply.

"Yes, sir!" you blather, fairly hopping out of his office in your keenness to escape his presence, your constraining knickers at your feet almost tripping you up.

It is with great relief that Julian Bennett, your erstwhile spy, is able to fix the computer problems before five o'clock comes. Alas, he has not been able to fix all the lost data. Lose 3 Progress points and 1 point of Willpower for preceding over this morale sapping loss of work.

Frankly, catching this spy is proving to be far too much trouble. You decide to focus on more work related business hoping you can fob Mr Stevenson off come your next deadline. From the searing ache in your bottom, you don't fancy your chances...

Turn to page 789.

Page 625

Julian Bennett seems to live in his own dream world. It is a matter of ease, therefore, to follow him home one night. Keeping a good distance between you, you carefully stalk the young computer genius as he merrily wanders his way home. He walks fast, as if he might be late for a meeting, and you silently pray that your pursuit will yield some answers about the lonesome young Julian.

He lives in a wind-blasted little house just on the edge of town, little more than a two up, two down. Suitable for a well-paid but single man. Oddly enough there is a car parked just outside, a rather nice imported German car -- and yet you've never seen Julian drive anywhere. Perhaps this is owned by his secret employer?

Indeed, as Julian unlocks the front door and steps inside you hear him call: "Hello?" before closing the door behind him.

Clearly he expects someone to be home! Perhaps you're in luck?

Suddenly you catch yourself. You have no real proof of Julian's involvement in anything dubious. Should you really violate his privacy just to quell your curiosity?

Will you:

Try and sneak into the house? Turn to page 627.

Or, at the last moment, decide to mind your own business and return home? Turn to page 626.

Page 626

Nodding to yourself you turn on your heel and walk away. This project is making you paranoid! If you can't trust Julian Bennett who can you trust? Frankly, if he is the spy, your project is doomed, because without him you couldn't get the network running.

Gain 1 point of Dignity for doing the right thing.

Turn to page 789.

Page 627

Thinking quickly, you creep around the back of the house and try the back door. Being an island community few people lock up their homes in Westjack, and Julian is no exception.

You sneak into the untidy kitchen, plates and bowls line the counter, some even on the floor. Beyond the kitchen you can hear a raised voice -- strong and female.

"You useless cretin -- can't you do anything right?" she demands angrily.

"I'm so sorry ... I do try...!" pleads Julian pitifully.

"Your attempts are weak and pointless!" thunders the woman. "You'll always be a useless worm for as long as you live...!"

There is a sudden snap of leather against skin and Julian gives a cry of distress.

Creeping forwards you peek through the crack in the door. You almost gasp in surprise at what you see. Julian is naked, and on his hands and knees, a rough leather collar around his neck. Towering above him, dressed in shiny black leather, is an attractive woman in her mid-forties, a leather belt clutched in her hand. She is beating a whimpering Julian.

"Ah! Thank you, mistress!" cries Julian, with mixed pain and delight as the woman cracks the belt across his buttocks.

You never thought to see this on Westjack Island -- a woman beating a man! It is considered acutely shameful for a man to be on the receiving end of punishment. But then, Julian never really was much of an alpha male.

Surely you've seen enough now? Perhaps it's time to respect Julian's privacy and leave him and his ... lady friend to it?

Do you:

Leave as quietly as possible? Turn to page 628.

Or, if you suspect there is more to this mistress than meets the eye, stay and watch proceedings? Turn to page 630.

Page 628

Turning around you make quietly for the back door.

If you have the weakness 'Clumsy', Turn to page 629.
If not, you manage to leave the house without incident.

Clearly Julian isn't the spy -- but who is? Mr Stevenson might prove to be very upset with you when he hears you have failed in your mission...

Turn to page 789.

Page 629

You fail to spot a plate, carelessly left on the floor because the sideboards were full up, directly in the path of your foot. You trip up and fall backwads, right through the partially open door and sprawl in front of the naked Julian and his leather-clad mistress.

"Well, well, well," smiles the strict looking woman. "What do we have here...?"

Turn to page 632.

Page 630

You watch, mesmerised, as Julian is beaten and humiliated before you. He is made to apologise for numerous sins, to adore his mistress in words and deeds, and to abase himself in the most appalling fashion before a woman who cannot be pleased.

Dark desires fill your loins. You have no idea whether you wish to be the mistress or the submissive, but the sight of this savage and humiliating play touches you deeply. Gain 1 Fun point for your obscene voyeurism.

At no point, however, is business mentioned -- nor is there any mention of networks, computers or mobile phones. This encounter is exactly what it appears to be ... a meeting between mistress and willing slave. Clearly, Julian is no spy.

It's time to go, but your heady entertainment has dulled your senses.

If you have the trait 'Sneaky', Turn to page 631.

If not, Turn to page 629.

Page 631

Even aroused and confused your stealthy instincts remain. You carefully avoid the pots and pans disgracefully left dirty on Julian's kitchen door and manage to escape the house without detection.

What you have seen toady will haunt your dreams -- as will the vision of Mr Stevenson's cane sweeping towards your bared buttocks, for he is certain to be cross when he realises you have failed to catch your spy.

Turn to page 789.

Page 632

You rise to your knees, intending to stand -- but the woman places a heavy hand on your shoulder, lifting your chin with her whipping belt so you meet your gaze.

"Julian," says the mistress, her eyes sparkling delightfully. "You never said we were going to have company, you deceitful little worm..."

"Miss. Hathaway!" gasps Julian in horror. "What are you doing here?"

"I..." you begin, before being struck sharply across the face by the older woman.

"Spying on you, obviously, darling," laughs the mistress as you cradle your stinging cheek. "Miss. Hathaway? That's your boss, isn't it? The lady who's going to bring mobile phones to the island -- yes? Answer me!"

"Yes," you answer, suddenly meek before the terrifying woman.

"You've got everyone in a right old stir, that's for sure," grins the mistress. "There's not a man in the Authority that doesn't want to get you over his knee and teach you a lesson. Personally, I welcome the idea of a new phone network. It's so appallingly primitive on this island."

You clear your throat. "Look," you begin. "I was only going to..."

Slap!

You are struck across the face once again, stars flashing before your eyes.

"I didn't give you permission to speak, you little bitch!" hisses the mistress. "You've been spying on my poor Julian. No doubt you hoped to blackmail him or some such thing, to make a big joke of him in front of his friends?"

You make to cry out a denial, but silence yourself abruptly as you see the mistress raise her hand threateningly.

"I may detest the little worm -- but he is my little worm, and I alone reserve the right to humiliate him," thunders the mistress. "You shall be punished harshly for your betrayal of his trust. You shall be stripped, humiliated and whipped -- and afterwards pictures shall be taken of your shame, so it will be impossible for you to abuse Julian without exposing yourself."

Your stomach churns with dread at this pronouncement. This woman is so domineering, so strong ... you're not sure you can resist her.

Will you:

Refuse to be treated so cruelly by a woman you don't even know? Turn to page 633.

Or, filled with guilt at your spying, submit to her demands? Turn to page 635.

Page 633

The mistress is not a woman easily defied. If your Ambition is 7 or more, Turn to page 634.

Otherwise as soon as you attempt to stand you are contemptuously shoved back on your knees, with a harsh slap across your face for your troubles. Tears leak from your eyes and you sob in defeat -- the mistress is irresistible!

Lose 1 point of Willpower .

Turn to page 636.

Page 634

You rise to your feet, grabbing the mistresses hand as it sweeps in to strike your face.

"No!" you bark loudly. "I'm not the one paying you. Save it for someone who enjoys this kind of thing."

The mistress' angry expression fades into one of casual nonchalance. "Fair enough, darling," she shrugs. "Why don't you crawl out the way you came?"

You nod sharply, release her hand and stroll back through the kitchen.

Your reputation is intact, since there is no chance Julian will dare to breathe a word about this shameful encounter. However you must lose 1 point of Dignity . Snooping on poor Julian for no good reason makes you feel absolutely terrible -- and the next time you meet in the office you are sure to blush a bright cherry red!

Turn to page 789.

Page 635

Like an actress who knows her part instinctively you lower your head in submission before the undeniable power of the mistress. You are overwhelmed with shame at your actions towards Julian. How could you think him a traitor? He's the one man who has always supported you!

"I'm so sorry, Julian," you sob, your mistress allowing you this one breach of her policy towards speaking. Julian bites his lip and looks upon you sympathetically. You think he forgives you...

Gain 1 point of Dignity for making this ultimate show of contrition towards Julian, but lose 1 points of Ambition for placing yourself willingly in another woman's power...

Turn to page 636.

Page 636

Over the next few hours you are made to do things you had never imagined even in your most depraved and warped dreams. You are soon naked and restrained, flopping about the carpet like a worm as the mistress demands ever more depraved acts of obedience from you. The lash is never far from your bottom, back, or breasts, Julian and you grovel on the carpeted floor before your ever demanding mistress, kissing and sucking -- begging and crawling, until the whole fabric of your being becomes one humiliated mess, and all your desires are hammered through the implacable will of Julian's dominatrix.

Gain the codeword NAKED , if you do not have it, and lose 2 points of either Dignity or Ambition.

Soon your punishment begins in earnest. Strung up onto tiptoes by ropes, sharp clamps attached to your nipples, you screech through a savage whipping across your bum by the mistresses' heavy whipping belt. She has you apologies to Julian over and over again, and soon the remorse beaten out of you becomes genuine, and you mutter your penitence repeatedly even after you are hoisted down.

Raise your Bum Status by 3 levels .

Julian himself is also thoroughly scourged for not taking your apology seriously, and soon his cries meld with yours as he is whipped and you are impaled under the mistresses' sharp heels.

In a final act of dark submission you are commanded to make love to the helplessly bound Julian, compelled to ride him, your hands behind your back, until you have both achieved satisfaction. During the course of your humiliating sex the mistress takes dozens of polaroid photos of your coupling, the acute humiliation only heightening you eventual orgasm.

Gain 1 Fun point , and gain 1 point of Willpower .

Finally, after calling both of you worms no longer worthy of her time, the mistress leaves -- casting the key to Julian's cuffs on the floor as she goes. You are compelled to manipulate the key with your mouth in order to free Julian from his bonds -- who in turn exhaustedly unties you from your tight bonds.

You collapse into each other, shattered, your sweat drenched, whipped bodies heaving against each other with deep, panting breaths.

The two of you exchange glances and look away. This is damn awkward.

"I'd ... err ... I'd better go," you say quickly, grabbing your ripped and discarded clothes.

"Yeah ... early start tomorrow..." says Julian, doing likewise.

"Sure," you say nodding, before adding for good measure. "Sorry about spying on you."

"Don't mention it," shrugs Julian. "In fact don't mention any of it. Ever again, in fact -- deal?"

"Deal," you readily agree.

Creeping out of the house you wearily make your way out of the house. Julian Bennett is so not your type ... but strangely you are having a very hard time regretting what has just happened...

Turn to page 789.

Page 637

You really can't think of a better way of doing this than just hammering out of Julian through sheer force of will. Surely it's better to do that than pretend you are in the Matrix or Spider-Man, hacking code and sneaking after people.

"Julian," you ask flatly, when you summon him to your office. "I don't suppose you're a spy, are you? I mean, you're not selling secret information to any shadowy employers seeking to ruin the project?"

Julian looks shocked. "Of course not, miss!" he protests. "How can you think that?"

"It's just a lot of important documents have ended up in unfriendly hands," you say. "And Mr Stevenson thinks..."

"Miss ... look -- if I want this project to fail, all I'd have to do is put in one faulty line of code," he says, going red-faced. "My entire future is tied up with this project. Computers and networks are my life. If it fails I don't have a job. Why would I sabotage it?"

You open your mouth to respond and then close it again. You can't think of any reason.

"Can I go now, miss?" he says testily, annoyed at your lack of faith in him.

You flush with embarrassment. "Yes ... yes of course."

Lose 1 point of Dignity for accusing poor Julian without evidence, and lose 3 points of Reputation . Julian is popular, and the team won't like your demeaning of his good name.

Turn to page 789.

Page 638

For twelve hours a day Alfred Gumble has sole access to the whole building. Alfred may be old, but there's no reason to think that he's not cunning. Security guard's don't earn much, and all it takes is a quiet backhander and a good description of the information they want to allow an enemy agent to take advantage of Alfred's privileged access.

Over the next few days you watch Alfred at work in the morning shifts. It becomes clear that he has no access to technology -- he has no computer, and clearly no idea how a computer works. That means that all the data being stolen must be being taken physically.

There are three possibilities for catching him out, if he is indeed the spy you're looking for.

You could hide outside in the car park and see if anyone tries to enter the building in the middle of the night, although you couldn't cover all the entrances to the building.

You could stay inside the office and spy on him physically, that way he couldn't escape your gaze -- but the risk of being caught is much higher.

Alternatively you could try a honey trap -- try to buy Alfred's services yourself and see if he will corruptly steal information for you?

Which would you like to do?

Hide in the car park? Turn to page 639.

Hide in the office? Turn to page 640.

Attempt to bribe Alfred? Turn to page 642.

Page 639

That evening you hide out in the car park, taking shelter behind a few bushes that mark the concrete boundaries of the Telephone Exchange.

It is a miserable night. The wind howls and the rain comes pouring down. You dejectedly sit in the darkness waiting for a mysterious car to pull up, or for Alfred to sneak out of the building when he thinks no one is looking.

Instead your sole entertainment for the night is watching Alfred's torch light shine through the windows as he makes his dull, regular patrols.

Nothing remotely interesting happens and you catch a nasty cold from being so exposed to the Atlantic climate. Lose 1 point of Willpower .

Dejectedly you return home at first light, hoping to catch a few hours' sleep. Unless you have the codeword EXEMPT you must raise your Bum Status by 2 levels , as on your return home at four o'clock in the morning the angry Mrs. Hamilton gives your bottom a thrashing for making her wait up all night!

Would you now like to:

Hide in the office? Turn to page 640.

Attempt to bribe Alfred? Turn to page 642.

Or, if you no longer think Alfred is a likely spy, give up on the whole thing? Turn to page 789.

Page 640

This will be tricky. You're going to have to both stay out of sight and follow the security guard for the company. Getting caught could have serious repercussions for your backside.

That evening you loudly announce you are going home, but then sneak back into the office and hide in the stationary cupboard until the building goes silent. Emerging into absolute darkness, you creep down to the reception to observe Alfred.

There the old man sits, a small side lamp on, doing the crossword. You watch in silence for a brief time before the phone suddenly rings, and he casually answers it.

He listens carefully through the receiver. "No -- about halfway through," he says carefully. "What about seven down? ... 'Global', you think? That means I've got five across wrong..."

Curses! He's just doing the crossword! It's time to go. The only way out is through the main entrance, all the other ways being alarmed at night. With your heart beating in your chest you attempt to sneak out whilst Alfred is distracted with his phone call.

If you have the trait 'Sneaky', Turn to page 641.
If not, read on.

"Miss Hathaway!" roars Alfred, quite jumping you out of your skin. He spots you just meters from the revolving glass door.

"Oh! Alfred!" you cry.

"What are you doing here at this time of night?" demands Alfred.

"I was just ... I forgot my handbag," you say quickly. "Completely forgot it."

"You are supposed to come into reception and ask me to retrieve it for you!" thunders Alfred, cross.

"I did ... but you weren't here, so I thought I'd just pick it up myself and not inconvenience you..." you say lamely.

Alfred shakes him head, looking disappointed. "Well I'm afraid that is a serious security violation," he says sternly. "I'll have you over my knee, please -- unless you want me to inform Mr Stevenson?"

"No! There's no need for that!" you yelp. "I'm coming..."

With inappropriate eagerness you quickly come behind the reception desk and drape yourself over Alfred's knee. With business like efficiency your skirt is hiked up and knickers slip down to just below your cheeks. The old security guard, licking his lips at the delightful sight, carries out your sentence immediately.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

You writhe as the experienced old security guard spanks you soundly. Your buttocks are soon a cherry red as your bum is smacked into shape by the stern Alfred. To your great mortification you hear Alfred pick up the phone with his free hand and speak.

"Got it, five across is 'Bellow'," he says, continuing to spank you seamlessly. You wither with embarrassment. Alfred is still on the phone to his crossword buddy! Whoever it is can hear you being thoroughly chastised. You just hope it's no one important.

Lose 1 point of Dignity , and raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

After a few minutes Alfred tires, or at least feels you've had enough. He informs you that you may rise.

"Now, straight home with you," he chides.

You nod briefly, instinctively thanking him -- perhaps for being so gentle with you. Hauling up your knickers and brushing down your skirt you quickly depart, now quite convinced that the diligent Alfred is no spy.

Turn to page 789.

Page 641

Taking your time, you carefully, slowly, sneak out the doors as quiet as a mouse. Alfred is still chattering away even as you escape into the car park.

You're sure Alfred isn't the spy -- he's much too pedestrian. But if not him ... then who?

Turn to page 789.

Page 642

If Alfred is on the take your money should be as good as anyone's. You feel full of doubt and quite nervous about this course of action. If Alfred should object to your offer you might end up on trouble. Deciding that you must trust your instincts you wait until the end of the day when everyone has gone home before sauntering down to the reception desk where Alfred is stationed at night.

"Have a good evening, Miss Hathaway," he smiles warmly as he sees you enter, assuming that you will simply exit the building like everyone else.

"Alfred," you say carefully. "Could I have a word with you? Discretely? Off the record, I mean."

"Of course," he shrugs. "How can I help?"

"What I have to say can go no further than this room," you explain cautiously. "But I need your help."

Alfred sits up in his chair, intrigued. Here goes...

"Word has reached me that you can be a very useful man," you say. "I need a useful man for a very important job. There are some people in this company that are opposed to my project, and are doing everything they can to stop it."

Alfred nods. "Well ... between you and me, quite a few people have expressed negative opinions about the new mobile telephones. A few of the girls in the other departments have been very rude about you. I've even had to take some of them over my knee..."

"Such loyalty!" you purr. "I need that loyalty, Alfred. Now, I have reason to believe that someone from another department has written a damning report, full of lies, for Mr Stevenson to read tomorrow. I need to see that report. If you could retrieve it from his secretary's office and pass it to me tomorrow morning, it might save the entire project."

Alfred's eyes go wide. He is about to speak, but you interrupt him.

"Naturally -- loyalty like this needs to be rewarded," you assure him.

If you have the trait 'Independently Wealthy', Turn to page 643.
If not, read on.

You slide a small envelope across his desk. It has about a hundred pounds cheekily sticking out the top.

"Miss. Hathaway -- what do you take me for?" cries Alfred. "I've served this company loyally for years. You expect me, on the verge of my retirement, to betray it now? A security guard's job is to guard the building, not get involved in office intrigue!"

Your heart sinks. You think you might have made a terrible mistake.

"Such actions would be criminal if a man had performed them!" insists Alfred, darkly. "As it is tradition demands that I punish you for your misdeeds instead!"

You quickly interrupt.

"Alfred!" you cry. "There's no need! It was simply a test! I had to make sure you weren't the spy who..."

"A likely story!" thunders Alfred. "You're just like all the other manipulative women in this office! Well -- now you'll get what's coming to you, unless you wish me to inform Mr Stevenson of your misdeeds?"

No! Anything but that! Your shoulders slump and you relent. It is clear that Alfred has the right and wherewithal to punish you for your risky gambit.

Archly he instructs you to follow him, and it is clear that he has a good idea about the suitable location for your punishment. Leading you to the top floor you soon end up in Mr Stevenson's office, which he unlocks studiously before ushering you inside.

"Since the crime was to be committed here, it is only suitable that the punishment be here as well," he says wisely. He moves over to Mr Stevenson's feared umbrella stand, his hand brushing past numerous canes until he draws out a fierce looking old fashioned rattan.

"But that's Mr Stevenson's favourite cane..." you point out weakly, remembering well how he used it on his secretary Jennifer when you first arrived at Westjack.

"Highly suitable, then," boasts Alfred. "It will be as if the man himself were punishing you. But at least this way you escape public sanction, for once you've taken your caning I'll speak no more of the matter and you can escape without charge."

You bite your lip penitently. "Thank you, Alfred -- that's very decent of you."

Alfred nods, clearly agreeing with your sentiment. "Bent over the table, knickers down, just like Mr Stevenson likes," he commands briefly, flexing the cane slightly in his hands.

This is the last thing you wanted to happen -- but at least Alfred is old and inexperienced with the cane. Surely he hasn't had much chance to use it on girls' bums too often, being only a security guard. You jolt slightly when you feel the cool wood slid across the centre of your cheeks.

"How many must I take?" you gasp, burning to know how strong you'll have to be.

"I hadn't considered," admits Alfred. "At least a dozen certainly. But maybe two dozen is best?"

If you have the trait 'Lust for the cane', Turn to page 645.

If not, what do you suggest?

One dozen? You hadn't meant to cause harm, after all? Turn to page 644.

Two dozen? You've been a very bad girl and need to be punished sharply? Turn to page 645.

Or will you let him decide on his own? Turn to page 646.

Page 643

You slide over an envelope, stuffed with notes. There's at least three thousand pounds in there -- chicken feed to you. On Westjack Island, it's probably about half a security guard's wage.

Alfred's eyes shine as he sees it.

"I know you're taking a risk and need to be properly compensated," you intone seriously. "I think it's scandalous how little you're paid here. There's nothing I'd like more than to correct that imbalance."

Alfred's mouth goes dry. He looks at you unsurely.

"Take it," you say. "And give me the file in the morning. It's a blue file with the words 'Private and Confidential' on it."

There is no doubt Alfred will find it. You put that very file in the tray of Mr Stevenson's secretary.

Alfred seems unable to speak, so you smile winningly at him and saunter out of the main entrance. You head home to the Hamilton's, enjoying a rather nice supper, and consider what Alfred might do as you chew on your steamed carrots. If anything will reveal him as the spy, this will.

The next morning you head into your office, early as usual. Alfred is waiting for you as you enter, sitting on a chair looking ashamed.

"Good morning, Alfred," you say brightly. "Do you have something for me?"

Alfred shifts in his chair, overwhelmed with shame. "Only this," he says, carefully placing your bribe money back on your desk. "I had a terrible night, Miss Hathaway," he admits. "All night I tried to pluck up the courage to get that file. But I couldn't do it. I wanted the money but ... to go behind Mr Stevenson's back ... and at this late stage in my life. No ... I knew I'd be poor when I chose to be a security guard. But at least I'll always have my honour."

You nod, quietly. This is not the reaction of a corrupt man. Alfred may be a pompous busybody, but he's no spy.

"Take the money," you say breezily.

"Miss?"

"Take the money," you shrug. "You're the first honest man I think I've ever met. I'm honoured to work in the same company as you. So keep the money. And when you retire you can have comfort and honour."

Alfred looks stunned by your generosity. Gain 1 point of Dignity .

"I don't really understand..." says Alfred, shaking his head in wonder as he picks the money up again.

"I was after a spy," you sigh. "But it's clear you are not him. So take the money and run, that's what I say."

Alfred rises ... it looks like he wants to hug you. But ashamedly he just pockets the cash and bows to you instead, quietly exiting your office.

You're quite glad that Alfred isn't the spy. But that won't make Mr Stevenson's disappointment any easier to bear when he holds you to account for your failure...

Turn to page 789.

Page 644

"I think a dozen is more than enough," you insist. "The cane is terribly painful, and you don't mean to hurt me too badly, do you?"

You flutter your eyes at him innocently.

If your Dignity is 3 or less, Turn to page 646.
If it is higher than 3, read on.

Taking in your tender and vulnerable looking form Alfred quickly agrees. "Quite right," he says. "Two dozen with this beast would cut you in half! One dozen then -- but I'll make them fierce ones! Trying to bribe a guard is a serious matter."

You nod sagely, but cannot resist a cheeky smile as you turn away.

Record the codeword MODEST .

Turn to page 647.

Page 645

"Alfred I've been very wicked," you hear yourself say. "I don't think I could live with myself if you didn't cane me at least two dozen."

What a brave girl you are! Gain 1 Willpower point for so confidently accepting extra punishment.

"I was thinking that myself," agrees Alfred. "Two dozen strokes then. You'd better hang on, Dianne -- you'll find I'm not soft with this wicked old stick."

You swallow slightly. What have you let yourself in for?

Turn to page 647.

Page 646

"Considering the matter carefully," ponders Alfred, "I think two dozen would be best. Bribing a security guard is a serious offence. Yes ... two dozen."

Two dozen lashing strokes of the cane! Your heart sinks, but you cannot deny a slight sense of excitement as you feel Alfred tap the cane against your cheeks eagerly.

Turn to page 647.

Page 647

You shiver as you feel Alfred tap the dreaded cane against your bottom cheeks, clearly in imitation of his hero, Mr Stevenson.

"I want you to take these as still as possible, Dianne," he chides. "Just because I'm a security guard it doesn't mean I don't know how a lady is supposed to take her strokes. I'll allow call outs within reason -- but keep that bum still."

You nod breathlessly, caught almost unaware as the stick is taken away from your cheeks. Only the terrible swish of the cane alerts you to your coming pain.

Vip!

You gasp as the burning stick cuts into your cheeks aslant, so that the tip bites into the back of your right leg, even as a diagonal stripe cuts across your bouncing globes. Managing to remember Alfred's warning to you, you toss your hair and cry out, keeping your bottom's movement to little more than a tremble.

Vip!

A more horizontal stroke, but the wandering tip bites into your haunch, the blow cutting you high so that it passes over the diagonal stripe on your left buttock. You groan and clench your toes, gripping the table rim with all your might.

Vip!

If your Willpower is 4 or more, Turn to page 648.
If not, read on.

You squeal at a sharp cut across the crease of your buttocks, where bottom meets thigh, the deadly tip cutting short to nearly strike your exposed bum crack. Your bottom convulses, and you bounce it heavily as you suffer through the pain.

"Very poor, Dianne," chides Alfred. "A few extra for that naughtiness."

Vip! Vip! Vip!

Alfred unleashes a quick succession of three terrible stingers -- clearly a punishment rather than an official 'extra' since he does not lecture you as your bottom leaps and clenches under the bombardment. In fact, he seems positively pleased with himself at your agonised bouncing.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level , and lose 1 point of either Dignity or Ambition.

Turn to page 649.

Page 648

You gasp at a sharp cut across the crease of your buttocks, where bottom meets thigh, the deadly tip cutting short to nearly strike your exposed bum crack. It takes all your concentration to keep your bum still, easing your pain by rubbing your forehead against your arm in sympathy.

Clearly pleased with this semi-legal shot, Alfred recommences his attack...

Turn to page 649.

Page 649

Vip! Vip!

Alfred begins to settle into his caning rhythm, slicing Mr Stevenson's weapon again and again into your soft behind. You yelp and cry, for despite his appearance Alfred is no wimp with the cane. Your theory about him being inexperienced with the implement is proven cruelly wrong.

Vip! Vip! Vip!

After twelve cuts your bum is stinging. Alfred is clearly enjoying his role as punisher, and carefully counts the distinct marks upon your backside with his finger, which trails down your bum painfully.

Raise your Bum Status by 2 levels .

If you have the codeword MODEST, Turn to page 650.
Otherwise, read on.

"Halfway there," he decrees as he finishes counting. "I'll have to go over your old stripes, I'm afraid. But you're a big girl, and I'm sure you can take it."

What do you want to do?

Beg Alfred for mercy, sliding off the table to beg at his feet? Turn to page 651.

Or proudly raise your behind for another dose of Alfred's impressive skill? Turn to page 652.

Page 650

"... ten ... eleven ... twelve!" announces Alfred grandly as he finishes counting the strokes on your behind. "Well, Dianne, that's your lot. Do you feel you have learned your lesson?"

"Very much so," you groan at the appalling and rising sting in your behind.

Alfred soon shows you out. You leave the main reception wiser, but no less full of dread. When Mr Stevenson hears you've failed to catch the spy this little event is likely to be repeated -- by a much firmer hand!

Turn to page 789.

Page 651

Sliding onto your knees, your knickers still bunched at your feet, you unashamedly beg Alfred to take pity on you and restrict himself to the dozen he's just administered.

Lose 1 Dignity point .

Seeing you are truly humbled Alfred agrees, telling you to pull your knickers up and dry your eyes.

Alfred soon shows you out. You leave the main reception wiser, but no less full of dread. When Mr Stevenson hears you've failed to catch the spy this little event is likely to be repeated -- by a much firmer hand!

Turn to page 789.

Page 652

You'll not beg. You got yourself into this position and you'll jolly well see it through to the end. Add 1 point to either your Dignity or Ambition.

Seeing your welt-streaked buttocks rise in acceptance Alfred licks his lips and unleashes another wicked stroke.

Vip! Vip! Vip!

Your poor bottom is criss-crossed with burning stripes, and you yelp to each blow deftly given. Any hope you had that Alfred would tire or naturally take pity on you is dashed, and he strikes you just as professionally as any Westjack manager.

Vip! Vip! Vip!

Raise your Bum Status by 2 levels , or 3 levels if your Willpower is not at least 5 (a series of repeated strokes impacts upon your naked cheeks if you have not the fortitude to keep your bottom still).

By the end of your decreed two dozen you are exhausted, your tight grip on the table has strained your muscles terribly. Alfred briefly examines your beaten globes with his hands, assessing his skill, before finally allowing you to rise.

"You may have been naughty, but you've certainly been brave," congratulates Alfred pompously as he escorts you painfully out of the building. His pride in you manifests in good words, for despite his claim that your punishment would be kept private he is unable to withhold gossiping about you. This may be galling, but you can raise your Reputation by 2 points for your willing assent to punishment.

You leave the main reception wiser, but no less full of dread. When Mr Stevenson hears you've failed to catch the spy this little event is likely to be repeated -- by a much firmer hand!

Turn to page 789.

Page 653

There's no beating just cracking on with the work at hand. Hanging around the office all week you organise, enthuse and motivate your staff to be as productive as possible. Although there are many external issues pressing you feel that you need to put some solid time into the office in order to keep the project moving.

If you have the trait 'Organised' gain 7 Progress points , as you efficiently organise your crew.

If you have the weakness 'Disorganised' gain only 1 Progress point. Your ineffectual blunderings about the office and confusing orders ensure that little real work is accomplished.

If you have neither of these traits or weaknesses, gain 4 Progress points , as you make moderate gains through the week.

In addition you gain an extra progress point for having the trait 'Knowledgeable', and lose a progress point if you have the trait 'Technical Ignorance', reflecting your ability or inability to help with the computer networks.

It's not all good news. Being hemmed in the office means that you don't manage to get out much into the local community. Your reputation suffers as the locals, for lack of good information, begin to gossip about what you get up to locked in your office all day. Lose 2 Reputation points (you cannot go below 0).

Unlike the other Management Hub options you may choose this option again as many times as you wish.

When you have finished, Turn to page 789.

Page 654

Many of your staff have been working on this project for three years, with no end in sight. They have put up with disappointments, missed targets, a constantly changing management and the hostility of many of the local islanders. No wonder their enthusiasm is flagging. They need some encouragement and some de-stressing so they can work at their best.

You have lunch with Jennifer, Mr Stevenson's secretary, to see if you can get some money for a staff party.

"A staff party?" asks Jennifer, incredulous. "That's not very Westjack -- here people tend to plod on with their work with a grim frown. I've never heard of any business of Westjack holding a staff party -- except perhaps for the oil workers. Their parties are infamous."

"Come on, Jenny!" you cry. "This project has a budget of forty million pounds, there must be something for a party."

"Well -- I can sign off five hundred pounds in my own name," she muses. "You could have that. Of course it's my bum on the line if Mr Stevenson ever found out..."

"Five hundred pounds is nothing, I've got forty office workers in my team alone, let alone the technical crew," you complain.

"Well," says Jennifer mischievously. "You've got a practically unlimited sign off. You could have as big a party as you liked. But you'll be held accountable by Mr Stevenson."

Hmm. You want some kind of party. But how far should you go, given the likely consequences to your bottom?

What kind of party will you organise?

A small 'bring your own' party, in the office, with a little bit of extra food and alcohol? Turn to page 655.

Book out Westjack's largest restaurant and treat everyone to a meal, using your own expense account to pay for it? Turn to page 656.

Take the team out to the 'Hand and Sceptre' pub, where the oil workers go, for a night of free booze and dancing? Turn to page 657.

Page 655

Although you fear your party is too modest it is actually quite well received. Many of the office girls fuss over the details of the party and the office is practically unrecognisable after the decorations are put up. It has the feel of almost a Jubilee, with everyone bringing dishes and drink, with as many desks as possible lined up in a great row. Although no one has a stereo several of your workers can actually play instruments, and they set themselves up at the back of the office as an impromptu band.

There is a good deal of laughter and merry making -- although the digging crew don't stay long due to the limited alcohol available.

Your staff enjoy themselves, and so do you. Gain 2 Fun points and gain 5 points of Reputation .

Mr Stevenson grumbles about the lack of professional conduct but his cane remains firmly in its umbrella stand. He can hardly complain about a party that cost him practically nothing to put on!

Feeling achieved and cheerful you hope that this boost in spirits will make your team more productive.

Turn to page 789.

Page 656

The Bay Leaf restaurant is both the finest and largest restaurant in Westjack, catering to both rich visitors and the wealthier members of the island community. Most of your staff have never eaten there, and their excitement is palpable.

Having booked out the entire restaurant the manager caters to your every whim, and silver service and attentive staff hang on every instruction. You have to move around quite a lot to keep everyone happy and feeling important, which does interfere a little with your relaxation, but it's evident your staff are having a great time.

Gain 1 Fun point , and gain 8 points of Reputation . Your staff know you are spoiling them, but they feel valued by your indulgence.

If you have the trait 'Independently Wealthy' you pay the bill yourself, which comes in at over four figures! Turn to page 789.
If not, read on.

Naturally Mr Stevenson is less impressed when you present him a bill for three thousand pounds the next morning. Harping on about your extravagance he immediately issues two dozen strokes of the cane across your bared behind. Raise your Bum Status by 3 levels .

Mumbling under your breath about his Scrooge-like ways you make your way back to the office. Turn to page 789.

Page 657

Taking everyone to the pub seemed like such a good idea. A shame, then, that the Hand and Sceptre is the roughest dive in Oldwell, frequented by foreign merchant sailors and hard-working oil men. Loud music, smoke and cheap beer are the order of the day, and your crowd of genteel office workers receive sharp looks as you enter.

Holing up in the pool room, your team of misfits huddle away from the rough crowd, occasionally sending out troops of men to gather drinks from the bar. After one such trip you see Julian Bennett, your gentle technical manager, accidentally spill one of the many pints of ale he is carrying over the shoes of a rough looking oil worker.

Julian is shoved back, and the oil worker snarls at him to apologise, which he does. This does not seem to placate him, however, and the oil man grabs Julian by the scruff of the neck.

Out of the corner of your eye you see a number of your digging crew, no wimps themselves, coming to his aid.

What do you do?

Sharply kick the oil man in the balls and rescue Julian? Turn to page 658.

Back off and let the road crew take care of the oil man? Turn to page 659.

Quickly intercede, claiming the whole spilling incident was your fault? Turn to page 661.

Page 658

No one picks on your Julian! Without hesitation you plant the tip of your heeled shoe into the groin of the offending oil-man. He collapses like a sack of potatoes. You quickly pull Julian out of the crowd and back into the pool room.

Gain 1 point of Ambition .

The oil worker's mates don't appreciate their friend being assaulted. As several burly oilmen barge into the room the digging crew step in to protect you...

Turn to page 660.

Page 659

The digging crew grab the oil man by the arms and haul him off Julian, throwing the drunken brute into a table occupied by many more of the oil man's friends. You quickly usher Julian back into the pool room as the other oil men rise to protect their comrade...

Turn to page 660.

Page 660

There follows one of the ugliest bar brawls you have ever witnessed. No student bar rumble at university ever compared to this brutal scene as the pub ignites into a frenzy of drunken brawling.

Lips are split, teeth dislodged and furniture shattered as the hulking port men of Westjack batter each other with their fists. The girls are not deliberately targeted, but Pauline ends the evening with a shard of glass in her eye from the smashed pints. You flee with as many colleagues as you can muster out of the fire escape, where you spend a sleepless night with Pauline in Westjack's tiny hospital.

The event does nothing for your reputation, most blaming you for the incident by taking your genteel staff to such a rough dive. Lose 3 points of Reputation . Worse is to come, of course.

When Mr Stevenson hears of your disgraceful evening it does not take him long to beckon you into his office and demonstrate with his cane what he thought of your staff party. Dozens of strokes are lashed into your cringing, naked backside, and you can do little but howl and whimper through the onslaught. Raise your Bum Status by 4 levels .

You tactfully decide, at the termination of your savage caning, not to bring up the matter of refunding the bar bill -- but instead meekly return to the office to get on with some work.

Turn to page 789.

Page 661

"Please let him go," you beg the oilman. "It really was all my fault. I got poor Julian to collect far too many drinks. Please don't take it out on him. I'm sure we can be civilised about this."

The oilman is about to brush you off when he takes a good look at you. You see desire spike in his eyes.

"I guess if you're at fault you'll have to take the blame," he roughly considers. "And since I can't give you a black eye I'll have to take you over my knee."

Well ... that was always going to be the consequences to owning up, wasn't it?

"Of course -- absolutely," you say, putting your hand on the oilman's arm. "Just let him go, yes?"

Slowly the oil man drops Julian, releasing his collar. "You're a lucky man to have a girl like this looking out for you," he growls at the geeky boy. "God knows you can't fight your own battles."

Julian nods, carefully backing away. The diggers from your team look deflated; they were looking forward to a good fight. However now you've owned up and agreed to be punished their hands are tied and they reluctantly back away.

The oil man takes you by the arm and drags you through the crowd over to the table where his colleagues are sitting. He loudly announces your crime to them and explains that you'll be going over his knee for a bare-bottomed spanking. You flush in embarrassment -- you hope Julian is grateful for this terrible sacrifice you're making.

Your punishment is a relatively quick affair, but no less humiliating for all that. You are swiftly taken over the oil man's knee and commanded to remove your knickers once he has tugged your short skirt to nestle into the small of your back. You have barely pulled the cotton down before he strikes with a heavy hand, theatrically beating your buttocks and chiding you before the entire pub.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level and lose 2 points of Dignity .

When he is done, after several minutes of heavy slapping upon your naked bottom, he dismisses you, and warns you never to spill a working man's pint again. Dutifully thanking him for his time you return red-faced and sore to your colleagues, sitting next to Pauline Weatherly, one of your managers, and attempting to drown your sorrows in ale.

Your staff look upon you with disbelief, but not embarrassment. Indeed, there is pride in their eyes. "Your one of us, Miss Hathaway, aren't you?" says Pauline quietly, nothing less than total respect in her tone.

Swallowing a mouthful you nod quietly as your team gather round to comfort and support you.

Gain 10 points of Reputation . A girl who takes her licks in public to save one of her fellows truly understands the Westjack way. From this day forth you notice a change in the locals - acceptance rather than sneers. The change fills you with confidence and pride. Gain 1 point of Willpower .

Turn to page 789.

Page 662

If half the battle in getting the mobile network up and running is getting public approval you'd better start fighting it! Mr Stevenson's idea that people will warm to the new network if they can see its manager embracing cultural values seems a little quaint -- but perhaps he knows what he's talking about, he's lived here far longer than you.

Record the codeword SPORTY .

You ask Jennifer, Mr Stevenson's secretary, how you might go about joining the netball team. "Oh -- it would be wonderful to have you on the team, Dianne!" she enthuses. "Especially since we have the big game against the oil refinery coming up. They've beaten us five years running, so it's difficult to get new girls onto the team."

"Are you on the team?" you ask.

"Only for the last couple of years -- I'm not very good," she admits. "It's good exercise, but our coach is a right witch. She expects us to be professionals or something. Are you any good?"

"I was alright at school," you shrug. "Besides I don't have much choice. You-know-who is making me do it..." You indicate the adjacent office where Mr Stevenson is again engaged in another ferocious phone call with the town hall.

"Oh, I see," smiles Jennifer. "Best make the most of it then ... just pop into the office after work, I'll take you down to meet the team. You're about my size so you can borrow my spare kit."

After work you and Jennifer make your way out of the office and down to the sport's field, which is used for cricket, football, rugby, racing, tennis ... pretty much everything. The grass is painted with a confusing mass of white lines, interweaving through each other so as many sports as possible can be represented. Lines of tall trees, rare on Westjack Island, have been planted around the field shielding it from the fierce Atlantic winds that blast across the island. Just adjacent to the field is a small concrete court, ringed round with diamond shaped netting. Alongside the quaint wooden bandstands sits a small changing hut, and you duly enter with Jennifer to change into your kit.

You meet the rest of the girls on the netball team, ranging in ages roughly between twenty to forty. They are friendly but a little in awe of you -- they know you are a senior manager as well as woman, so it looks like they want to be on best behaviour.

After receiving a pre-game cup of tea, served from the delightful little kitchen set up in the corner of the changing room, you strip off and change into your new kit. Since you are bigger than Jennifer it's a little tight, and it might be a battle to stop your skirt from flying up during any heroic manoeuvres. It will do for the week, though.

There is a sudden sound of a sharp whistle blowing and you watch with amazement as the other girls suddenly line up in a straight line like obedient soldiers. Not wanting to be the only one left out you quickly join the end of the line next to Jennifer.

The door opens, and an elderly looking woman dressed in a track suit steps through the door, with a cruel expression that could curdle milk.

"Good evening, Mrs Hardcaste!" chant the girls in unison, like a line of schoolgirls.

The silver-haired Mrs Hardcastle prowls up and down the line, scowling.

"So, this is it, you useless sluts!" she spits. "The final week before your showdown with Globe Oil. I see a worthless line of bints before me, who look as if they'd be frightened even to handle the ball, let alone score a goal with it! It is only out of my charity that I even bother to come all this way from Mowbray Manor to instruct you. Why I should tolerate losers like you, I don't know."

If you have the codeword EMPLOY, Turn to page 663.
If not, read on.

Will you:

Object to Mrs Hardcastle's obscene language towards your team? Turn to page 666.

Or wisely keep your mouth shut and agree with everything she says? Turn to page 668.

Page 663

Mrs Hardcastle strolls face to face with you, a smile breaking across her ancient face. "Why, Dianne Hathaway -- just as I thought this team couldn't get any worse," she sneers. "I thought you pasty English girls spent all day indoors playing with their phones? I'm surprised to see you."

"A bit of fresh air never did anyone any harm, Mrs Hardcastle," you say tightly, displeased to see your ex-housemistress from the manor.

"You forgot to return your uniform when you left the manor," she says darkly. "I assume it was a mistake rather than theft, but you can pay for that mistake now."

"Uniform? You mean the apron?" you say sarcastically. "It was so small I'm surprised you missed it."

"I do hope you're not going to make this difficult, Dianne?" snaps Mrs Hardcastle. "We are a team here and we must act like a team. I say you are going to pay for your mistake and that's what will happen! Turn around, bend over and lean against the wall. A couple of dozen strokes with the motivational paddle should improve your attitude!"

Mrs Hardcastle turns from you to fetch the paddle, presuming you will obey in her absence. You turn to look questioningly at Jennifer in despair, who subtly nods silently to suggest you should take your licks.

What do you do?

Obey Mrs Hardcastle and prepare yourself for punishment? Turn to page 664.

Or walk out -- there's no way you're helping the netball team if you're going to be bullied by Mrs Hardcastle all day! Turn to page 667.

Page 664

Fuming quietly at this semi-fair punishment you turn around and lean against the cold wall on your arms, your body at forty-five degrees, your forehead resting against the wall. You sense enormous relief from your fellow players -- clearly they feared you would make a scene and put Mrs Hardcastle in a really bad mood!

Mrs Hardcastle does not keep you waiting long, soon returning with a long wooden paddle with circular air-holes cut in it to reduce air resistance. She briefly passes the paddle to Jennifer, whilst she busies herself preparing you for your punishment. She peels your skirt up and wraps the hem tightly into your waistband, before tugging your knickers all the way to your feet.

"Step out of them entirely, Miss Hathaway," she says archly. "Knickers are, in any case, banned in training. I like a girl's bum nude for any motivational strokes I need to make during training. Spanking over knickers is so unseemly!"

Trying to resist a sigh you step out of your knickers, Mrs Hardcastle instructing you to keep your legs at least a foot and half apart, which increases pressure on your arms even as it exposes your secret places alarmingly.

She slaps your exposed left buttock hard with her hand. "Make sure you don't wriggle, Dianne," she warns. "I need a steady target with this beast!"

"Yes, miss," you say automatically, rather than risk complaining about that last, unfriendly blow.

Splat!

Your left cheek quickly enflames and flattens as the paddle is rapidly, unceremoniously, struck against it. You clench tightly, a small gasp escaping your lips at the sudden blow.

Splat!

Fairly, to the right cheek, the paddle impacts soundly, your bottom rippling from the blow, your toes curling to control the shock and pain. This miserable woman hits hard, and clearly wants to make an example of you.

Splat! Splat! Splat!

Mrs Harcastle begins a vigorous, rhythmic beating of your naked bottom. The paddle whistles slightly as the air cuts through its tiny holes, although to your senses the paddle seems painfully solid, basting your flesh tightly with each flaming stroke.

Splat! Splat!

If your Willpower is 6 or more, Turn to page 665.
If not, read on.

You jump and jolt as the paddle snaps against your bum, reddening and bruising your tender cheeks. Keeping still whilst suffering such hardship is impossible, and you accompany your gyrating hips with a girlish shriek at each tight blow.

"Such wimpy behaviour is unbecoming a sportswoman!" chides Mrs Hamilton. "Keep your arse still -- you are only extending your punishment by showing such weakness."

You find yourself slipping slowly down the wall as the paddle cracks against your backside, so that soon your bum is pushed out at a rude ninety degrees. Your stretched cheeks only suffer more from their pummelling, and you put on a miserable show for your team mates.

Lose either 1 point of Ambition or Dignity as your grace and standing is undermined by your weakness under the paddle.

By the time Mrs Hardcastle has finished with you your backside is glowing red and bruised. Raise your Bum Status by 3 levels .

"Now stand up, girl, arms to your side!" barks your cruel coach.

"Yes, Mrs Hamilton!" you cry, wilful spirit broken, not even deigning to turn around and tug down your skirt until given permission a minute or so later.

Your backside suitably warmed Mrs Hardcastle commands you and the girls outside.

Turn to page 669.

Page 665

The beating is fierce and cruel, but your personal dislike of Mrs Hamilton keeps you still. Your breath is wet against the wall as you control your breathing, your bottom shuddering under the cruel impact of the motivational paddle. But you'll be damned if you show Mrs Hamilton any distress. Besides the other girls are watching, and you need to put on a good show for them.

Splat! Splat!

You must surely have endured a good two dozen or more strokes by the time Mrs Hamilton stops, clearly feeling your punishment adequate if not satisfying. Your scarlet cheeks are well battered. Raise your Bum Status by 2 levels .

The other girls look impressed at your fortitude. Gain 2 points of Reputation and add 1 to either your Ambition or Dignity.

A little put out that she did not humiliate you Mrs Hamilton barks at the team to get out onto field.

Turn to page 669.

Page 666

"Excuse me!" you bark, horrified at Mrs Hardcastle's treatment of you and the team. "There's no need for that kind of language!"

Gain 1 point of Dignity for sticking up for yourself.

Mrs Hardcastle sneers at you. "You must be the famous Dianne Hathaway, lord almighty of the new telephone project. Only an English girl would be rude enough to interrupt her betters."

"Rudeness is obviously something you're very familiar with, Mrs Hardcastle," you reply archly. "We are all volunteers here, there's no need for such offensive language."

Mrs Hardcastle laughs mockingly. "The girls are here out of duty," she says dismissively. "It's expected for a young woman to be engaged in a healthy sport -- and doubly important for her to represent her employer. Choice doesn't come into it. I'm here to make sure you win and to provide order. You have broken that order, for which you have earned a punishment. Turn around, bend over and lean against the wall. A couple of dozen strokes with the motivational paddle should improve your attitude!"

There, she's said it - declared your punishment. She's both your elder and your coach, under Westjack rules of social conduct that gives her the perfect right to beat you. But can you stomach subjecting yourself to this arbitrary punishment?

Will you?

Simply walk out of the changing room, never to come back? Turn to page 667.

Or will you reluctantly obey? Turn to page 664.

Page 667

You've walked out on a legal and declared punishment. It may not be a hanging offence but it is extremely bad form. Lose 5 points of Reputation -- the other girls on the island now think you consider yourself 'too good' for a bare bum whipping.

Turn to page 789.

Page 668

All this swearing and blood and thunder is clearly designed to get your dander up and increase your fierceness on the court. You mustn't rise to it. Besides there's no way you're going to risk your own backside when the rest of the girls are so meekly taking their tongue lashing.

Once Mrs Hardcastle has stopped her ranting Jennifer briefly introduces you to the fierce coach, but she seems only semi-interested in you. Shockingly she quickly tugs your skirt up to examine your knickers, objecting when she sees them.

"Kickers are not allowed in training -- a personal rule of mine," explains Mrs Hardcastle. "I use the strap frequently to inflict strokes on poorly performing girls -- and I don't like knickers in the way between leather and bum. You'll remove them now if you want to stay on the team."

How humiliating! If you wish you can leave the team now with no further stain on your reputation -- Turn to page 789.

Otherwise, filled with mortification, you have to slip your knickers off in public to the suppressed titters of the rest of the team. Lose 1 point of Dignity .

With this declothing ceremony complete you, and the rest of the girls, are ordered outside on threat of vigorous bum whipping!

Turn to page 669.

Page 669

Outside, even in the summer sun, the wind blasts through the trees with a fierce intensity. The chill wind whips under your too-short skirt, caressing your sex and naked bottom, making you feel even more vulnerable. The tiny skirts blast up with terrifying regularity, and you and the girls have to hold the small strips of material down to maintain your own modesties. What you will do when playing and with your hands full is anybody's guess.

Mrs Hardcaste, now wielding a long leather strap in her ancient hands, quickly orders you into a line and begins with goal-shooting practice. You haven't played netball since school, so understandably you are wracked with nerves.

Jennifer is up first, the little show-off scoring first time to the polite applause of the other girls. A girl called Trudy is up next, but she does less well, the ball bouncing off the hoop. Mrs Hardcastle rewards her efforts with a crack of her strap across her buttocks, the wind obligingly blasting up her skirt just before impact as if conspiring against her.

You are up next. Trembling you step into the scoring area and line up to the goal.

If you have the weakness 'Clumsy' Turn to page 670.
Otherwise read on.

Just how good are you at Netball?

If your Dignity score is an even number Turn to page 671.

If your Dignity score is an odd number Turn to page 670.

Page 670

You are awful at netball -- and always have been. You imagined joining the netball team was going to be a bit of casual fun, a few girls having a laugh, trying their best, but probably losing to a superior team. You didn't think your lack of skill was going to be a problem. It is.

Mrs Hardcastle lashes your bum for every miss ... and you miss every time. For an hour you are trying to shoot balls through that damn hoop, but none of them will go in. The vigorous crack of leather across your bum, only sometimes covered by your skirt, quickly reddens your cheeks and has you gasping.

The awful waiting is the worst. Standing in line to take your shot even though you are bound to miss fills you with dread and robs your confidence. Mrs Hardcastle's arm never tires, and soon most of the team have rosy bottoms from that horrible strap. You get the worst of it, though, your bum positively aching from being so repeatedly struck.

Raise your Bum Status by 2 levels and lose 1 point of Willpower .

Snap!

"You're useless, Dianne," spits Mrs Hardcastle. "Harlots like you don't deserve to be on this court! Get back in line and score, or I'll lash that whore's backside of yours to kingdom come!"

Fortunately netball practice doesn't last that long, and as darkness falls Mrs Hardcastle reluctantly stops her beating/training and commands you back inside the changing room.

Turn to page 672.

Page 671

You watch with satisfaction as your shot neatly passes straight through the hoop. Mrs Hardcastle seems almost disappointed. "Back to the end of the line, Dianne," she snaps irritably.

Indeed most of your shots score, even when Mrs Hardcastle places you in awkward positions in the scoring circle. You shouldn't really be surprised -- you were a bit of a netball ace at school. The other girls cheer supportively as you score again and again. Naturally you don't get every shot it, and Mrs Hardcastle lashes your behind with vigour at each missed shot. But she can hardly deride you, and you know in your heart you are doing well.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level , and gain either 1 point of Dignity or Willpower.

Netball practice doesn't last long, and as darkness falls Mrs Hardcastle reluctantly stops her beating/training and commands you back inside the changing room.

Turn to page 672.

Page 672

Mrs Hardcastle doesn't hang around at the end of netball practice, and soon you and the rest of the girls are showering down to wash the sweat from your naked skin. Jennifer, late to the shower, squeezes past you to get to an adjacent shower head, her naked body sliding wetly past you, so that you can feel her thighs brush against yours and the tips of her nipples scrape across your back.

If you have the codeword FAVOUR, Turn to page 673.
If not, read on.

Jennifer smiles sweetly as she slips past and steps under the hot spray which gushes down her young, perfect body. A terrible shiver of desire courses through your body, leaving you confused and breathless. You quickly turn your head away and concentrate on cleaning yourself, washing away the sudden stickiness between your legs.

No -- there's no way you can cope with this kind of complication. You have your career to think of. Supressing your sudden and surprising desires you quickly dry yourself and get changed, thanking the other girls and promising to see them tomorrow at the same time.

Turn to page 676.

Page 673

Almost instinctively your hand reaches out to brush Jennifer's backside, reddened from the strap. You need more physical intimacy than that, and your fellow club member locks eyes with yours as she feels your hand caress her behind.

She smiles and takes your hand from her bum, glancing around at the other girls as if to say 'not here'. Jennifer begins to shower nonchalantly, but you can barely take your eyes off her, continuously glancing to watch her bubbly shampoo stream down the perfect contours of her body. A terrible desire is building up inside you towards the masochistic secretary, and you long to take her in your arms and feel her wet body against your own.

Supressing these desires is almost painful, and you concentrate on scrubbing your scalp as hard as you can, watching the water crash down through the tunnel of your hair, to try to distract you from the beautiful English rose.

Out of the shower your feelings become more of a dull ache, and you dry yourself vigorously, Jennifer adjacent to you, trying to maintain control of yourself.

"Dallas is on telly tonight," says Jennifer abruptly, as you are starting to dress. "Do you want to come round my house and watch it?"

"Dallas?" you say confused. "What ... the new series?"

"Don't be silly -- this is Westjack," laughs Jennifer. "No -- this is the series from the eighties. It's about the most modern thing the TV station has. It's quite good fun though."

Jennifer puts a hand on your still naked thigh, her eyes flashing. Somehow you get the feeling there won't be too much TV watching going on.

Do you:

Accept Jennifer's offer? Turn to page 674.

Or turn it down? Turn to page 675.

Page 674

Jennifer lives in a small house on the exterior of Oldwell. It is very plain and square, but it has a pretty garden in front which is full of flowers. You compliment her on it, but she breezily claims that she barely does any gardening.

"James Harrington -- do you know him? -- from the Club does most of it," Jennifer explains. "He thinks I'm too pretty to live in a dank little house with no flowers. He's got a sharp little hand but he's a very dedicated gardener. I think a few minutes of going over his knee is more than compensation enough for all the work he does."

She unlocks the door and beckons you inside, quickly plonking you on the living room sofa whilst she goes into the kitchen to make tea. "Turn the telly on," she calls through. "It starts in a minute."

"Are we really watching Dallas?" you ask, heart pumping, fearing disappointment.

"I told you -- it's the only decent thing on Westjack TV all week," she says mischievously, popping her head around the corner. "There's plenty of time -- relax."

You nod, hugging your legs to your chest to control the gnawing passions running through you. You can't get the sight of Jennifer's naked body out of your mind -- the water cascading down her body. You didn't know you could feel this way about another woman.

Jennifer eventually returns, two cups of tea in her hand, to seat herself next to you. Soon the opening credits start to run, and Jennifer begins a sarcastic bopping to the theme tune.

"Does anyone live with you?" you ask nervously.

"Nope -- just me," she says.

"Sounds lonely," you say.

"Yeah," she replies a little sadly.

You watch the Machiavellian plots of Dallas with little interest. The programme is so hopelessly dated you can't really enjoy it. Jennifer laps it up, though, sipping her tea quietly as she absorbs the story.

About fifteen minutes in she suddenly asks. "What about you -- do you have someone? Back in England, I mean?"

"No," you admit. "I'm a bit busy for it, really."

"You're young to be a project head," says Jennifer flatly. "Are you the kind of girl who's first in the office, last out? That kind of thing?"

"That's it," you say. "I have no life."

"I didn't say that!" cries Jennifer, offended.

"I said it," you shrug. "Work's the only thing that ... stops me getting bored."

Jennifer looks at you seriously. "But that's not all you are, is it?" she asks. "Otherwise you wouldn't have joined the Club."

"The Club's useful," you say. "It has connections across the island. Useful connections that I can use to get the project going."

"That's bollocks, Dianne," says Jennifer shaking her head, and you jolt to hear the pretty English rose swear. "Such utter bollocks. You go to the Club because you need it -- like we all do."

"What about you?" you ask, a little waspishly. "Why are you here? You could be so much more than a secretary. You're in the middle of nowhere out here. The boys will never promote you ... why on Earth did you come here? Did you give everything up just so you could be spanked every day by Mr Stevenson?"

Jennifer looks at you cautiously, sipping another mouthful of tea. "I came here so I could live with dignity," she answers.

"Dignity?" you laugh. "Every man on Westjack has the right to slip your knickers down and spank your bum. What dignity is there in that?"

"You still don't get it, do you, Dianne?" replies Jennifer, amazed. "Back in London I could sate my needs if I wanted. I could go to special clubs and be whipped and tied up. I could become someone's slave and serve them on my knees, if that's what I wanted to do. But if I did that I would be considered a slut. That would be my identity. My parents would know it, my friends would know it -- I'd know it. But here ... here on Westjack ... I'm a good girl. A proper girl. A girl who takes her licks with dignity and without fuss. No one sneers at me in the middle of the street or thinks I'm a tramp. I'm a secretary, a damn good one, and I have nothing to be ashamed of."

There is no mistaking the hurt in her voice. There is nowhere in the world but here for a girl like Jennifer. She quickly turns back to the TV and watches silently. Is she right about you? Are you neglecting your needs by working so hard? Or could it be the other way around.

By the end of Dallas things have warmed a little between you again, and you begin the chat a little about how Sue-Ellen should get her revenge on JR. When an ancient quiz show repeat comes on, Jennifer slyly suggests that you play a strip version of it, where both of you guess the answers and have to remove an article of clothing if the other person guesses right.

That does the trick. Soon you are naked and touching, feeling each other's smooth skin as the contestants in the background witlessly press their buzzers. As the evening darkens you retire to Jennifer's small bed, the tinny television still chattering away to itself below. That evening you get to know Jennifer better -- a lot better -- and you gently bring each other to a shuddering climax.

Gain 1 Fun point .

Afterwards you are not quite sure what to say to each other, so you simply doze in the sleepy aftermath, bodies entangled, until the next morning breaks.

If you do not have the codeword EXEMPT raise your Bum Status by 2 levels -- Mrs Hamilton will not be pleased you spent the whole night out of the house!

Turn to page 676.

Page 675

"I'd better not -- I've got some reports to write tonight," you say bravely, supressing your sudden longings with skill.

Jennifer shrugs. "Sure," she smiles. "See you tomorrow."

"I suppose so," you say resignedly, rubbing your bottom still sore from Mrs Hamilton's affections.

You watch as Jennifer leaves the changing room and unleash a throaty sigh. My goodness, you must be frustrated if you've started fancying girls! It's lucky she didn't push the matter, you're not sure you could have resisted!

Gain 1 point of Willpower for resisting Jennifer's advances.

Turn to page 676.

Page 676

The next day, after work, you return to the sport's field. You watch in wonder as you see another team practicing in the court. Their shirts are emblazoned with the GlobeOil logo -- seven gorgeous young ladies with hard bodies, shooting goals and dashing around each other with lightning speed. If these are your opponents your team is doomed!

You glumly make your way in to find your team desperately pulling their clothes off and getting changed, Jennifer amongst them.

"Quick!" she barks. "Mrs Hardcastle is coming! Get changed before she sees you!"

If you have the codeword NAKED Turn to page 677.
If not, read on.

You try to change as quickly as you can, but Mrs Hardcastle is in the room before you even manage to put your skirt on.

"Idle slut!" she curses. "How are you supposed to benefit from training if you're constantly late! Bend over the bench! Now!"

You consider making the point that it is Mrs Hardcastle who is early, rather than you being late, but you don't suppose it would change matters. Naked from the waist down already you present a fine target for Mrs Hardcasle who unleashes a dozen or so slaps of the motivational paddle across your squirming backside.

Raise you Bum Status by 1 level.

To your dread Mrs Hardcastle orders you outside dressed as you are, with only your tight fitting top on and scarlet buttocks on clear display. "We'll waste no more time with your laziness!" she insists.

Fearing more punishment your quickly trot outside onto the freezing field, the cold wind blasting across your nude waist. You wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole.

Lose 1 point of Dignity .

Turn to page 678.

Page 677

With practiced speed you rip your clothes off, uncaring of the sight you are making to the rest of the girls. You needn't worry -- they are too busy getting changed themselves to bother to look at you.

You manage to hoist your skirt up just in time as Mrs Hardcastle bursts through the door. "Out into that field, sluts! Move it!" she shrieks. "You've had enough time for idle chatter!"

Still pulling your trainers on as you go you quickly join the queue of girls making their way out into the freezing field.

Turn to page 678.

Page 678

"Move, girls, move!" howls Mrs Hardcastle. "Get those knees up high!"

You pant with exhaustion as you start to run another lap of the field. Mrs Hardcastle has had you all running for thirty minutes now and you feel utterly shattered. Ahead of you the girls stagger forwards, their skirts flipping up in the freezing Atlantic wind, their knickerless bottoms flashing in and out of sight, their legs pumping and breasts bouncing.

"You useless whores!" swears Mrs Hardcastle. "Another two laps of the field for being so slow! The oil company is going to eat you alive!"

You can feel your head pounding as you deliriously run. On the outskirts of the field you see your boss, Mr Stevenson, on a stroll by the park. He spots you dashing across the field.

If you are not wearing your skirt lose 1 point of Dignity as Mr Stevenson gravely takes in your semi-naked form. Otherwise his glare merely encourages you to put in more effort.

If your Ambition or Willpower are 7 or more Turn to page 679.
If not, read on.

After one more lap you have nothing left. You collapse on the field, accompanied by several other girls, rolling on the grass, fighting for breath.

"Lazy trollops!" thunders Mrs Hardcastle towering above you all. "Crawl over to the bench and bend over. I'll deal with your insolent backsides in a few minutes!"

Crawling painfully, you and the fallen girls manage to heave yourselves over the bench and collapse, gasping for breath. Your naked bums (denuded by the strong winds) glimmer in the dying light, all in a neat row for Mrs Hardcastle to punish at her pleasure.

That is not for another fifteen minutes -- when the few girls who made the run are sent back to the changing rooms after several morale sapping curses from Mrs Hardcastle. You clutch the bench, freezing, the icy wind chilling your sex and blasting across your bottom's naked crack. You almost welcome the first whack from the motivational paddle, as it cracks across your freezing globes, as a chance to warm your poor frozen bottom.

Splat! Splat! Splat!

Rhythmically, going from one end of the bench to the other, Mrs Hardcastle thrashes the half dozen girls lined up across the bench. Some take their blows with little more than a resigned grunt, others howl or whimper. You cannot help cry out, your spirits broken by the exhaustion and the cold, as your bottom ignites under the remorseless paddling.

Lose 1 point of Willpower .

You are beaten for a full half an hour, your strokes mercifully divided up amongst the other losers. Eventually though Mrs Hardcastle tires and abruptly orders you up.

"Go and get changed, you miserable slatterns!" she snaps. "And make sure you bring some guts and determination with you next time!"

Raise your Bum Status by 2 levels .

One after the other the girls rise and thank Mrs Hardcastle, yourself included for fear of enraging her.

Turn to page 680.

Page 679

You'll not let a petty housekeeper like Mrs Hardcastle get the better of you! Even though it feels your lungs are on fire and your legs feel like two broken sticks you continue to pound around the field, breathing deep and steady.

Many girls fail to keep up, collapsing on the grass with great heaving breaths. Coldly Mrs Hardcastle orders them to crawl to the losers bench, which they do glumly, kneeling across the hard wooden structure with their naked bums in the air, awaiting punishment.

Stars flash before your eyes by the time you reach the final lap, and you lean exhaustedly on the breathless Jennifer support as you stagger towards the changing rooms. To your right you see Mrs Hardcasle swinging her motivational paddle down forcefully upon the bottoms of the losing girls, and you wince in sympathy at their suffering.

Turn to page 680.

Page 680

Exhausted and sore you virtually collapse on the bench inside the changing rooms, the deep breaths of the other girls filling the room with panting. There is no sign of Mrs Hardcastle -- now she has punished the losers she is obviously quite happy to leave early and head back to the manor.

"Is it just me?" you ask aloud. "Or is Mrs Hardcastle a complete bitch?"

The other girls suck in the air in horror.

"I know she seems a bit rough, Dianne," sooths Jennifer, "but she's only doing it for our own good."

"Our own good?" you cry breathlessly. "What has running until you drop got to do with netball? The woman's a sadist."

One of the other girls points out that she is just trying to instil a little fire and thirst for victory in you all. "After all," she wheezes, "the losing team in the company match gets lashed by the coach of the winning team -- publically, in front of pretty much the whole island."

"What?" you cry. "What do you mean 'gets lashed publically'?"

"It's a tradition," insists Jennifer. "Most of the island come to see the annual netball match. The losing team have to stand politely in line and get whipped by the opposing coach, whilst the audience cheer them on."

Your heart sinks. Having seen the quality of the opposing team you know that the match is a foregone conclusion. You didn't join this team to be publically humiliated -- yet to back out now would ruin your reputation.

"When was the last time the Telephone Exchange won?" you ask, dread rising.

"We had a couple of wins in the seventies, I think," muses one girl. "But, you know, that was before my time."

"We haven't won in forty years?" you cry aghast.

"The oil company girls are jolly good," replies the girl. "They train throughout the year, whereas we only get a few weeks."

"So ... so you turn up to a few weeks training, get lashed by Mrs Hardcastle every evening, and then all get lined up and beaten when you lose the match? Why on Earth would you volunteer for this?" you demand.

Jennifer looks shocked. "We'd be letting the Telephone Exchange down if we didn't field a team! That would be a really poor show!"

You fume quietly. It's almost as if Mr Stevenson set you up for this. Mind you, from his perspective, this kind of thing is probably completely normal.

"Mrs Hardcastle will never lead us to victory," you say aloud. "We have to get rid of her and start practicing properly."

"Get rid of Mrs Hardcastle?" cries one of the girls. "But she's been our coach for the last forty years!"

Hmm. You sense a pattern is forming.

What do you want to do?

Glumly accept your fate and carry on training without complaint, praying for a miracle? Turn to page 681.

Abandon netball training -- your reputation will take a hit, but it's better than being thrashed before the entire island? Turn to page 683.

Or try to persuade the girls to make you coach, and plot to win by any means necessary? Turn to page 684.

Page 681

The next few days are pure hell. Mrs Hardcastle runs and flogs you and the girls into the ground, lashing you for the smallest failures. Nothing pleases the woman, and the dispirited team limp along to her demands. The entire training regime is nothing more than a playground for her sadistic cruelty, and she enjoys watching as you wriggle under the belt or paddle.

Raise your Bum Status by 3 levels .

You can't say that you feel in any way ready when you finally hit the field on the day of the match. It seems almost the entire of Westjack island is out to watch the match between the Telephone Exchange and GlobeOil. You watch miserably as the firm bodied athletes of the oil company come bouncing into the court, accompanied by polite clapping from the viewing spectators. This changes to rapturous applause when you and the other girls come on. As the home team, from a proper Westjack company, the audience are one hundred per cent behind you.

You allow yourself a small smile. You do at least have a home crowd advantage. Perhaps, with total dedication and a good dose of luck, you and your limping team can score a victory. Indeed the very sight of the smirking Mrs Hardcastle, now slow clapping your presence on the court, makes your blood boil. Anything to spite that mean old witch would be worth it!

Your chances of victory are slim. Look at your Ambition, Dignity and Willpower scores. If all three of these scores are even numbers Turn to page 682.
If not, read on.

You actually do better than you imagined, managing to score a few goals despite the oil girl's impressive defence. Nonetheless the final result in humiliation, with thirty goals scored against you. Your exhausted team can't put up much of a fight, and the oil company run rings around you.

Mrs Hardcastle cackles quietly to herself and sits up to get a better view of your forthcoming forfeit.

Turn to page 717.

Page 682

This game will enter Westjack legend. It starts off looking like a total rout -- with five goals scored against you in the first twenty minutes. The rest of the match is a thrilling game of catch-up. A lucky shot from Jennifer gives you the first goal, but after that it's you who becomes the star of the game. Everything just slots into place perfectly. The other girls are quick and attentive. The oil girl's block too late. When they manage to get possession they bungle their shots.

With seconds to spare you score the last victorious goal, winning the match six-five. The crowd goes wild. Never before have they seen such a close fought match -- nor did they think you even stood a chance as you shuffled on to court.

You smirk at the stony-faced Mrs Hardcastle and slap your bum provocatively. It looks like she's going to miss watching your last public humiliation after all.

Turn to page 716.

Page 683

Abandoning the girls in their hour of need makes you little less than a cur in their eyes. Lose 5 points of Reputation . Your fear of failure lessens you as a person as well. Lose 1 point of either Ambition or Willpower.

But at the very least Mrs Hardcastle won't be able to torment you any further.

Turn to page 789.

Page 684

"Well -- I think your attitude stinks!" you say to the other girls, loudly. "You all claim to be on this team for the pride of the company, but you seem quite happy to throw the game by letting Mrs Hardcastle coach you!"

"That's not throwing the game...!" objects one girl.

"Of course it is!" you snap. "She hasn't coached a single victory in forty years. She's letting down the Telephone Exchange. If you really want to win you need to pick me as your coach. It's the only decent thing to do."

Fine words. But do the other girls listen?

If your Ambition is 5 or more, Turn to page 685.
If not, read on.

There is a comfortless silence. Finally Jennifer plucks up the courage to speak. "I think I speak for the rest of the girls when I say ... sorry, no thanks. It's nothing personal. I'm sure you'd make a good coach. It's just that we all have reputations to protect. Getting a few swats on the behind by Mrs Hardcastle is a small price to pay for having a good name."

"But we still want you on the team!" enthuses another girl. "Don't think we don't like you!"

The other girls look pleadingly at you. Will you:

Glumly accept your fate and carry on training without complaint, praying for a miracle? Turn to page 681.

Abandon netball training -- your reputation will take a hit, but it's better than being thrashed before the entire island? Turn to page 683.

Page 685

You are a confident and inspiring leader. The other girls seem enthused by the idea of actually competing to win a match! They agree to ditch Mrs Hardcastle as their coach and install you in her place -- at least unofficially.

"Mrs Hardcastle will still be our coach technically, because she's the one who singed our entry forms for the match," explains Jennifer. "But all that means is she gets to belt the other team if they lose."

"She can consider it her retirement present," you grin wickedly.

Later that evening you telephone Mrs Hardcastle to let her know you'll be taking over. She's furious, threatening to lash you for insubordination. You point out that since she's not longer your coach and that you are her social superior (you're a manager, she's a housekeeper) she has no right to do any such thing. She's speechless, and you take the advantage to hang up on her having wished her a good day.

Gain 1 Fun point for this subtle revenge.

Nonetheless you are still presented with a problem. Although the girls are keen their netball skills are average at best. The fit girls of the oil company will clearly win this trial of strength -- unless you are willing to get a little bit underhanded...

How will you even the odds of the game?

Try to hack into the emails of the oil company's best players, arranging a fake meeting with an important manager on the day of the match? Turn to page 686.

Sneak into the oil company's island office and spike the girl's water with laxatives? Turn to page 689.

Or simply play the game honestly, hoping that diligence and fair play will win through? Turn to page 711.

Page 686

You sit down at your computer to enact your wicked scheme. The oil company are part of the trial network set up on the island last year to test the new technology (the oil company are understandably keen for Westjack to get connected to the internet). But exactly how good are you at computer hacking?

If you have the trait 'Knowledgeable', Turn to page 687.
If not, read on.

The answer is not very good at all. Even though you have access privileges to the network you have no idea how you would go about sending an email remotely from someone else's computer -- or even if it is possible to do it at all.

You couldn't get Julian to help you -- he'd never break the law over a netball match no matter how much you bat your eyes at him.

If you have employed Elizabeth Hall, Turn to page 688.
If not read on.

After several fruitless days of trying you eventually give up. It looks like you'll have to play this match honestly whether you like it or not.

Turn to page 711.

Page 687

With so many access rights to the oil company's networked computers it's practically child's play. You send an email from the oil company's top director asking for a private and confidential meeting with several players slap in the middle of the arranged netball match. You then delete the email record from the director's computer, chuckling wickedly to yourself. The poor girls will not only miss the match, but probably end up getting caned by their boss for interrupting him.

Maybe it's a little mean ... but the Oil Company girls are training far too hard when they know full well the Telephone Exchange only gets a few weeks of practice. So -- they're cheating as well. Sort of...

With hope in your heart you continue to train your team up until the deadly day itself arrives...

Record the codeword MORALE .

Turn to page 711.

Page 688

Elizabeth Hall owes you everything, so it takes little persuading to get her to do your dirty work for you. You have her send an email from the oil company's top director asking for a private and confidential meeting with several players slap in the middle of the arranged netball match. You then delete the email record from the director's computer, chuckling wickedly to yourself, much to Liz's evident disapproval. The poor girls will not only miss the match, but probably end up getting caned by their boss for interrupting him.

Maybe it's a little mean ... but the Oil Company girls are training far too hard when they know full well the Telephone Exchange only gets a few weeks of practice. So -- they're cheating as well. Sort of...

With hope in your heart you continue to train your team up until the deadly day itself arrives...

Record the codeword MORALE .

Turn to page 711.

Page 689

This is going to be a tricky one. You decide your best bet is to get yourself invited to the GlobeOil headquarters on the island on the pretence of having a discussion about their future network needs.

The senior manager, Mr Jean Arcout, is happy to meet with you, and the two of you spend a happy few hours talking business.

"This network is vitally important to Westjack's future," Mr Arcout assures you. "The expense and difficulty of connecting via satellite in the middle of the Atlantic ... well ... I can't tell you how inconvenient it is. With the oil becoming more and more difficult to extract having a good internet connection might eek out our presence in Westjack for a little longer."

"The oil's running out, then?" you ask.

"We're still good for a few years but ... frankly we're considering winding up all operations by the end of the decade if new wells can't be found," confirms Mr Arcout. "I'm surprised it's not more common knowledge; we've informed two separate island committees on this matter, but for whatever reason they aren't keen to share our findings with the island's citizens."

This information could be useful. Record the codeword POVERTY .

"Well -- let's break for lunch!" Jean says grandly. "I'm afraid I have another meeting now but you're welcome to use the cafeteria."

"Thank you, Mr Arcout," you smile, getting to your feet and shaking his hand. "You've been very helpful."

You leave the office and think quickly. You could probably hang around the office for another hour or so before you raise suspicions. In your jacket pocket you have a packet of laxatives that dissolve clearly in water. If you can find the netball girls sports drinks you can pop a couple into each one -- that ought to have the desired effect.

You wander nonchalantly down the corridors, nodding to some of the girls you recognise who are on the team. The office is quite busy -- you'll have to be very efficient or very sneaky to get this done. Goodness knows what will happen to you if you get caught.

Suddenly you find it -- a store cupboard where balls, extendable hoops, spare kit and other netball related regalia is kept. There are also a number of bottles of mineral water, one for each player, stored amongst the kit. It's been left open whilst an office worker retrieves a few spare pads of paper from it. The other office workers are out of sight but very near.

What do you do?

Decide it is too risky and quickly leave the GlobeOil headquarters? Turn to page 690.

Or quickly pop inside and start spiking the water? Turn to page 691.

Page 690

The risks are just too great. If your caught putting pills into the girls drinks ... well, that's a crime. Even the suffering of your bottom isn't worth getting arrested over. You quickly leave the office. It looks like you'll have to try to win the game honestly after all!

Turn to page 711.

Page 691

Quickly nipping into the cupboard, closing the door behind you, you set about your nefarious task.

If you have the trait 'Organised', Turn to page 692.
If not, read on.

You quickly begin unscrewing bottles and popping pills from your packet of laxatives. You are nervous and you fumble with the pills several times, dropping a few every so often in panic. Some of the water bottles are tough to open, cracking sound they make as the plastic seals are broken sounds threateningly loud to your ears.

You have only just finished putting a tablet into the last bottle when you hear the door handle crank down...

If you have the trait 'Stealthy' Turn to page 693.
If not, read on.

Like a rabbit caught in the headlights you gaze in terror as a tall, athletic young woman swings open the door. You are frozen to the spot, bottle of water in hand.

"What are you doing here?" snaps the woman. "What are you doing with our water?"

"I'm ... err ... just..." you blather terrified.

"You're Dianne Hathaway, aren't you?" the lady insists. "You're on the Telephone Exchange netball team -- I've seen you practicing."

"Hi..." you offer feebly.

The woman closes the door behind her, glowering at you. "Were you spiking our water with something? Are you really that desperate to win?"

Your mouth goes dry. What do you do?

Confess your crime honestly now you've been caught? Turn to page 694.

Try to come up with a convincing lie? Turn to page 695.

Page 692

You have already pre-prepared the laxative packet by half-popping the tablets out of their blister. You immediately place the bottles in front of you, with the open blister pack sitting on a nearby box of paper. Swiftly, ruthlessly, you crack open each bottle in turn, deposit two pills and swirl the contents round. You repeat until every bottle has been treated the same way before putting them back in the box they came from.

You are so swift and methodical you are finished in under two minutes. You quickly stand and exit the cupboard, closing the door behind you. Just seconds later one of the office girls passes you by, going into the cupboard herself for some supplies. If you had been even slightly slower you would have been caught.

Smiling smugly to yourself you saunter out of the GlobeOil headquarters.

Record the codeword TRIP .

Turn to page 711.

Page 693

With athletic grace and speed you dive behind the paper boxes, arching your body painfully so you are completely concealed. Someone enters the cupboard -- a young woman by the looks of her, possibly one of your competitors. She rummages around the shelves for a few moments and then leaves, taking a handful of biros with her.

Breathing a sigh of relief you quickly finish your task -- putting all the bottles of water back in their box upon completion. Not wanting to push your luck you quickly exit the GlobeOil building, trying to supress a wicked smile as you do so.

Record the codeword TRIP .

Turn to page 711.

Page 694

"Yes," you say, flushing with shame, lowering your head. "Yes -- that's what I was doing. I'm so sorry..."

The tall woman lets out a huff of exasperation. "Well I never thought I'd see the day ... what on earth am I going to do with you? Have you any idea how irresponsible that was?"

You nod glumly. Lose 1 point of Dignity .

The woman sighs and sits herself upon a cube of boxed paper. "Over you go," she says matter-of-factly, brushing her lap. "You deserve much more, but as an English girl I suppose I should spare your delicate behind from anything too severe. I'll just have to endeavour to do the best I can with my hand..."

You cringe awkwardly. This woman is letting you off incredibly lightly given the terrible discomfort you were about to inflict upon her team.

Will you:

Protest that the punishment isn't strong enough for the crime? Turn to page 696.

Or meekly accept her judgement and slide over her lap? Turn to page 697.

Page 695

"I ... I was making sure you weren't using performance enhancing drugs!" you blurt.

"What?" cries the woman in amazement.

"Well -- the oil company have won for the last forty years," you hurriedly explain. "Frankly the girls in my team are suspicious that you were taking steroids to boost your performance. The island is rife with talk that the oil company has been abusing drugs for years. I snuck in to take samples of your water for analysis."

Only the most confident liar could pull off such an outrageous claim. If your Ambition is 8 or more, Turn to page 698.
If not, read on:

"That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard!" thunders the woman. "You are irredeemable! For this you'll have to be punished by the whole team! We'll all take it in turns to beat your naked bottom until it's purple. You have offended every sense of proper womanhood on the island!"

"Beaten by the whole team!" you gasp. "Surely that's a little excessive ... it was only a practical joke..."

"I suppose we could always contact the law," she considers. "What do you think the sentence would be for attempting to poison seven women? Four weeks of thrashing followed by an ignominious extradition at a guess..."

"No!" you say quickly. "No ... there's no need for that."

The woman looks upon you with utter contempt. "Meet us in the car park at five thirty. Me and the girls will be waiting for you -- then you'll find out what happens to conniving bitches on Westjack Island, Dianne Hathaway..."

Turn to page 699.

Page 696

"Wait!" you cry, as the woman reaches forwards to drag you over her lap. "This isn't enough. It's too lenient. My crime warrants a sterner punishment. I ... I don't think it's appropriate to be let off so easily."

The woman sighs. "I suppose your right. Since you were going to harm the entire team it seems only fair that the entire team punish you. Well ... meet me in the car park at about five thirty. We'll sort out a tougher punishment for you there."

The lady stands, brushing her skirt down. "I have to say -- I didn't expect honour from a foreign girl. Most of you lot are so keen to save your arses you don't even stop to consider your good name. You've impressed me."

This stranger's comments cause you to glow with pride. Gain 2 Dignity points and 3 points of Reputation.

"Don't be late -- or we'll tell everyone on the island you welched on the deal and tried to poison us," the woman says matter-of-factly.

"I won't be late -- I promise," you vow solemnly.

Turn to page 699.

Page 697

You're getting off lightly and you know it. But if this Westjack girl is going to show you mercy you'll not turn it down. You quickly slide yourself over her knee before she can consider any additional punishment, raising your skirt and lowering your knickers instinctively, so that your naked bottom is soon sticking out rudely at ninety degrees.

"You're a very bad girl, Dianne Hathaway!" chides the netball player. "This spanking is nothing compared to the drubbing you'll receive when you lose the netball match."

Smack! Smack! Smack!

Confined in the small, dark stationary cupboard, you jolt and squeak as the netball player swiftly spanks your bottom with quick, stinging strokes. She spanks quicker than anyone else you've come across, not allowing the smallest pause as she patters your behind like a machine gun.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

Your bum is soon red and enflamed, and you cannot help but twist and moan through your justly deserved punishment. The netball player holds you tightly around the waist, hauling you forward if you dare to wiggle away, her blurring hand never ceasing to bombard your buttocks.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

She spanks you this way for twenty minutes, and your breath is panting and short, your sore bottom blazing, long before the end. Raise your Bum Status by 2 levels .

When she has finished she curtly asks you stand up, which you do, grasping your poor struck bottom in your hands as soon as you have risen.

"I'll see you on the court," she says archly. "Remember the feeling in your bottom, Dianne -- you'll be feeling it again very soon."

At that she shoes you out of the cupboard, almost tripping you up in your knickers as she shoves you out into the corridor. Righting your clothing you quickly trot out of the GlobeOil headquarters, vowing to avenge yourself on the sanctimonious netball team!

Turn to page 711.

Page 698

The netball player seems horrified at the suggestion. "I assure you we do no such thing!" she cries. "Do people really say that about us?"

"I'm afraid so," you say ruefully. "Personally I just think it's jealousy from the Telephone Exchange girls..."

The lady blushes brightly. "Well -- you can take a bottle if you wish, and test it. There's no drugs in it. Leave the others, mineral water is expensive."

"I will," you say gravely. "I hope you girls are telling the truth. I wouldn't like to tell Mr Arcout what you've been up to if the results come back positive."

You leave the stationary with a single bottle, shaking your head gravely. You have to suppress your laughter until you get outside the building. You were caught red-handed and still managed to guilt the gullible Westjack girl into thinking she was in the wrong! What's more the laxative-infused water is still in place. You suspect that the GlobeOil netball team are going to feel rather distracted in their upcoming game...

Record the codeword TRIP .

Turn to page 711.

Page 699

True to your word you turn up to the GlobeOil car park at five thirty, your heart in your mouth and trembling in fear. The executives of the company have already left and the park is almost empty except for the GlobeOil minibus parked in a long space just behind the rear entrance to the building.

All seven of the netball team girls are waiting for you, tall girls with long hair and hard bodies. They survey you coldly, their arms crossed, eying you with cold contempt.

"I'm Vera -- captain of the netball team -- you must be Dianne," growls the tallest of the girls.

"That's right," you say nervously.

"Come with us," she orders. "We're going for a little walk up the beech so we can resolve this matter privately."

You nod obediently and are soon escorted by the office girls out of town onto Oldwell's vast beeches. Most of the girls are silent, although one, Trisha, chats politely with you as you slog your way along the sandy coast.

Your destination soon comes into view; a cave that opens up into the rock face. A large limestone chamber lies beyond, the sandy floor of the cave looking comfortable. Dominating the centre of the chamber is a smooth boulder upon which a pair of paddle-boards have been reverently placed, a series of holes drilled into the wood to combat air-resistance. The netball team surround you in a circle.

"Take your clothes off, Dianne," commands Vera. "We're all girls here so there's no reason not to beat you nude. Since your crime was committed against the entire netball team, the entire netball team shall issue your punishment. The greater dignity and courage you show in your punishment the less severely you will be beaten on your bare buttocks. If you moan or complain, or cry like a little English girl you shall end up in a very sorry state. So -- clothes off and bend yourself over the boulder."

You glance nervously about. The scowling faces of the netball team suggest you shall receive little mercy. You knew the consequences of turning up tonight -- it's time to face them!

If you have the codeword NAKED, Turn to page 700.
If not, read on.

You have never taken your clothes off in public. You find the task acutely shameful. Slowly removing your work jacket first, you fold it up and place it neatly on the ground next to you. You remove your skirt next, reasoning that your top at least covers your knickers for a few precious seconds as you do so.

Still under the accusing eyes of your audience you slowly pull off your top, leaving you in your underwear. Which to remove first? You suppose dignity demands that you reveal your breasts first, and you unclasp your bra with trembling fingers that delays the final release of your round tits delightfully.

Just the knickers to go. Trying to suppress your tears you swiftly tug your knickers down and clamber out of them, your naked buttocks rolling and generous breasts bobbing as you complete the manoeuvre.

You've never felt less ready, more vulnerable or nervous. Lose 1 point of Ambition , Dignity and Willpower as your small audience drink in your nakedness.

Vera seems unimpressed by your slow striptease. "Get over that boulder, you wimp!" she demands. "It's nothing we haven't seen before!"

You tremble as you approach the rock. Your terrible mass-spanking is about to begin!

Gain the codeword NAKED .

Turn to page 701.

Page 700

Taking your clothes off has become par for the course these days. You quickly strip off without a blush, casting your clothing into a small pile as you peel off each garment. Vera seems impressed.

"At least you're not one of those wimpy English girls we hear so much about," she considers. "Not too good to disrobe before an islander. That's good. But it's how you bear yourself under the paddle that counts -- so over the boulder and be quick about it."

Gain 1 point of Reputation .

You approach the rock, nervously anticipating your approaching mass-punishment!

Turn to page 701.

Page 701

Shivering with the cold you fold yourself over the smooth body of the boulder. The natural curve of the boulder is perfect for displaying the naked body of a woman, and the raised lip pushes your quivering buttocks high and arches your back. To get comfortable you have to spread your legs wide into the natural indentations of the rock, splitting your legs open at a wide angle.

"Keep your hands clasped in front of you, as if you were praying," instructs Vera coolly as she grasps one of the paddles. She smooth's over your backside appreciatively with her hand. "You must be a popular target with a bum like that, Dianne," she muses. "Don't expect us to go easy on you..."

You hear the sand crunch behind you as Vera gets herself into position. Trisha takes up the other paddle with impish delight. You shiver as you feel the paddle coolly line up with your defenceless bum. The paddle is removed, and there is a terrible whoosh of air.

Splat!

You jolt forwards as Vera, filled with righteous fury, thrashes the paddle against your behind. Your bum immediately ignites, and you have to bite your lip to avoid crying out.

Splat!

Faster than you thought another stroke crashes into your still wobbling bottom. Peering round in dismay you see that you are being double struck, that Vera and Trisha take it in turns to give you alternate strokes so that the gap between strikes is lessened, and your suffering increased.

Splat! Splat!

The speed of the beating, combined with the understandable anger of the girls, makes it difficult to bear, and you keep your hands clenched together tightly for fear your will might break or that your hands might find their way to your punished bottom.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 Level .

If your Willpower is 5 or more, Turn to page 702.
If not, read on.

The sharpness of the blows is more than you are used to, and you cannot avoid the cardinal sin of covering your naked behind with your hands.

"Hands away from your arse, you English weasel!" spits Vera, batting your delicate hands away from your smouldering bottom. "I was all but done on you -- but you had to go and wimp out on me! Well -- it looks like your bottom is due a longer thrashing than I thought!"

You crush your hands under your naked breasts to keep them from moving again -- but the damage is done. Vera and Trisha recommence your bum paddling with vigour, soon turning your cheeks a cherry red.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

Turn to page 703.

Page 702

You grit your teeth and bear through it, even as your arse is painted red by the remorseless thwacking it gets from Vera and Trisha.

"Good control," nods Vera appreciatively. "Nearly as good as a Westjack girl's."

This is high praise indeed from the proud Vera. Gain 2 points of Reputation .

Turn to page 703.

Page 703

Finally Vera and Trisha tire of their sport, handing the hissing paddles on to two team mates. Their blows are not as fierce, but the continual stinging bombardment against your cheeks is beginning to wear you down. You cannot help but shift your bottom as the strokes come faster and faster, the desire to cry out or whimper is almost intolerable.

Splat! Splat!

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

If your Dignity is 4 or more, Turn to page 704.
If not, read on.

You cannot help but whimper and moan as your long beating goes on and on, your glistening, red buttocks churning and grinding upon the boulder.

"She's being girly again!" sneers Vera. "Hit her harder, girls!"

The girls chuckle and obey, their recitance to beat your harder overruled by their captain. Soon you are sobbing under a relentless bombardment that continues as the girls change places so that everyone on the team gets a chance to thrash your poor, scarlet cheeks.

Raise your Bum Status by 2 levels .

Turn to page 705.

Page 704

You quickly recover your senses. You cannot show such weakness towards these girls. Soon you'll be playing them in a netball match! If you cannot show that you are better than they are they'll walk all over you!

The journey is hard and your bottom sore, but you silently and motionlessly endure as each girl takes their turn at the paddle, beating your backside for your grim plotting against them.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

Turn to page 705.

Page 705

Finally the last girl finishes her set, the paddles swishing hard into your buttocks, jolting you forward on the rock. You groan as you feel your bottom throb above you.

Vera walks slowly around you, her footsteps crunching on the sandy floor. Your heart flutters as you crane your neck up to see her. Speckles of perspiration glisten on her brow from her enthusiastic beating of you. But most noticeable of all is the long, thin cane she carries in her hand.

"That's the end of your official punishment," she says dismissively. "But now you have to decide if you've been punished enough, bearing in mind you attempted to cheat at an honourable game of netball in front of the entire island, and that you might have hurt or poisoned innocent women for your cheap victory."

She smooth's her hand along the length of the cane, caressing it as if it were a lover. "If you really think you've been punished enough you can leave this place with your honour intact," she says silkily. "If not -- we go one on one. Your arse, my cane. Bear yourself with dignity and you'll get the respect of this team."

You tremble. If you have the trait 'Lust for the cane', Turn to page 706.
If not, read on.

What do you do?

Say you've had enough? Turn to page 707.

Or, on reflection, do you think you deserve more punishment? Turn to page 708.

Page 706

The cruel look in Vera's eyes and the supple flex of the cane in her hands causes your stomach to flutter and a powerful need to build in your sex.

"Yes -- I need more!" you croak. "I've been such a wicked girl; you mustn't let me off so lightly."

Vera's eyes sparkle as you plead with her to thrash you. "Very well, English girl," she mocks. "We will see just how well you mainlanders bear up to a real caning..."

Turn to page 709.

Page 707

"I promise you -- I've completely learned my lesson," you beg shamelessly. "I'm so sorry for my actions, and I truly thank you for justly chastising me."

You've had a long time to think of the right thing to say through your lengthy punishment. You're beginning to sound just like a Westjack girl...

There is no hiding the disappointment in Vera's face, but honour demands she halt your punishment if you make it clear you've learnt your lesson. Reluctantly she commands you to stand and dress, offering to escort you back to the town.

You make it back before evening with a sore bottom but your reputation intact. Vera makes it clear that no one will bring this matter up to the sport's officials now you have voluntarily allowed yourself to be punished by the offended party. Ruefully you reflect that a red bottom is fair exchange for avoiding the heavy hand of the law on Westjack island!

Turn to page 711.

Page 708

It's a difficult choice -- certainly your bottom feels like it's been punished enough. But acceding to Vera's request might allow you to turn this negative turn of events into a positive one. Westjack girls admire a woman who can take a punishment with stoicism. If you can impress this lot your reputation will soar.

"Clearly I must be guided by you," you say carefully. "If you feel I have not been punished enough then so be it. I want no bad feelings between us."

Vera smiles. "Very well, English girl," she mocks. "We will see just how well you mainlanders bear up to a real caning..."

Turn to page 709.

Page 709

Vera slowly saunters around the circumference of the rock, her feet crunching on the wet sand in the cave. She gazes upon your already well-whipped bottom with some pride, her hand brushing across the raising bruises, making you wince.

"Westjack justice is a beautiful thing," she purrs. "It gives a girl a chance to be both humbled and heroic. Taking punishment well is not only a sign of a well-bred girl, but one who's truly learned her lesson. These marks are a badge of honour..."

Vera's hand smooth's away from your behind and you tense as you feel the thin wood of the cane coldly line up against your spread cheeks.

"Mind you ... a few more marks wouldn't go amiss," she murmurs as the cane is pulled away.

There is a sudden hiss, the tiniest of pauses, and then a vicious sting as the cane finds its mark and bites into your behind. You pant harshly at the cut, so newly laid across your tender behind.

Vip!

The air, as cruelly cut as your buttocks, gives a whistle of complaint at Vera's swift second stroke, that cuts you high and uneven upon your cheeks.

Vip! Vip! Vip!

Three more undisciplined strokes slash across your bum skin, the blows striking high, low and uneven. Vera has a vindictive strength, but she lacks any form of accuracy, the blows seldom landing evenly across both buttocks. You jolt at your random beating, unable to imagine where the next stroke might land -- but fearful of your wide open cheeks.

Out of the corner of your eye you see the other girls looking on with concern, their brows creased with worry over your energetic and unruly punishment.

Vip!

A stroke, cruelly angled, nips into the crease between your open cheeks, the tip snaking into your defenceless bum hole.

Raise your Bum Status by 2 levels .

If your Willpower is 6 or more, Turn to page 710.
If not, read on.

You squeal in complaint as the fiery tip nips across your anus, your hands flying to your backside in violation of every Westjack code of conduct imaginable.

The girls screech in outrage at this poor display, apparently your reaction to the stroke was much more outrageous than the stroke itself. A great chorus of chiding echoes through the sea cave, the girls commanding that you bend back over the rock and take your set again.

Sobbing, sore and subdued you miserably smooth yourself over the rock again, realising that there can be no appeal in this chamber of women thirsty to thrash your bum.

Vera takes great delight in repeating your strokes, her arm rising and falling with a sinister whoosh of the cane, the cane itself landing seemingly where it pleases. Both the backs of your legs as well as your bum are thrashed thoroughly before the girls decide you are done, and you sob through your set miserably.

Raise your Bum Status by 2 levels .

Your gambit has failed. Now the GlobeOil team think you're a wimp as well as a bounder. Lose 5 points of Reputation as word of you ignominious 'clutching' spreads across the island.

You are escorted back to Oldwell town by the scowling oil girls in silence. Your sense of dread at the upcoming match is building ... you just hope you don't embarrass yourself in public as much as you embarrassed yourself in the cave!

Turn to page 711.

Page 710

The temptation to scream and grab your lashed bum is almost overwhelming, but you manage to subdue yourself into a long groan instead. A tell-tale red track mark blazes from the top corner of your left buttock right into the crack of your anus, and the assembled girls gasp in disapproval.

"Vera!" cries Trisha, appalled. "I think Dianne has had enough!"

The other girls agree vigorously. Although they are not so impolite as to point out Vera's over-enthusiastic shot, it is patently obvious that she has overstepped the boundaries of good taste.

"Well ... she's taken her blows well, I suppose," grumbles Vera reluctantly.

"Very well -- and with some fortitude," insists Trisha, stroking a hand across the vivid red welts across your behind. Why is it that the locals feel they have implicit permission to touch your naked bum whenever they feel like it? Still ... you're not going to alienate your only ally by pointing this out now...

The other girls all take turns to touch your marked bum skin, agreeing vociferously that you have taken your strokes exceptionally well. Raise your Dignity by 1 point and gain 3 points of Reputation .

You are allowed to stand and dress, which you have to do in some hurry as the tide is coming in. Soon you and the GlobeOil netball team are splashing merrily through the surf, Trisha and the others sharing a joke. Even Vera seems to chill out and join the merriment, spontaneously inviting you out to a drink at the local pub.

Win or lose you've made friends at GlobeOil, and you have a smashing evening drinking with your new chums. Gain 1 Fun Point .

Turn to page 711.

Page 711

It's the day of the match and the Westjack sports field is buzzing. Layer upon layer of benches have been set up to give the best view possible of the small concrete netball courtyard. It seems to be a village event, with the suited grandee's of the island all coming out to view the epic battle between the two sets of local girls who work for the great corporations of the island.

You survey the crowd, which include a large number of powerful looking middle aged gentlemen -- Mr Stevenson among them. You doubt they are real sports fans -- one way or the other they will get to see seven young women's bottoms ritually thrashed by the coach of the opposing team. Such a prospect is sure to spur the loins of even the most ancient lord of the island.

Your team are nervous, but they are as well trained as they can be. Each is dressed in a form fitting 'ComLondon' sports shirt, with their position plastered on the back. As team captain you have assigned yourself to the centre. You longed to give yourself an attacking position, but you can better direct the flow of the game by being mobile. Jennifer you have placed as Goal Shooter, resting the hopes of the team on this fit young English girl.

As you emerge from the changing rooms, Jennifer bouncing with excitement, you are greeted by encouraging applause. As you are the underdog the majority of the island are behind you. They also, of course, expect that they will be seeing your behinds very soon. Your job is to upset that hope.

Soon the GlobeOil team come marching in, to polite applause.

If you have the codeword MORALE, Turn to page 714.

If you have the codeword TRIP, Turn to page 715.
If not, read on.

They are looking fierce and fit. Most are a few inches taller than the rest of your team. They are laughing and relaxed, not at all worried as they glace at your shorter, weaker team.

You swallow. This is going to be tough.

You take position in the centre circle, opposite Vera, GlobeOil's athletic team captain. She is only a few inches taller than you, but unlike most Westjack women she possesses a sleek musculature that is frankly intimidating.

The coin is tossed and it's GlobeOil to start in possession. The whistle blows ... and the match begins!

Having not made any underhanded moves to weaken the GlobeOil team the odds are stacked heavily against you.

Look at your character sheet and examine your Fun Points, Reputation Points and Progress Points. If all three of these values are even numbers Turn to page 712.
If not, Turn to page 713.

Page 712

Was it luck? Skill? Overconfidence from the other side?

You trounce them!

No sooner had the opposing captain thrown the ball to her wing attacker one of your girls in defence snatched the ball in mid-air, throwing it back to you. The captain, expecting her shot to be on target was already out of position, and was not even halfway down the court before the ball had been passed to Jennifer, who smoothly shot the ball through the ring to the stunned outrage of the numb defenders.

From there the game just got better and better. The overcompensating and suddenly nervous GlobeOil team miss nearly every catch, and when they do gain an advantage they find their shots hitting a wall of defence, your girls leaping high to intercept on-target shots.

The GlobeOil captain tries to rally her team in the third quarter, impressing on them how much better trained they are compared to you. You reply with a blood and thunder speech to your own team, decrying GlobeOil's efforts, and exhorting your inexhaustible pride in their skill so far.

After two more goals scored in quick succession against them the morale of the GlobeOil team implodes, and they visibly sag in the last quarter, utterly defeated.

Final score, twenty-nine goals to four.

Your team whoop with delight and the audience cheer loudly. Even the stern faced Mr Stevenson cracks a smile -- his team has won at last!

Turn to page 716.

Page 713

The match does not go well. From the first GlobeOil's athletic team dances around you, scoring goal after goal through your paper-thin defence.

A relatively good start in the second quarter, where you score two quick goals in succession, is soon batted away when Tabitha, your Goal Defence, stumbles and twists her ankle. A reluctant Christine, now in the firing line to join her comrades in a group thrashing, mopingly takes her place.

The final quarters are just a disaster. Your sweat-drenched team stagger feebly across the court, their short arms missing the high shooting balls by miles. The GlobeOil Goal Shooter looks almost apologetic as she hoops her thirtieth goal past your feeble defence.

At the final whistle, a tragic thirty-two to seven defeat later, the audience stand to give both sides the applause they deserve. They never really expected you to win. Now comes the punishment for failure...

Turn to page 717.

Page 714

The GlobeOil team are a mixed bunch. The team captain and her ace Goal Shooter are mysteriously missing, and you try hard to suppress a smile at the success of your underhanded scheme.

Nevertheless victory is far from assured -- you have merely levelled the playing field ... a little bit. The GlobeOil reserve are still better trained than your girls, and you have a fight on your hands if you want to win this match.

The coin is tossed and it's GlobeOil to start in possession. The whistle blows ... and the match begins!

Look at your character sheet and examine your Fun Points, Reputation Points and Progress Points. If all two or more of these values are even numbers Turn to page 712.
If not, Turn to page 713.

Page 715

You watch in mounting joy as you examine the ranks of the GlobeOil team. Not one of the girls who you saw practicing a few days ago is here. The entire team has been substituted with reserves. Most of them don't look like they've even played the game before -- with several studying the rules out of an old school book as they try and figure out where to stand!

The referee explains that, sadly, the original team have come down with a bout of diarrhoea, and that this plucky reserve have been taken from the few office girls that haven't come down with it.

There is polite applause from the audience at the girls' brave choice to support their company. The poor things are doomed of course and you good-naturedly allow them to have possession of the ball first.

You trounce them!

No sooner had the opposing captain thrown the ball to her wing attacker one of your girls in defence snatched the ball in mid-air, throwing it back to you. The captain, expecting her shot to be on target was already out of position, and was not even halfway down the court before the ball had been passed to Jennifer, who smoothly shot the ball through the ring to the stunned outrage of the numb defenders.

From there the game just got better and better. The overcompensating and suddenly nervous GlobeOil team miss nearly every catch, and when they do gain an advantage they find their shots hitting a wall of defence, your girls leaping high to intercept on-target shots.

The GlobeOil captain tries to rally her team in the third quarter. You reply with a blood and thunder speech to your own team, decrying GlobeOil's efforts, and exhorting your inexhaustible pride in their skill so far.

After two more goals scored in quick succession against them the morale of the GlobeOil team implodes, and they visibly sag in the last quarter, utterly defeated.

Final score, thirty-six goals to three.

Your team whoop with delight and the audience cheer loudly. Even the stern faced Mr Stevenson cracks a smile -- his team has won at last!

Turn to page 716.

Page 716

A small brass band starts playing as the teams are lined up, your team filled with pride and joy, the GlobeOil team trembling with trepidation.

You are presented with a trophy, plastered with the names of former GlobeOil winners. Yours will be the first time the Telephone Exchange has had a named captain on it. The adoration of the crowd, and the team, ring in your ears.

Add 2 points to your Ambition, Dignity and Willpower, and gain 8 points of Reputation . You can also add 2 Fun Points for your sporting week.

And now comes the moment the crowd have really been waiting for -- the ritualistic thrashing of the losing team.

Mrs Hardcastle, who turned up only in the last quarter of the match (no doubt bitter at her effective sacking at your hands), is presented with the ritual belt by the mayor of Westjack -- beaming with delight at the coming prospect of watching the oil company's team humiliated. Mrs Hardcastle takes the belt with adequate politeness before commanding the GlobeOil team to prepare themselves.

Wearily, and with acute embarrassment, the girls from the opposing team peel off their skirts and knickers, such that their bare legs and bottoms gleam in the dim sun of the afternoon. There is an audible creak from the stands as the crowd lean forwards to more closely observe events. You look on with sympathy, glad only that you are being spared the belt yourself.

A tall stool is placed on one end of the court as the semi-naked ladies line up before it. Officious and business-like, Mrs Hardcastle beckons each girl in turn to bend over the stool to receive what is coming to her.

A small cheer rises up as the team captain bends herself over the stool, with all the resigned grace you'd expect from a lifelong Westjack girl. As captain she is given two dozen strokes, laid on rather cruelly, by the bitter Mrs Hardcastle. A small ripple of applause congratulates the poor captain as she rises, flushed with shame over her public whipping.

Each of the other girls receive a dozen each, being held less-responsible for the failure. Except for the odd, muted grunt you are barely distracted, however. You have moved into the winner's marquis for a well-deserved orange juice and lemonade, happy to your soul that it was not you and your poor team wriggling under the belt right now.

Across the marquis Mr Stevenson gives you an approving nod and you flush with pride. At least that's one less thing he gets to cane you about...

Turn to page 789.

Page 717

The inevitable moment has come. You stand in line with the rest of your crestfallen team as the opposing GlobeOil girls are presented with the match trophy. For the forty-first year running they will have their captain's name engraved onto that icon of victory. You, and your team of losers, will receive a rather different reward.

After the congratulatory cheer for the winners you watch with growing nervousness as the coach for the opposing team approaches. Mrs Astley, a tall woman in her mid-forties, is beaming and overjoyed at yet another GlobeOil victory. She is presented by the mayor with the ritual belt, a long, thick, cracked leather affair -- once black, now worn smooth with four decades of use beating the backsides of the Telephone Exchange team. Mrs Astley wraps the buckle end around her hand, smiling warmly at you as she approaches.

"Good game, girls," she chirps. "Thought you tried really hard. There can be only one winner though, so ... stiff upper lips and let's have your skirts and knickers off. Time to show the boys what they've been waiting for, eh? They don't come along just for the sport, yes?"

She smirks good naturedly, giving your shoulder a playful thump with her free arm. Like most Westjack women she see's nothing perverse about a girl bearing herself half-naked in public -- provided it's to receive a suitable punishment.

Stripping off with the rest of the girls makes it easier; you don't feel like you're being completely singled out. You feel rather like you're part of an age old tradition than some kind of desperate streaker out to titillate the boys. In a comforting moment Jennifer briefly grasps your hand as you are standing semi-nude in line. For the most part, though, you are made to stand to attention in line, like a small troop of soldiers, hands rigidly to your sides even though you long to cover yourself before the staring eyes of the crowd.

A tall stool is brought out on court and planted firmly before the stands to a ripple of applause.

"Dianne," calls Mrs Astley, "you're up first. As team captain you'll receive two dozen for bringing your team to defeat. The rest of the team shall have a dozen each. Hardly the end of the world so make sure you stay still and give me a nice, steady target. Over you go."

You nod glumly and approach the bench, the wind whistling between your legs which only serves to heighten your sense of nakedness. You push your groin against the cold wood of the stool and bend right over, gripping the lower legs. The stool has been positioned so that your bottom is facing out towards the crowd, so you keep your legs tightly closed -- vowing you will not display yourself unnecessarily to the gawping spectators.

You remain frozen in spot, the crowd getting restless with waiting, as Mrs Astley slowly takes position behind you. You bite your lip -- you are determined not to cry out...

Snap!

Mrs Astley strikes you low, at the fattest portion of your cheeks, the wide belt catching the backs of your legs as well as your hefted bottom. Your bum cheeks rise and squash under the heavy stroke, and a burning sensation immediately ignites across your struck behind.

Snap!

You cannot help but grunt as you lurch forwards on the stool. Mrs Astley has a powerful swing, and focuses solely upon the lowest portion of your behind, causing you to rock as your bottom flames behind you. A swell of applause for the stroke follows soon after -- the crowd are appreciative of Mrs Astley's skill.

Snap! Snap!

You too begin to gain an appreciation as the belt cracks against your publically bare bottom again and again. It is becoming harder to remember your vow to keep still and quiet as your poor cheeks enflame.

If your Dignity is 5 or more, Turn to page 718.
If not, read on:

Snap!

The pain is too much and you forget yourself, groaning aloud, your legs spreading wider and wider as the blows rain down on you. You begin to become aware of chuckling and jeering from the crowd as you are remorselessly beaten.

"Silly English girls -- can't even keep their legs together in public," laughs one.

"My cow didn't make that much noise giving birth!" mocks another.

Lose 1 point of Willpower from these needling comments, as well as 3 points of Reputation. Realising you are making a fool of yourself you quickly snap your legs back together and push your bum up bravely. Perhaps you can salvage some dignity from this appalling error?

Turn to page 719.

Page 718

It is the eyes of the crowd that keep you obedient. You have to show them you're as tough as a Westjack girl or you might as well crawl under a rock and die. Indeed, the crowd seem to appreciate your struggle as the belt cracks down upon your naked cheeks, some expression surprise.

"I thought she might make more fuss -- being English," admits one.

"Maybe they're not as decadent and awful as we thought," suggests another.

You cannot help but marvel at these Westjack folks. In any other society a beaten woman is a thing of scorn -- here being spanked can actually raise your standing in the community!

Gain 1 point of Willpower and 2 points of Dignity as you are rallied by these sentiments.

Turn to page 719.

Page 719

Snap! Snap!

Twice more the belt batters your helpless buttocks. Your legs are taut and your knuckles white from gripping onto the stool's front legs. You desperately attempt to control the tremble creeping into your limbs as your burning behind troubles you.

Snap!

You grit your teeth and wait for the next blow, your buttocks clenching and unclenching to disperse the hot pain. But another stroke does not come.

"That's your lot, Dianne, up you hop," says Mrs Astley warmly, patting you on the scalding behind. There is a kind applause from the crowd as you painfully rise, although whether they are congratulating Mrs Astley's skill or your own endurance is unclear.

Raise your Bum Status by 2 levels .

"Thank you," you murmur, attempting a small smile for politeness' sake.

Mrs Astley nods and dismisses you. "You're up next, Jenny!" she calls brightly to your fellow English girl.

You are required to stand in line and watch as the rest of your team are ritually thrashed, your own red bottom on clear display as you stand to attention. You wince in sympathy as Mrs Astley takes each in turn, her powerful strokes never faltering. In the crowd you spot a leering Mrs Hamilton, sitting next to her husband. She is smirking at your beaten behind and is apparently having a fine time watching the rest of your friends being thrashed as well. How you wish you could have won, if only to please your landlord Mr Hamilton. Somehow it would have been nice to make the old man proud of you.

Lose 1 point of Dignity and Ambition for your public shame. However you may gain 5 points of Reputation ; you embarked on a voluntary exercise to support your company, and submitted to your correction like a proper Westjack girl. In most people's eyes that makes you a hero.

You may also add 1 Fun point . You may not have enjoyed your experience fully, but the physical exercise will help to keep the stresses and strains of the job at bay.

Turn to page 789.

Page 720

You're mystified as to why exactly Mr Stevenson thought it was a good use of your extremely precious time to represent the Telephone Exchange at the Westjack annual Fete. Certainly the local men and women setting up the Fete need all the help they can get; there is a huge amount of scaffolding to erect and tents to put up, not to mention the setting up of all the various stalls selling cheap toys, cakes and crockery.

You are put to work by several rather bossy, elderly ladies the moment you arrive. Without even asking who you are or why you are here they immediately set about ordering you to shift things, set up tables, arrange flowers and all sorts of other activities. They also make you a very fine cup of tea and chat to you incessantly about the declining standards of young people's education (present company excepted) and the general rudeness that is beginning to pervade the island.

Gain the codeword FETE .

Before you are given a chance to interrupt their conversation you are saved by a handsome, middle aged gentleman in a tweed jacket.

"I'm sorry, ladies, can I borrow Dianne from you a moment?" he purrs, taking your arm.

"Oh -- Mr Daniels," the ladies say, blushing. "Of course! We were only nattering."

"Thank you," he smiles, gently leading you from the organisers. "Mrs Parson makes a lovely cup of tea, but the fete will be over before she's finished gossiping," he laughs as he takes you to a quiet corner.

"I didn't mind," you say. "I'd rather be busy with something than wandering around lost."

"I've heard that about you," says Mr Daniels, fixing you with a frozen smile. "I don't want to be forward ... but I thought we could talk business."

"What kind of business?" you ask.

"I'm a fan of yours, Dianne," he says. "One of the few you have. I'm also from the Authority."

You go cold at the mention of the name. The Authority, as far as you understand, are implacably opposed to your project. A secretive group that will do anything they can to stop the new phone system from going ahead.

"You surprise me," you say coolly. "I thought you lot never revealed yourselves -- especially to your enemies."

"A rule made to be broken," he laughs. "The Authority does not officially exist, but I'm sure you have felt our presence in some small way. Naturally I tell you this in confidence -- but it doesn't really matter. Most on this island have guessed I am a member. I would be offended if people thought me unworthy to join."

You shake your head in confusion. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because there are those of us -- even in the Authority -- that see some virtue in what you are doing," he says quietly, that eerie smile still frozen on his face. "I will not give my reasons, but let us just say that it may be to our advantage to have your mobile phones and computer-web up and running. You are clearly capable of completing this project, but the Authority will never let you turn it on unless you ... proved yourself in some way."

You sense a trap. You're not entirely sure if you can trust this man.

"And how would I 'prove myself' to the Authority, Mr Daniels?" you ask sarcastically.

"You need to present yourself as ... less of a threat," he says evasively. "Embrace the island and its customs. The fete, for instance, has many enjoyments that many in England would think ... beneath them. Show my friends that you are a game girl -- a Westjack girl at heart. They hate you because they fear you. Make them lose their fear ... and their hatred will turn to love."

You swallow. "I'm not sure I follow..."

"Enjoy the fete, Dianne," smiles Mr Daniels, kissing you on the cheek in preparation to leave. "If anyone asks tell them I threatened you. It will keep you safe. We'll be watching."

At that Mr Daniels strolls away, cheekily taking a cake from a nearby stall for his troubles. The stall owner, a young lady, does not dare challenge him. Her eyes glance to you and then away, as if she felt some sympathy for you.

"Hi, Dianne!" chirps a familiar voice behind you and you almost shriek in surprise. It's Julian, carrying a bunch of rolled up posters in his hands. "I brought these for the display. They're mostly last year's stuff but ... it should be okay."

"Right," you say, getting your breath back. "The display ... for the fete ... of course."

"Are you alright?" asks Julian. "You look like you've seen a ghost?"

"It's nothing," you say, not wanting to panic him. "Come on, let's go and set up the stall..."

Soon your little stall has been completed, with colourful diagrams of mobile phones, computers and tablets displaying the internet spread out across the quaint board. There is quite a lot of interest, especially from the younger members of the island, along with a good deal of tutting from some of the older ones. Julian has set up a sort of 'Internet lite' on a number of laptops, where people can see what it's like to do online shopping, watch internet videos of cats, as well as see online wiki's and news websites. Naturally, since the internet is not yet connected, they are all just example webpages loaded onto a DVD -- but the effect is strong, and all day long young people are playing, emailing each other, and watching dozens of short clips.

The interest in your project lifts your spirits. Add one to either your Ambition, Dignity or Willpower.

You could quite easily stay here all day, advertising your project. But perhaps you should have a look around the fete as Mr Daniels suggested?

What do you want to do?

Stay by your stall for the rest of the day as you had planned? Turn to page 721.

Go and explore the fete to see if anything catches your interest? Turn to page 722.

Page 721

You don't trust Mr Daniels. You trust the Authority even less. No doubt they have laid some cunning trap to ensnare or humiliate you during the fete.

Sticking to your display stand you spend the rest of the day educating people about the coming changes to the island. In many ways you are glad you've done this -- getting out and meeting the people who will be affected by the new phone system has given you heart. Clearly not everyone is opposed to your project; indeed, many will welcome it.

You leave the fete with hope in your heart. Gain 1 point of Willpower .

Turn to page 789.

Page 722

One way or another the Authority have issued you with some kind of challenge. It's time to meet that challenge head on. Besides, you're intrigued to see what kind of entertainment the folks of Westjack enjoy...

The village green is full of events. A series of races are being held on a portion of the field where a hastily painted one hundred meter race track has been laid down. Already the sack race and the three-legged race have been won, their victors crowned with glory and appreciated by the crowd. It looks like the egg and spoon race is coming after lunch.

A rather tawdry wet tee-shirt competition is being organised, the planners just preparing to connect the hoses. It's very well attended and a number of young ladies seem eager to join in. You shake your head at the petty barbarity of it, whilst simultaneously wondering if you would be able to win.

Surprisingly a heavy stocks has been built on a platform in the centre of the field, with a bright bill-board above it. "Guess That Spanker" is the title painted in fine, gothic letters above the stocks. A well-dressed compere is interviewing a young woman with a microphone, asking her questions about what she plans to do in life (she seems keen on tapestries, curiously) before locking her in the stocks, raising her skirt and tugging her knickers down to the polite applause of the crowd.

Later, no less a figure than the mayor of Oldtown himself walks up the steps of the platform, his finger pressed to his lips. He is passed a long strap, which he then proceeds to wallop across the exposed backside of the poor girl in the stocks. She is immediately asked to guess who struck her, incorrectly guessing her old English teacher Mr Hames. She receives another stroke for her troubles and is asked to guess again. This goes on and on until she finally guesses right (although after about twelve strokes she's given the option of forfeiting).

Her prize is rather meagre -- a few tickets for the tombola and the warm congratulation of the crowd. The girl seems very pleased with herself and is congratulated by her friends and family as she comes off the platform.

Which event would you like to participate in?

The egg and spoon race? Turn to page 723.

The wet tee-shirt competition? Turn to page 727.

Guess That Spanker? Turn to page 730.

Or are all these games far too beneath you? Turn to page 721.

Page 723

Opting for the least humiliating option you go and sign up for the egg and spoon race. You haven't done this since primary school. Clearly, winning this race would be nice, but simply taking part should show the Authority you are a 'game girl' as they put it.

Presented with your large spoon and wooden egg you line up with the other women on the racing track, waiting for the sound of the whistle. When it comes you quickly trot forwards, carefully keeping an eye on your egg as you dash.

If you have the weakness 'Clumsy', Turn to page 724.
If not, read on.

You're in the lead until about halfway, until you spy another lady out of the corner of your eye catching up to you. She's clearly planning to overtake you during the last few metres.

If you have the Codeword 'SPORTY', or if your Ambition or Willpower is 4 or more, Turn to page 725.
Otherwise, read on.

You try to accelerate, but your egg wobbles dangerously in your spoon, forcing you to slow down. Your competitor romps home at the last minute, cheating you of victory.

Despite this you get a nice round of applause from the crowd. Gain 2 points of Reputation .

Good naturedly congratulating the winner you move further into the fete to see the other events taking place.

Gain the codeword EGG .

Turn to page 726.

Page 724

What are the odds of a klutz like you managing to keep the egg on the end of her spoon? Not only does your egg fall off your spoon, but in your desperate stumbling you crash into another competitor, sending her tumbling to the ground.

The audience give a hearty chuckle at the chaos. Although the young woman seems quite forgiving and accepting of your apology, the crowd demand that you be spanked as punishment for spoiling the game.

To refuse would be devastating to your reputation, so you allow the organisers to lead you to one of the linesman's stools to be bent over and stripped bottom-bare. The fallen girl, being the offended party, is required to spank you swiftly on the bottom with her hand, which she does briskly and with little real anger. It is the humiliation that is worse than the mild pain -- you never thought something as innocuous as an egg and spoon race would end up in yet another spanking!

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level , and lose 1 point of Dignity for this public embarrassment. You can, however, gain 3 points of Reputation for not making a fuss about your punishment.

Good naturedly congratulating the winner of the race you move further into the fete to see the other events taking place.

Gain the codeword EGG .

Turn to page 726.

Page 725

Your thirst for victory is greater than your opponents. You quickly press forwards, maintaining your lead as you egg wobbles dangerously in the spoon. Crossing the finishing line feels like a great victory as the small crowd applaud politely.

Gain 1 point of Ambition , 2 points of Reputation and 1 Fun Point.

After being congratulated by the other contestants you move further into the fete to see the other events taking place.

Gain the codeword EGG .

Turn to page 726.

Page 726

Which event would you like to compete in next? (You cannot compete in the same event twice).

The egg and spoon race? Turn to page 723.

The wet tee-shirt competition? Turn to page 727.

Guess That Spanker? Turn to page 730.

Or if you have competed in all the events you want to (or can), Turn to page 746.

Page 727

The rules of the wet tee-shirt contest are hardly challenging. Each young woman strolls up on stage in turn, gets hose-blasted by an over-enthusiastic organiser, and then strikes a pose as she is evaluated by the judges. A condescending commentary is given through the microphone by the host as the audience cheer loudly.

You don't exactly have a tee-shirt, but your imagine your white blouse will do for the competition. As for underwear, your day to day knickers are racier than most of the stuff the conservative Westjack girls are sporting.

You shiver in embarrassment. Are you really going to go through with this? You're a manager for goodness sake! What are your staff, many of whom are watching proceedings, going to think of you?

If you would like to hastily back out of joining the competition Turn to page 726.

If you are dead set on joining in, if only to show the Authority you are not afraid, Turn to page 728.

Page 728

Well ... here goes. You quickly register in a nearby tent with a number of other local girls. Their eyes widen as they see you. At twenty-four you are probably one of the oldest contestants in it. It's too late to back down now, though.

Stripping off in the tent to just your bra-less blouse and low-cut knickers, you watch with building nerves as the girls one by one go up onto the stage. They come back freezing -- the day not exactly being warm -- the cold water dripping from their bodies. Many of the girls managed to do little more than squeal as they were doused by the organisers. Some managed to strike a dainty pose -- but you can do better than that. These girls have obviously never been to a London nightclub on a Saturday night.

Nonetheless, as your turn finally comes you are sick with nerves. You desperately try to quash your anxiety and strut on stage with as much grace as you can muster.

"My goodness -- it's Miss Hathaway!" cries the familiar voice of Pauline Weatherly, one of your managers.

You feel the eyes of the crowd burn into you as the youthful organiser levels his hose towards you...

If your Dignity is 8 or more, Turn to page 729.

If you have the Codeword NAKED and your Dignity is 6 or more, Turn to page 729.

If not, read on:

As soon as the hose is pointed towards you you give a tremendous shriek. The water is freezing! The jet blasts against your shirt with full force, and you can do nothing more than try to ward off the frozen spray feebly with your hands. There is a great roar of laughter from the crowd as you are blasted off stage by the giggling organiser.

The other girls in the tent cannot help but smirk as you squelch in, soaking wet. This has been utter humiliation. Lose 1 point of Ambition and Dignity.

Towelling yourself off you attempt to repair what dignity you can by re-applying your make-up in the full length mirror in the tent. Once vaguely dry and fully clothed you creep back into the fete. Nobody seems to mind or sneer at you now that your humiliation is over -- although you haven't exactly won many plaudits for your endurance!

Record the codeword WET .

Turn to page 726.

Page 729

You strike a saucy nightclub pose, pushing your breasts and bottom out in a sexy contortion as the icy blast of water hits your body. It is absolutely freezing ... but except for closing your eyes you make not a flinch as the cold water gushes over your posed body.

When the hose is lifted away there is an audible gasp from the audience as they survey your firm body all dripping with water, your now erect nipples pointing prominently through your soaking blouse. Having no access to modern culture they have never encountered such confidence in a woman before, and you appear in their eyes to be a soaked goddess.

Leaving them wanting more you strut off the stage like a super-model and back into the tent, whereupon you immediately wrap yourself in several towels to stave off the terrible chill.

It does not take the judges long to proclaim you the winner, and you are presented with a garland of flowers and a sash. The crowd seem delighted with you -- even your staff seem awed. Not only are you their manager, but you are a gorgeous sex-goddess as well.

Gain 1 point of Ambition and 5 points of Reputation. You may also gain 1 Fun Point .

Record the codeword WET .

Now Turn to page 726.

Page 730

It's pretty clear that if there is any event the Authority would want to see you in it would be the Guess That Spanker game. There is nothing more inimical to your dignified English upbringing or more lauded in Westjack culture than trying to identify a celebrity spanker as he thrashes your arse.

Indeed for all the supposed glory a girl is supposed to receive by winning there are very few takers. Most Westjack girls are spanked often enough that they wouldn't go out of their way to be spanked again unless they felt they had something to prove.

Well -- you have something to prove to your invisible opponents in the Authority; that you are not afraid.

More than a little nervous you step up to the podium to the delight of the compare.

"We have a new contestant! Miss Dianne Hathaway!" he cries loudly, his voice amplified many times over by his confounded microphone. He raises your arm above your head so you can take the polite applause of the crowd.

"Well, Dianne," smiles the compare, "you're a bit of a celebrity around here, what with the new phones you're introducing. Answer me this -- if your phone doesn't have a cord, how will you find it if you put it down somewhere and forget where it is?"

Seriously? That's his question? "You could try ringing yourself on your house phone," you suggest lamely.

"Brilliant!" he cries, encouraging the audience to clap. "There we have it. Dianne Hathaway -- brains as well as beauty. Well -- I'm sure we'll find any number of volunteers to help spank you, Dianne. So why don't you make yourself comfortable in the stocks and we'll play ... Guess That Spanker!"

There is a cheer from the crowd as the stocks are opened. You can't help but feel that you are being exposed to some kind of medieval torture here, as you place your hands and neck nervously into the stocks. The hole for your neck is low, obliging you to bend at a sharp ninety degrees, rounding your bottom behind you beautifully. You shudder as the device is closed and locked. The large head-board makes it impossible to see behind you.

The compare comes and sits next to you, his microphone off. "So glad you could play, Dianne," he smiles, brushing your hair from your face. "You're a very controversial figure here on Westjack -- we're bound to get a lot of decent spankers to play. The Authority is very pleased ... at last we've got you exactly where we want you."

You swallow, looking up at the smirking compare. "You're a member of the Authority?" you whisper.

"I couldn't possibly say," smirks the compare. "But I do share their goals. At last we will see that pretty arse of yours thrashed and watch as your will crumbles in public. You've become too popular, Dianne. Once people see what a wimp you are they'll soon forget about backing your ridiculous mobile phone scheme."

The compare smiles as you take in the enormity of the challenge ahead of you.

What do you do?

Beg to be let out, making a loud fuss if you have to? Turn to page 731.

Or vow to him that you will not break -- and that you'll win this game? Turn to page 732.

Page 731

You've never felt in more danger. Tears spring to your eyes as you beg the compare to let you out of the stocks. Your voice rises in panic until the crowd start murmuring their concern for your well-being.

The compare laughs. "Perfect," he mocks. "This is just what we wanted ... for you to break down and snivel before a single stroke has fallen. By all means, Miss Hathaway, you may have your freedom!"

The compare unlocks the stocks and you dash off the platform, tears pouring from your eyes. You never realised how ruthless your enemy could be! All around you sneers and mocks are thrown in your direction for welching on the game. You have to get out of here!

You run ... and you don't stop until you reach the safety of your own room in the Hamilton's house and burst into floods of tears.

Lose 10 points of Reputation , and 2 points of Ambition and Willpower. The Authority have won this round...

Turn to page 789.

Page 732

"You won't break me, old man," you spit. "When I finish this project I'm going to make sure there's a phone mast in clear view from every window of your house!"

Gain 1 point of Ambition for this firm defiance.

The compare laughs, but seems impressed by your spunk. "We'll be playing the full version of the game," he assures you. "To give you an adequate chance of guessing your spanker correctly. That means a dozen strokes between each guess. Should make a meal of even that rebellious bottom of yours."

"You can't..." you begin to cry.

"You don't have much choice -- unless you wish to forfeit," mocks the compare. "But we both know you're not going to do that. Good luck, Dianne -- when you've been reduced to a sobbing, incoherent wreck, humiliated in front of the entire island, remember me ... I'll be laughing at you."

You tremble in terror as the laughing compare leaves your side. The odds of you getting through this with any dignity intact are slim. It's time to find out what you're made of.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" you hear the hated compare behind you say into his microphone. "We have our first spanker. Young Dianne is such a good sport she has agreed to play the full version of the game. A dozen strokes between each guess. Let's have a round of applause for her!"

There is indeed a cheering round of applause for your good sportsmanship. You see Julian and Jennifer in the crowd whistling their support -- pride in their eyes. If only they knew the truth of your predicament!

"Let's get you ready, Dianne! I'm sure the crowd are dying to see the target!" The compare jovially peels back your skirt and lowers your knickers all the way down your legs and removes them. Normally you would be worried about making a spectacle of yourself in front of so many people and keep your legs firmly shut. But the stakes here are so high you open your legs a little for balance. Let the crowd see what they want, as long as they see you take it well!

"Spanker number one -- please begin!" intones the compare, the venom dripping from his voice. You instinctively push your bottom up and out. Here goes...

Snap!

The distinctive crack of a belt lashes your behind, a crimson streak immediately rising from the impact. You gasp, instinctively trying to look behind you -- but your view is entirely blocked by the head board.

Snap! Snap!

Slow, steady, rhythmic snaps of the belt batter your behind, favouring your left cheek rather than your right. The blows are measured and steady, building up to an imperfect crescendo of heat.

Snap! Snap!

You wince and buck slightly at the remorseless strapping, wishing the blows would go a little right to spread the heat. By the twelfth stroke you are thoroughly shaken.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

"Well, Dianne," asks the smirking compare, appearing around the headboard after a warm round of applause for your spanker. "Can you Guess That Spanker?"

Who will you say?

Mr Daniels? Turn to page 733.

Horace Jackman? Turn to page 734.

Mr Hamilton? Turn to page 735.

Mrs Hardcastle? Turn to page 736.

Page 733

"Was it Mr Daniels?" you ask desperately, guessing that the man who set you this task might want first go on your bottom.

"Good guess!" cries the compare. "But wrong! Looks like you have another dozen coming your way, Dianne!"

There is a good natured laugh from the crowd. You groan and shift into a new position, your spanker decent enough to let you ready yourself for your next set.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

A dozen more times the strap falls across your arse. Twelve more times your left buttock is favoured over the right. Is the spanker being malicious, or is their aim off?

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

You are panting by the time the compare returns. "Well, Dianne -- Guess That Spanker!"

Who will you guess?

Horace Jackman? Turn to page 734.

Mr Hamilton? Turn to page 735.

Mrs Hardcastle? Turn to page 736.

Page 734

"Is it Horace? Horace Jackman?" you guess desperately.

"You know that would have been sweet, wouldn't it," laughs the compare. "I bet after all that digging he's had to do over the last few weeks that he would have been very keen to thrash that poor bottom of yours. But no, it's not Mr Jackman. Looks like you get another dozen!"

There is a good natured laugh from the crowd. You exhale in frustration. If not Horace ... who is that on the other end of that strap?

Snap! Snap! Snap!

You buck and groan as another set of belt strokes kisses your behind -- this time your spanker trying to even out the strokes more to your right hand side as if concerned they are lashing you too much in one place. It suggests your spanker has some kind of conscience, at least.

A small round of applause notifies you of the end of another dozen, your bum blistering from the abuse. Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

The compare re-appears. "Well, Dianne -- you've had another dozen to think about it. Guess That Spanker!"

Who do you guess?

Mr Daniels? Turn to page 733.

Mr Hamilton? Turn to page 735.

Mrs Hardcastle? Turn to page 736.

Page 735

Those strokes are very familiar now you think about it. "Is it Mr Hamilton? My landlord?"

"Well ... let's see shall we?" teases the compare. "Would the mystery spanker please step forward?"

Coming strolling into view from behind the board you see the dignified form of your landlord, familiar punishment strap in hand. There is a round of applause for his efforts, and the kindly old man stoops down to give you a kiss on the cheek. "Very well taken," he says warmly.

"Ladies and gentlemen -- Mr Hamilton!" cries the compare. "Thank you very much for taking the time to help us out!"

The audience clap Mr Hamilton back to his seat in the front row of deck chairs.

"Well done, Dianne -- first one down, two more to go," the compare says, a jeer lurking in his tone. "How's the bum, Dianne?"

He lowers the microphone to your lips.

"Fine," you lie, your tone cold.

"Well ... we'll see how fine it is after our next contestant," laughs the compare. "Would the second spanker please take their place."

There is a polite applause as you hear a new person clunk their way up the stairs and onto the platform. You swallow tightly.

"Bottom up, Dianne," the compare says. "Let's see you ready and willing."

You'd rather be defiant and disobedient, but as soon as you feel the cold cane slide across your cheeks you bolt to attention instinctively, rising up onto tiptoes. The cane carefully taps across the very centre of your scarlet buttocks, promising the location of your first stroke.

Vip!

Not a hair's breadth out of place the cane cuts you sharply across your central buttocks, exactly where the caner aimed. There is another series of quick taps -- lower ... in a softer and more vulnerable portion of your behind.

Vip!

With unerring accuracy the cane slices in where it promised. You cannot help but yelp as the tender skin of your underbum is welted by the well-aimed cane.

Vip! Vip! Vip!

This spanking is quite different from your first. A cold, methodical caning designed to reduce you to tears. Its unfailing accuracy and patient, unnerving tapping wring every ounce of suspense out of you, until your legs feel weak and your backside feels stung by a thousand wasps.

Raise you Bum Status by 2 levels.

There is a rapturous applause for your caner. The crowd can see you have really suffered under this assault.

The compare kneels next to you, brushing away a little hair so the crowd can see your tear stained eyes. "Now Dianne," he says quietly, although still amplified by the mike. "Can you Guess That Spanker?"

Who will you say?

Mr Stevenson? Turn to page 737.

Mr Mowbray? Turn to page 738.

Angela Carmicheal? Turn to page 739.

Mrs Sandstrom? Turn to page 740.

Page 736

"Could it be Mrs Hardcastle?" you try, desperately.

"It could be, Dianne ... but it isn't -- bad luck!" laughs the compere. "Can we have another dozen, mystery spanker, please?"

Snap!

You clench your fists in frustration as another twelve uneven strokes are painted across your bottom. The pressure to get it right, the laughter of the crowd, and the sense that the Authority are mocking you only highlight the hideous burn that scorches across your backside.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

Your backside is clenching and dancing as the crowd applaud the spanker, and the compare return to sidle up next to you.

"Dianne, it's time for another guess," grins the compare. "Can you Guess That Spanker?"

Who will you say?

Mr Daniels? Turn to page 733.

Horace Jackman? Turn to page 734.

Mr Hamilton? Turn to page 735.

Page 737

You'd know that technique anywhere! "It's Mr Stevenson!" you hiss down the microphone.

"Mr Stevenson, you say?" says the compare in mock surprise. "Well -- let's see if you're right..."

Sure enough, the stern form of Mr Stevenson comes striding around the headboard, looking at you with a frown. "A bit of unnecessary wriggling there Dianne," he chides, though not so loudly the crowd can hear.

"Sorry, Mr Stevenson," you moan.

"Let's have another big hand for Mr Stevenson, ladies and gentlemen!" roars the compare, to willing applause from the crowd.

You watch through heavy eyes as Jennifer blows kisses at you from the audience, and Julian gives you a thumbs up in support. They seem to be having a great time! Can't they tell you're being tortured here?

"Well, that's two down, Dianne, well done -- well done," congratulates the compare, kneeling next to your head. "That bottom of yours must be stinging by now, eh?"

"I hadn't really noticed," you reply into the mike.

The audience cheer for your ballsy reply. Gain 1 point of Ambition . The compare smiles but his eyes are dead cold. He is clearly offended by your defiance.

"Well, you'll notice our next spanker I'm sure," he replies. "Would the third and final spanker please step up to the platform?"

There is a polite applause as the next spanker steps onto the platform. Your backside feels so hot and sore -- your neck and shoulders ache from the stocks. How can you endure another agonizing set? You firmly remind yourself that you have no choice -- now you either have to succeed or break. And you mustn't break.

"Bottom up, Dianne," teases the compare. "Let's give a nice, clear target to your last guest spanker, eh?"

You rise up on tiptoe and bite your lip. Just this last spanker to go and everything will be...

Snap!

Another belt, swung low, so that the blow catches you across the fattest part of your hams. You slam forward in the stocks.

Snap! Snap!

Two blows, each following on quickly, once again right to your lower bum, the edge cracking along the backs of your thighs.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

You are ground forward at every stroke, the fierce stokes pulverising your lower bottom, making your bum jerk and quiver under the impact. This spanker swings with a full arm, and has no compunction about thrashing the same place on your bottom with each swing.

Snap!

After twelve strokes your bottom is scalding and your arms ache. Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

The compare appears, mike in hand. "Quickly now ... Guess That Spanker!"

But who is this? You wrack your brains, trying to remember a name you picked up.

Who do you say?

Constable Farley? Turn to page 741.

Alfred, the Security Guard? Turn to page 742.

Mrs Hamilton? Turn to page 743.

Mrs Astley? Turn to page 744.

Page 738

"Mr Mowbray!" you cry. "It must be Mr Mowbray!"

"Sorry, Dianne," says the compare with mock sadness. "Mr Mowbray is here ... he's got a chair with a lovely view of your backside. However he decided to watch rather than participate today. I'm afraid that means another dozen stingers across your poor bum cheeks."

"Oh God!" you murmur desperately, over the laughter of the crowd. Taking another twelve of those would be unbearable. You freeze in terror as the cane recommences its cruel tapping.

Vip!

"Ah!" you cry, buttocks cringing, as the singing cane impacts into your behind. These penalty strokes are going to lacerate you!

Vip! Vip! Vip!

Tears flow down your cheeks as the spanker's cane coolly thrashes your naked behind. All dignity and composure is lost as stroke after stroke is clocked up on your sore bottom, your arse locked in a sinuous dance as it is emotionlessly lashed.

Vip!

Raise your Bum Status by 2 levels and lose 1 point of Dignity .

You are choking back the tears as the compare returns to quiz you. "Stiff upper lip, Dianne," he chides. "Tell me, can you Guess That Spanker?"

Who will you say?

Mr Stevenson? Turn to page 737.

Angela Carmicheal? Turn to page 739.

Mrs Sandstrom? Turn to page 740.

Page 739

"It ... it feels like it could be Angela ... Angela Carmichael?" you blurt desperately.

The compare laughs. "Remind me not to get on the wrong side of Angela if that's how she canes! But no, not Ms Carmichael. Have another think ... while your bum is lashed another dozen!"

There is a roar of approval from the crowd, quite drowning out your pitiful plea for clemency. The cane slides under the overhang of your cheeks and pushes your bum back into place with masterful control. You almost sob as the dreadful, rhythmic tapping recommences across your blazing sore buttocks.

Vip!

Like a gun crack, the cane cuts through the air and impacts into your tender cheeks. You howl in complaint, your head slamming against the back of the stocks as you cry out.

Vip!

"Ah! Oh! Ooooh!" you cry, like some demented monkey, as the cane slices higher, just below your spine where the skin is painfully thin.

Vip! Vip! Vip!

"Ah! Uhh! Ungg!" you grunt, to each rhythmic stroke, a single tap pre-warning you of the destination each time.

Small cheers emit from the crowd at each of your cries, and you feel almost conducted as the cane prompts music from your throat at each cut.

Raise your Bum Status by 2 levels , and lose 1 point of Willpower for failing to maintain your cool.

A fierce round of applause congratulates your caner at the end of that performance and you hang your head in shame. The compare raises your head, wiping a tear from your eye gloatingly. He promised he would break you, and he has been good to his word. But your suffering is not over yet.

"Dianne," he whispers through the mike. "Can you Name That Spanker?"

Who will you say?

Mr Stevenson? Turn to page 737.

Mr Mowbray? Turn to page 738.

Mrs Sandstrom? Turn to page 740.

Page 740

"Mrs Sandstrom? From the telephone exchange?" you try feebly.

"Nope. Twelve more!" laughs the compare, the crowd laughing with him.

You panic, struggling feebly against the stocks, until you feel the cool cane press down on the top of your buttock cheeks, forcing you down onto your heels and stilling your struggles. Whoever this person is they can command you with the merest gesture.

As the cane taps across your backside you push outwards, embracing your vulnerability. This caner has completely humiliated you ... now you must trust them to steer you home until your trial is complete.

Vip!

"Ah!" you cry. It is a painful journey.

Vip! Vip! Vip!

You groan, you hop, you dance in the stocks, each time stilled by the cane as it presses its length across your backside. The cruel instrument cuts you deep, and you howl as it cuts you, ignoring your standing as a manager or an Englishwoman on an island of barbarians.

Vip! Vip!

After twelve more cuts you bum feels blazing sore. Raise your Bum Status by 2 levels , and lose 1 point of Ambition .

You have not recovered from your thrashing by the time the compare re-appears. "Quickly, now, Dianne. Guess That Spanker!" he commands, pressing the mike to your quivering lips.

Who will you say?

Mr Stevenson? Turn to page 737.

Mr Mowbray? Turn to page 738.

Angela Carmicheal? Turn to page 739.

Page 741

"Constable Farley!" you cry. "Only Constable Farley is that cruel..."

The compare laughs. "I'll let him take that point up with you later ... but no, not the good constable. Perhaps you could consider this next dozen to be a suitable punishment for bringing an officer of the law into disrepute, eh?"

There is a good-natured chuckle from the audience, and indeed, before you can object, the fierce strap again thuds into your scalding buttocks, low and swift.

Crack!

You jolt in the stocks, the rough wood scraping your neck as you are shoved forwards again by the monstrous strap.

Crack! Crack!

You wince and moan, the unfailing leather basting your behind in steady, heavy strokes. The strapping feels quite impersonal, as if your spanker were doing no more than their duty in thrashing your exposed bottom.

Crack!

Twelve more strokes has your arse stinging, and you are hissing your breath through clenched teeth.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

"Try again, Dianne -- for the game," mocks the compare. "Guess That Spanker."

Who do you guess?

Alfred, the Security Guard? Turn to page 742.

Mrs Hamilton? Turn to page 743.

Mrs Astley? Turn to page 744.

Page 742

"Is it ... is it Alfred?" you guess desperately.

"Alfred who?" shrugs the compare.

"Alfred -- security guard Alfred -- who works at the telephone exchange?" you clarify.

"Do you know his last name?" asks the compare.

"No..."

"You can't guess him then," dismisses the compare. "Let's see if another dozen strokes jogs your memory..."

"No ... wait ... I ... ah!" you shriek, as another heavy blow singes your backside.

Crack! Crack!

The audience laugh as you grunt and groan through another heavy set, drool splashing from your lips as you repeatedly groan again and again. Without your hands free your saliva can do nothing but dribble ludicrously down your chin like a baby. Lose 1 point of Dignity .

Crack! Crack! Crack!

You are beginning to feel numb and dazed, the fiery ache in your behind seems to be reaching head. You think you might feint...

Crack!

"Unngg!" you moan feebly, as the last stroke bruises your bottom.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

The compare reappears with a hanky, wiping your lips and chin. "Time to throw in the towel, Dianne?" he mocks.

"Never..." you groan.

"Well, then," he says darkly. "Guess That Spanker."

Who do you say?

Constable Farley? Turn to page 741.

Mrs Hamilton? Turn to page 743.

Mrs Astley? Turn to page 744.

Page 743

"It's my landlady!" you cry. "Mrs Hamilton -- I'm sure of it!"

The compare looks amused, and a titter of laugher rings around the audience. "Well Dianne, you must be very badly behaved if your landlady thrashes you like that!" he laughs. "Unfortunately ... no -- not Mrs Hamilton. So that's a dozen penalty strokes!"

There is a subdued laughter across the audience. Some of them, you think, are beginning to reckon that this game has gone a bit far. But no one will challenge an event set up by the Authority. You are on your own...

Snap! Snap! Snap!

The strokes, now increasing in speed, are coming harder now. Your poor blistered behind writhes in agony. Too much ... it's too much for a girl to bear -- to be thrashed without limit, judged in public, and to be expected to put on a brave face whilst doing it. Lose 1 point of Willpower .

Snap! Snap!

Terror grips your soul as you realise the Authority will not stop this game until you win, or your spirit is utterly broken and you fly back to England in disgrace. You must think ... the Authority have obviously chosen someone you barely know, if at all, for this punishment to delay it further. You wrack your brains. A name ... someone you may have only heard in passing.

Snap!

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

"Whoa there, spanker number three!" laughs the compare. "Give Dianne a chance. Well, Dianne -- you've had lots of time to think. For the match -- Guess That Spanker."

Who do you say?

Constable Farley? Turn to page 741.

Alfred, the Security Guard? Turn to page 742.

Mrs Hamilton? Turn to page 743.

Mrs Astley? Turn to page 744.

Page 744

"Is it ... Mrs Astley?" you blurt, almost without thinking.

The compare's face falls -- just for a second. His eyes bore into you -- how did you know that name? Suddenly his face breaks into another smile. "Well," he says hollowly. "Let's find out shall we?"

Stepping forward from behind the board comes the athletic form of Mrs Astley, a GlobeOil worker and coach of the netball team. You're not even sure you've met her before ... maybe you just overheard her name somewhere.

She smiles benignly at you. "Very well taken, Dianne," she congratulates cheerfully.

There is a thunderous applause as the stocks are unlocked. Your shoulders are almost frozen in pain from your long ordeal, and the compare and Mrs Astley have to help you stand, half naked, to receive the adulation of the crowd.

Gain 10 points of Reputation and 2 points of either Willpower or Ambition. If there is anything Westjack appreciates it's a girl who can take her licks -- and you've shown yourself to be a true Westjack girl.

"Impressive, Miss Hathaway," the compare whispers into your ear, "but you'll never win. The Authority won't allow your cultural desecration of this island."

Red-faced and exhausted you turn to the compare and hiss back: "The Authority has to stop me first!"

Turn to page 745.

Page 745

Jennifer and Julian hold your arms as you waddle painfully to the caf� tent. They've had the common decency to redress you first, Jennifer in silent awe at the thrashed state of your behind as she tugged your knickers up.

Now, perched on a chair with cushions, you lean back as Jennifer massages your shoulders. Julian has gone to the coffee stand to buy you a drink -- and the noise of the fete murmurs around your ears as you relax.

There is no sign of the mysterious Mr Daniels. Clearly the whole thing was a set-up, designed to humiliate and break you before the island's population. The Authority fear you, that's for certain. They know that some on the island support you, and they will do anything they can to erode that support.

As you are waiting for coffee you cannot help but overhear a conversation on the table behind you.

"A bit of a stingy do, this year," mopes an elderly woman between sips of tea. "Hardly any bunting, no band, no cinema tent. I was hoping to see one of those American action movies again this year..."

"Couldn't afford it," moans the familiar voice of Mrs Parson, the lady who gave you all your jobs when you first arrived at the fete. "The accounts are in a terrible state. The council almost didn't put the event on at all..."

"But surely there's lots of money!" complains another woman. "All those savings from the oil company?"

"Well ... don't tell anyone," mutters Mrs Parsons, "but the fact is the island savings were all wiped out during the financial crash. The council had a fortune locked up in an Icelandic investment account. Poof! All gone! We're even borrowing money to pay for the hospital! So it will be a few lean years before we can save it up again. My husband is the financial officer of on the council -- he never stops talking about it!"

Westjack is bankrupt? Interesting. Record the codeword VAULT .

After a nice cup of coffee you feel your strength returning to you and decide to return to the fete with Jennifer and Julian.

Turn to page 726.

Page 746

Its five o'clock and the fete is winding down. You help Julian pack up the stall and put away the laptops. By this time next year you won't need a 'virtual internet' -- Westjack will have the real thing online.

You would have rather spent this week cracking on with some real work -- but at the very least you can tell Mr Stevenson that you have spent some time in the community advertising the project. That might give him fewer opportunities to crack his cane across your backside!

Turn to page 789.

Page 747

If you have the codeword FAVOUR, Turn to page 775.
If not, read on.

Ever since you heard about the Club from Jennifer it has been praying on your mind. It is a place where women willingly go to be spanked by men in private. Why on Earth would there be need of such a place on Westjack Island? Surely, since any man can punish you for any reason, a spanking Club would be obsolete?

In any case -- why would you want to go? You have a job to do -- and this would be a massive distraction. So why is it that you can't stop thinking about it? Why do your loins ache late at night as you dream what terrible things could be done to you in the privacy of the Club?

Unable to concentrate you decide that you must go -- at least for a look. Just to sate your curiosity, if anything. Jennifer inferred that a number of important people on the island attend the Club and that could be to your advantage.

You're unsure what you should wear ... you decide on your nice red dress you packed in case you had to go to a restaurant, or something. You are showered and perfumed, your makeup is carefully applied. You touch your bottom -- there's no doubt it's going to be sorer by the end of the night. Jennifer is right, though -- you need this. You have to see where this will end.

Jennifer has given you the address and you take a taxi to number twelve, Pine Street. A beautiful old Georgian house stands grandly in the middle of the street, dwarfing its neighbours on either side. The lights are on, and the sound of classical music drifts through the open windows.

Full of nerves you make your way up to the steps and knock at the door. You hear the sound of heavy footsteps crossing the room. The door unlocks and a tall, strong looking man in his late fifties stands before. He is dressed in a butler's suit.

If you have the codeword IRON, Turn to page 748.

If not, Turn to page 749.

Page 748

You recognise the butler at once! It is Alfred Kishorn, the ironmonger from the high street. He caught you sneaking around his shop and punished you cruelly on his whipping frame. Lose 1 Willpower point from fear.

"Good evening, Dianne," he says formally. "Not here to steal anything, I hope?"

"No, sir," you whimper, frightened. "I was ... I was invited by..."

"Jennifer, I know," he says sternly. "Her influence here means we must at least consider you for membership -- but I have my doubts. Step inside, and obey all my instructions exactly and to the letter."

Swallowing you nod and step inside the Club.

Turn to page 750.

Page 749

"Good evening, Miss Hathaway -- you are expected," intones the butler formally. "Please step inside the house. You are required to follow all my instructions exactly and to the letter."

"Yes, sir," you reply softly, stepping through the doorway and into the Club.

Turn to page 750.

Page 750

You have entered a finely appointed Georgian house decorated with plush carpets and old furniture. A grand stairwell, as well as numerous doors, lead off into places unknown. Music, as well as male and female voices, can be heard coming from behind the doors.

The butler instructs you to stand in the middle of the hall whilst he goes to fetch something. Uneasily you stand alone in the hallway, wondering fervently why you have come here. Some of the voices from behind the doors sound familiar, and you strain to listen -- but besides some incoherent mumbling and an occasional female squeak of delight you hear nothing.

The butler returns carrying a long glass case reverently in his hands. Inside the case, resting on a plush green-felt cushion is an ancient, cream-white crop made of bone. You shiver. Do they intend to lash you already?

"Drop to your knees, Dianne," says the butler firmly, in a tone used to being obeyed. You swallow and do as he says, careful not to split your tight dress with your legs as you lower yourself down.

The butler opens the case and lowers it down in front of you, the crop glinting menacingly.

"Before we begin you must take a vow," he says seriously. "A vow never to repeat what you see or hear in this place. To help members of the Club, male or female, in times of need. To submit yourself to the rules and regulations of the Club. And to serve the Club, as long as you are able, until your dying day. You shall make this vow and then seal it by kissing the whalebone rod."

Hmm ... that's quite a vow.

"Will you make this vow?" presses the butler, gazing down icily upon you.

Do you:

Agree to make the vow? Turn to page 751.

Or refuse? Turn to page 752.

Page 751

You wouldn't have come here if you weren't prepared to go the whole way.

"I will," you say, almost reverently.

"Then repeat after me," says the butler, clearing his throat. "I, Dianne Hathaway, do vow to become a servant of the Club. I shall render all and any aid required to a fellow member, and understand that I may request aid in my times of need. I shall submit to discipline whenever it is decreed, and ask others to disciple me when my body or soul requires it. I will be obedient and never disobey a club member. Nor shall I betray the confidence of the Club. If I should fail in any respect, I understand that my bottom shall be lashed by the Whalebone Rod, and I shall be ejected in shame from the Club. This I swear forever."

You slowly repeat the vow, line by line, feeling both caged by your vow and excited by it. If you wish to take the vow seriously you may add one point of Willpower, but lose a point of Ambition as you offer up some control of your life to the mysterious Club.

Once you have finished the glass case is opened and you are invited to kiss the Whalebone Rod. It feels cold and hard on your lips. You can only imagine the pain of being struck by such an implement. A small part of you longs to know what it would feel like...

"Very good," says the butler impassively once your lips have left the rod. "Remain on your knees. I shall return in a moment."

The butler turns and makes his way through a side-door, leaving you on your knees in the middle of the floor. Having taken your vow you reverently stay in position, straining your ears to hear any sign of him or the activities going on behind the closed doors. A sharp smacking sound, followed by a muted female cry, reaches your ears -- the punishment rhythmic and musical. On your knees, having vowed to accept any punishment the Club decrees, you now long for the tension to end and for your own bottom to be smacked or cropped. Why pretend you came here for anything else?

The side door reopens and the butler comes striding in, a small length of white rope in his hands, as well as a padded white blindfold and a thin silver chain.

"Stand up," he commands as strides towards you. "Remove all your clothes and stand to attention. You are to be inspected and evaluated."

Tied up? Naked and defenceless? Suddenly you are not so sure. You expected to be spanked but not to be displayed as some naked captive!

What do you do?

Plead to be allowed to remain clothed, as this is your first visit? Turn to page 753.

Or meekly obey his command? Turn to page 754.

Page 752

"That's ... too much..." you protest. "I have my own life to lead. I couldn't give it to your Club..."

The butler nods curtly. "Then you shall be punished for wasting our time. Rise, turn and bend over and grip your knees. You shall be whipped a dozen with the Whalebone Rod for offending the Club."

You are aghast! Even leaving the club requires a thrashing.

If you wish you can simply leave the club with your bottom intact. If you do you may add one Dignity point -- but lose 5 points of Reputation as you are bad-mouthed by the Club.

Otherwise you are given a robust bare-bottom caning with the Whalebone Rod. Raise your Bum Status by 2 Levels .

You swiftly leave the Club, hoping to put this embarrassment behind you.

Turn to page 789.

Page 753

"Please..." you beg. "I can't be naked in front of so many strangers..."

"They will not be strangers for long," intones the butler. "Besides you have no choice. You have been commanded, you must obey."

You look pleadingly into the butler's eyes but you see it will do you no good. Having gone so far you cannot turn back and disobey now.

Gain 1 point of Dignity for trying to protect your modesty, but lose 1 point of Willpower for giving into fear.

Turn to page 754.

Page 754

Record the codeword NAKED if you do not have it already.

Somehow being commanded to obey your vow makes removing your clothes easier. You certainly expected your bottom to be bared -- why not the rest of you?

Rising gently you softly slip your red dress from your body, the thin material sliding down to gather at your feet. Biting your lip you unclasp your bra and slip it off as well, trying not to look at the butler as your naked breasts spring free. Your shoes come off, and finally your knickers, until you are left completely nude before the Club butler -- utterly exposed to his gaze.

You let your hands fall to your sides so he can look at you. 'It's all right', you tell yourself, 'I made a vow to obey'.

The butler asks you to turn around and place your hands behind your back. Soon the soft rope is wound tightly around your wrists, a firm knot securing them in place. Your shoulders shift back, and your breasts swell to full prominence. You feel a blindfold wrapped around your eyes and you are plunged into darkness, your sense of touch enhanced as you feel the butler's rough hands binding the blindfold in place.

You shiver as the silver chain is placed around your neck, tied just tight enough that you can feel the links pressing all around the circumference of your skin. The trailing end is left slide down between your cleavage as low as your belly button.

You inhale sharply as you feel the butler's hands cup your soft breasts, his thumbs brushing over the erect nipples. You are utterly helpless in his hands, and he fondles your defenceless tits for a good minute, tweaking your nipples sharply, before reluctantly releasing them.

"Come," he says darkly, grasping the chain between your bosoms to lead you forwards. "The others will want a look at you..."

Turn to page 755.

Page 755

In darkness, but with all your other senses tingling, you are led forwards across the thin carpeted floor towards a doorway. You can hear plenty of noise beyond, and you feel like you want to shrivel away and cover up from the inevitable staring of the crowd. Your bound hands make that impossible, and have forced you to adopt a straight backed, chest forwards stance. There will be no hiding from their gazes.

The door opens and you are led through into a new room with more comfortable carpets. There is silence as you are brought inside, but you can practically feel the weight of many eyes studying your naked body, assessing your breasts, legs, the space between them, and what little they can see of your face.

"My goodness -- but she's wonderful!" cries the voice of an elderly lady -- something you did not expect.

"Very fine figure, very fine indeed," concurs a deep male voice.

The compliments come thick and fast, from voices male and female. You hear Jennifer's voice amongst them.

"Bring her forwards," commands the deep voiced man. "Let her kneel before us."

You feel a tug on the chain and allow yourself to be led forwards, your leg brushing past a sofa arm as you go. You feel a warm hand press against your bottom as you pass -- fleeting, but enough to re-enforce your total vulnerability before the Club.

At a sharp downward tug you kneel down, subconsciously dropping your head -- hoping this might please your new masters. You feel two callused fingers press under your chin to raise it up.

"Head up, Dianne," the man commands, softly. "We're still looking at you."

"A beautiful bottom," says a male voice behind you. "Plump but not fat -- just made for a whipping."

"The whole package is delightful," the elderly woman says. "Is she obedient too?"

"Dianne," commands the man in front of you. "Crawl forwards and eat this from my hand."

In the total darkness you will be compelled to shuffle forwards on your knees and blindly press your head forwards to find his hand. You will look ridiculous.

Do you?

Refuse to eat from his hand, playing as a bad girl? Turn to page 756.

Or obediently shuffle forwards and do as he says? Turn to page 757.

Page 756

"I'm not hungry, sir!" you reply sharply, turning your head away.

There is general laughter across the room. It looks like your fellow Club members have taken your rejection the way you meant it.

"A rebellious spirit!" laughs the man. "You realise, girl, that you will be well punished for your defiance?"

You shrug. "I'll be punished," you admit. "But I won't be sorry."

Gain 1 point of Ambition for this playful defiance.

"Well, we'll see about that," chuckles the man. "Alfred, take Dianne to the punishment table and prepare her."

"Yes, sir," the butler replies, immediately tugging on your collar to compel you to rise. There is much excited chatter as you are moved across the floor, hands reaching up to stroke your bottom and legs as you pass between the soft sofa arms.

"I'm going to clamp your nipples," the butler curtly informs you. "This is punishment for your rudeness. You don't have a choice, so stay still."

You feel Alfred sharply grab your right breast, squeezing it tightly as he prepares it for the clamp.

Will you:

Protest at this treatment and tell him you don't want your nipples clamped? Turn to page 758.

Or will you show how tough you are by submitting to his demand? Turn to page 759.

Page 757

You shuffle forwards on your knees, hands secured firmly behind your back. Your breasts bounce ludicrously as you shuffle ungainly towards the sound of the man's voice, causing ripples of laughter to fill the room. Jennifer's voice is among your mockers.

You lean your face forwards blindly, trying to find what you hope is the man's outstretched hand. "Not quite, keep looking," the man says, a grin in his voice, refusing to give you exact instructions as to where his hand is, leaving you gawping like a fish in the empty air.

When you eventually find it you are leant right forwards, your naked bum waving in the air behind you, your hidden charms clearly on display to those behind you. You place your chin in the man's hand and extend your tongue blindly, scooping up the olive he had concealed. It crushes juicily in your mouth, the oil running down your throat as you briefly chew the offered morsel.

You feel the man's other hand press down upon your head forcing you down low. "That's it, Dianne," he instructs. "Press your face all the way down to the floor. Push your bottom right up, let everyone see those secret holes of yours."

You cannot help but obey, the man's hand pressing your head ever lower until your face is lying sideways on the softly carpeted floor. You feel your bottom rise high behind you, and more laughter as the wafted air in the room caresses your obscenely opened sex and anus.

You've never felt more humiliated in your life. Lose 2 points of Dignity .

"You're obviously a completely shameless English slut, aren't you Dianne?" teases the man.

"Yes, sir," you groan, tears flooding into your blindfold.

"I think you need to be punished for your wantonness -- don't you agree?"

"Yes, sir," you sob. After this grovelling display you don't think you've ever felt more worthy of a spanking.

"Alfred, take Dianne to the punishment table and prepare her."

"Yes, sir," the butler replies, immediately tugging on your collar to compel you to rise. There is much excited chatter as you are moved across the floor, hands reaching up to stroke your bottom and legs as you pass between the soft sofa arms.

You are lead up to the edge of a wooden table. Without asking Alfred firmly pushes you back to force you face down onto the table, your bottom thrusting out behind you as you hear your audience shuffling round in the chairs to get a better view of the proceedings.

Alfred raises your head slightly, and you hear him thread your neck chain through a loop of metal positioned on the table just below your throat. As he draws the chain through your head is forced low onto the table -- just high enough to rest your chin. With your hands tied and the chain locked off it is now impossible for you to rise. What happens next to your bottom is completely beyond your control...

Record the codeword DOWN .

Turn to page 760.

Page 758

You're not willing to completely surrender the rights to your body -- not quite yet. You came here expecting to be spanked, but not to be completely humiliated.

"No," you say clearly. "You may not put nipple clamps on me." You deliberately shift your body away from Alfred, his grasp slipping from your breast.

"Go easy on her, Alfred -- she's English," you hear Jennifer say. "Let her get used to things first."

"Come on Alfred, put those ridiculous things down!" says the deep voiced man impatiently. "I want to crack on with her arse! Get her in position."

"Oh -- very well," the butler says, disappointed, grasping the chain from between your bosoms again.

Lose 1 point of Dignity and Willpower. You wimped out in front of the Club.

You are lead up to the edge of a wooden table. Without asking Alfred firmly pushes you back to force you face down onto the table, your bottom thrusting out behind you as you hear your audience shuffling round in the chairs to get a better view of the proceedings.

Alfred raises your head slightly, and you hear him thread your neck chain through a loop of metal positioned on the table just below your throat. As he draws the chain through your head is forced low onto the table -- just high enough to rest your chin. With your hands tied and the chain locked off it is now impossible for you to rise. What happens next to your bottom is completely beyond your control...

Turn to page 760.

Page 759

You're not going to make a fuss -- let Alfred do what he wants to you.

You inhale sharply as you feel tight metal teeth bite into your right nipple. That's tight! Alfred bounces the clamped breast in his hand a few times to amuse himself, before grasping your left. The second clamp is just as biting and you squeal as Alfred tests their strength by tugging the chain between your breasts sharply, pulling on both your nipples at once.

The terrible agony of the clamps will erode your endurance. Reduce your Willpower by 2 points.

Suitably inconvenienced, you are lead up to the edge of a wooden table. Without asking Alfred firmly pushes your back to force you face down onto the table, your bottom thrusting out behind you as you hear your audience shuffling round in the chairs to get a better view of the proceedings. Your clamped breasts are painfully crushed against your chest.

Alfred raises your head slightly, and you hear him thread your neck chain through a loop of metal positioned on the table just below your throat. As he draws the chain through your head is forced low onto the table -- just high enough to rest your chin. With your hands tied and the chain locked off it is now impossible for you to rise. What happens next to your bottom is completely beyond your control...

Turn to page 760.

Page 760

You feel a large hand rest upon your bottom, and the deep voice of its owner boom out behind you. "You're a very bad girl, Dianne," the man says, to chuckles from the small audience behind him. "You've upset half the island with your new phone scheme. There's not a man on the island who isn't desperate to take it out on that arse of yours. It's for their sake that I punish you now."

His hand smooth's across your bottom. "It's up to you how many you take," he says mercifully. "Every so often I'll ask if you've have enough. After that I'll change implement and thrash you some more. You're being evaluated so be as brave as you can. Now push that bottom up -- your first set is coming now."

This is it -- evaluation time. You've never failed an exam, and you don't see why you should start now. Pressing up onto your toes you lift your bottom high...

Swit!

You wince, as what feels like a thousand tiny threads of leather swish across your bum. It didn't hurt too much, but the next stroke follows fast...

Swit! Swit!

The implement is light and stingy -- perhaps it is similar to the martinet, the French whip you saw hanging up in Mr Stevenson's punishment cupboard. You can't imagine Mr Stevenson ever using such a lenient device on you -- perhaps it was there for completions sake?

Swit! Swit! Swit!

The strokes aren't painful, but they do go on for a long time -- several minutes at least. Your bottom is coloured an all over red by the time your punisher is finished.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 Level .

"So, Dianne -- do you feel you've been punished enough?" asks the man jovially, resting the fronds of the martinet across your warmed cheeks.

What do you say?

Yes -- that was quite enough? Turn to page 761.

No -- you need more? Turn to page 762.

Page 761

"Very well," says the man, surprised. The martinet is placed upon the small of your back whilst your punisher confers with the rest of the Club. Although you can't hear much of what they are saying, it is evident that the Club don't hold a very high opinion of you.

Finally the man returns, placing his hand upon your bottom comfortingly. "I'm afraid the Club has decided to reject your application," he says sadly. "We feel that, with such a light constitution, we won't really get the chance to enjoy you fully. We'd like to thank you for applying, though. You really are a very beautiful girl, a tremendous treat for these old eyes of mine. Provided you tell no-one what has transpired here this evening you can be sure that the Club will take no action hinder either you or your work. Alfred, take young Dianne back to the hall and release her."

"Yes, sir," says Alfred formally.

You are led from the room, naked and blindfolded, and back into the hall. The light is searing as your blindfold is removed. Alfred removes your chain and frees your hands (If you are wearing nipple clamps these are also painfully removed).

Silently, feeling rejected and humiliated, you dress yourself again and stride right out of the Club. On the one hand you feel like you want to take revenge upon those who rejected and embarrassed you. On the other ... you walked into this willingly -- and those in the Club saw far more of you than you did of them. Some of the members might be powerful and influential and making enemies of them would be unwise.

Dejectedly you walk out into the night and homewards to the Hamiltons.

Cross out the Codeword PRIVILAGE.

Turn to page 789.

Page 762

"No sir -- I need to be punished more!" you insist. There is no chance that feeble spanking was enough to impress your reviewers.

"Quite right too," agrees the man, removing the martinet from the surface of your behind. There is a small applause from the Club at your bravery.

You wait, in great tension, for the man to return, wandering what kind of implement he has chosen to hurt you with this time. You feel the stirring of the air behind you as your punisher takes his place, and you raise your bum expectantly...

Twack!

You jolt forwards as your bottom is compressed by a heavy paddle, large enough to cover the whole expanse of your bottom. Unlike the martinet, that really hurt!

Thwack!

Your bottom erupts into a brilliant scarlet as the second paddle stroke strikes. You try shaking your head to help disperse the pain, but your neck chain keeps you locked in place.

Thwack!

The breath is knocked from you as another stroke hits. This is agony!

If your Willpower is 5 or more, Turn to page 763.
If not, read on.

Thwack!

The cry of pain the Club desired is finally beaten from your body. As the paddle continues to crack down your bum jerks and dances, and your helpless hands curl and splay behind you, unable to help your enflamed backside.

Thwack! Thwack!

Lose 1 point of Dignity or Ambition for this pitiful display before the Club. Not that the Club members are not enjoying themselves. They make a running commentary on your performance, chiding you for failings and congratulating your punisher on his skill. They seem to be getting as much pleasure watching you squirm as they would from appreciating your endurance.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level . The paddle was painful, but did little actual damage to your arse.

The man places his hand on your bum to steady your juddering backside. "Well -- that was an ordeal, wasn't it Dianne?" he says, slapping your left buttock to elicit a response.

"Yes, sir," you choke.

"So -- have you had enough or do you need more?"

What do you say?

That you have had enough? Turn to page 764.

Or that you need more punishment? Turn to page 766.

Page 763

This is a very harsh punishment -- but you didn't join this club thinking it would be easy. You have an audience to perform for, and they are very interested in how you endure. The only part of yourself that isn't tied up or chained down is your bottom, so you face your destiny by sticking your bottom right out to meet the paddle.

Thwack! Thwack!

You are hardly as still as a statue, but by keeping your legs taut and your bottom high you almost feel you can push the pain away from your bum.

Thwack!

Across the room come appreciative comments. This crowd know bravery when they see it and they are impressed with your fortitude.

Gain 1 point of Ambition .

Finally, your bum stinging, the paddling stops. Raise your Bum Status by 1 level . The paddle was painful, but did little actual damage to your arse.

The man places his hand on your taut, hot bum-skin. "Well -- I thought you took that very well," he admits.

"Thank you, sir," you say proudly.

"So -- have you had enough or do you need more?"

What do you say?

That you have had enough? Turn to page 764.

Or that you need more punishment? Turn to page 766.

Page 764

"I ... I don't mean to appear a wimp, but I think that's all I can take," you admit. Your bottom might be able to take more, but your punisher is too skilled at stinging you for you to make anything less than a total fool of yourself.

"I see," he says. The paddle is placed upon your bottom, the man instructing you to stay on tiptoes and not to let the paddle fall on pain of further punishment.

You hear him leave to go and confer with his colleagues in low whisperings. Have you been brave enough? Will the club want you?

If you have the codeword DOWN, or if your nipples have been clamped Turn to page 765.
If not, read on.

Finally the man returns, placing his hand upon your bottom comfortingly. "I'm afraid the Club has decided to reject your application," he says sadly. "We feel that, with such a light constitution, we won't really get the chance to enjoy you fully. We'd like to thank you for applying, though. You really are a very beautiful girl, a tremendous treat for these old eyes of mine. Provided you tell no-one what has transpired here this evening you can be sure that the Club will take no action hinder either you or your work. Alfred, take young Dianne back to the hall and release her."

"Yes, sir," says Alfred formally.

You are led from the room, naked and blindfolded, and back into the hall. The light is searing as your blindfold is removed. Alfred removes your chain and frees your hands.

Silently, feeling rejected and humiliated, you dress yourself again and stride right out of the Club. On the one hand you feel like you want to take revenge upon those who rejected and embarrassed you. On the other ... you walked into this willingly -- and those in the Club saw far more of you than you did of them. Some of the members might be powerful and influential and making enemies of them would be unwise.

Dejectedly you walk out into the night and homewards to the Hamiltons.

Cross out the Codeword PRIVILAGE.

Turn to page 789.

Page 765

Finally, after a long conference, the man returns, resting his hand upon your bottom. "Well, Dianne," he says warmly. "I'm delighted to tell you that your application has been accepted. You're a game girl, willing to indulge our peculiarities. Your endurance is a little weak but that can be improved upon with time. Welcome to the Club, Dianne Hathaway!"

There is a general cheer from the room as you are released from the table. You are brought to standing, and you feel hands begin to lift your blindfold...

Turn to page 774.

Page 766

"No!" you cry. "Don't let it stop there ... more..."

"Couldn't agree more," the man agrees, slapping one your cheeks playfully as he strides away. Your bum feels so sore -- will the next implement be as harsh as the paddle.

By the time your punisher returns your bottom is virtually waving in the air, both eager to begin and swaying to reduce the existing sting. The man steadies your bottom with a careful hand, only pulling it away at the last moment.

Snap!

A belt imbeds itself into your cheeks with a lusty snap! You judder at the stroke, lighter than the paddle, but more insistent upon your backside.

Snap! Snap!

You wince and sway, your fingers grasping empty air as the bonds hold your hands firmly in place above your scorching bottom.

Snap!

"Nggg!" you grunt, as the blow takes you low, halfway across the backs of your legs as well as your bum.

If your Willpower is 4 or more, Turn to page 767.
If not, read on.

You gasp and cry as the belt is swung low and hard against your bum cheeks. You toes curl and you kick back helplessly, the belt never ceasing its merciless rhythm, the soft chatter of the watching Club belies the growing hurt in your bottom.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

The last three strokes have you shrieking and jerking at your neck-chain, your body cringing and squirming on the table top. You've made a complete ass of yourself. Raise your Bum Status by 1 Level and lose 1 point of Dignity .

You are left to compose yourself, panting on the table as you feel your punisher step away and search for something else to thrash you with. You feel delirious and weak, your shoulders and arms painful from their restraint. How much more can you take?

You shiver as you feel the distinctive sensation of a cold cane lining up against your battered backside.

"Well, Dianne -- have you been punished enough?" he teases, running the cane across your globes.

If you have the trait 'Lust for the Cane', Turn to page 768.

If not, what do you say?

Tell him that you've had enough? Turn to page 769.

Or do you crave more? Turn to page 770.

Page 767

The belt is simply not as severe as the paddle, which had struck your whole bottom at once with concussive force. If you could take that you can take this. Biting onto your lip and thrusting your bottom up you allow the man to thrash your scarlet globes at will, the only signs of your distress your clenching hands which can do nothing but grip empty air as your bottom is basted.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

The club watch with mild amusement as you take your strokes stoically. Your endurance is nothing less than they expect, but they are impressed enough. Gain 1 point of Reputation .

Snap! Snap!

By the end of your belting your bottom feels well scorched. Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

You are left to compose yourself, panting on the table as you feel your punisher step away and search for something else to thrash you with. You feel delirious and weak, your shoulders and arms painful from their restraint. How much more can you take?

You shiver as you feel the distinctive sensation of a cold cane lining up against your battered backside.

"Well, Dianne -- have you been punished enough?" he teases, running the cane across your globes.

If you have the trait 'Lust for the Cane', Turn to page 768.

If not, what do you say?

Tell him that you've had enough? Turn to page 769.

Or do you crave more? Turn to page 770.

Page 768

Oh! If only he hadn't chosen the cane! Your lust overcomes your reason as the prospect of a naked caning in front of an appreciative audience overcomes your common sense.

"Yes! Oh! Yes, sir -- please ... make me sorry!" you beg, your bottom thrusting up to kiss the cold wood.

"Never let it be said that Dianne Hathaway shirks her punishment!" he laughs, measuring the cane against your backside.

Turn to page 771.

Page 769

"Sir ... thank you ... thank you for my punishment," you pant. "But I've had enough, now, please. I've completely learned my lesson!"

"Very well," says the man, a little reluctantly, taking the cane away from your bottom. You hear him step away to consult with the rest of the Club in whispered tones whilst your bottom throbs behind you.

Finally, after a long conference, the man returns, resting his hand upon your bottom. "Well, Dianne," he says warmly. "I'm delighted to tell you that your application has been accepted. You're a tough little thing, and we will all enjoy giving you a sound thrashing from time to time. Welcome to the Club, Dianne Hathaway!"

There is a general cheer from the room as you are released from the table. You are brought to standing, and you feel hands begin to lift your blindfold...

Turn to page 774.

Page 770

Your bum seems on fire behind you ... yet you still cannot be sure you'll be accepted into the club as is. If you take this caning ... after four sets of punishment surely they'll take you?

"No, sir -- I've been so terribly bad!" you claim. "I don't think I'm completely obedient yet..."

"Well we can't have that, can we?" roars the man, a grin in his vice.

You wince as you feel the cane level again against your cheeks...

Turn to page 771.

Page 771

Vip!

With practiced ease the man swipes the cane across the centre of your buttocks, stinging them acutely across their previous bruises. He allows you to savour the cut, and you hiss through your teeth as you feel the throb build in your behind.

Vip! Vip!

Two more slices into your naked behind ignite the flames of your previous beating, your bum jumping uncontrollably. Being so completely bound makes taking your strokes very difficult. If only you could grip onto something with your hands ... but they grip only empty air as the cane lashes into your behind again and again...

Vip! Vip!

If your Willpower is 6 or more, Turn to page 772.
If not, read on.

In the end you can do nothing more than cry and moan as your punisher exacts his toll upon your bottom. Broken and thrashing you put on quite a show for your small audience, and they clap and cheer the man's skill at reducing you to a cringing wreck.

Lose 1 point of either Ambition or Dignity.

Finally, after what feels like an age, the man stops -- your bum searing and sore. Raise your Bum Status by 2 Levels .

Turn to page 773.

Page 772

You can't fall at the final furlong! Pushing yourself up on tiptoes you thrust your bottom high, trying to control your pain through the taut stretching of your legs. You cannot stay silent, as the cane rises and falls upon your welted arse, but you can remain poised.

Vip! Vip!

You hear whispers of quiet awe across the Club. Someone, you're sure it is Jennifer, suggests that she wouldn't want to change places with you. Such comments fill you with pride. Raise your Dignity by 1 point.

Vip!

"Oooh!" you cry, at a particularly low cut. Regardless of how well you are doing your bottom is paying a heavy price.

Raise your Bum Status by 2 Levels .

Turn to page 773.

Page 773

The cane is lifted from your bottom. "Damn good show, Dianne!" compliments your strict punisher.

"Thank you, sir," you moan, your bum throbbing.

"Let me just have a quick consultation with the others -- back in a bit," he reassures you.

Finally, after a long conference, the man returns, resting his hand upon your bottom. "Well, Dianne," he says warmly. "I'm delighted to tell you that your application has been accepted. You're a tough little thing, and we will all enjoy giving you a sound thrashing from time to time. Welcome to the Club, Dianne Hathaway!"

There is a general cheer from the room as you are released from the table. You are brought to standing, and you feel hands begin to lift your blindfold...

Turn to page 774.

Page 774

The light is dazzling as the blindfold is removed from your eyes. There is a ripple of applause before you as your eyes adjust. You are standing naked and bound before many of the aristocracy and leading figures of the island. There were far more people watching than you first imagined, male and female.

The man with the deep voice, presumably your punisher, places a warm hand upon your shoulder. "Welcome to the Club, Dianne," he says grandly. "My name is Donald Trueman, and I am the current chairman. Let's free your hands and you can meet some of your fellow Clubbers!"

You have to say the feeling of victory is exhilarating. Gain 2 Fun Points . Record the codeword FAVOUR .

You are soon unbound, although still naked. No one seems to mind much as you are formally introduced to many of the Club's senior members.

"Our butler is Alfred Kishorn, the ironmonger," says Donald, turning you to face the stoic gentleman. Alfred smiles and kisses your hand. "Alfred here makes some of the more exciting restraints for the Club. I'm sure you'll be introduced to his work in time."

You are led into the centre of the room to meet a dignified, elderly lady. "Dianne, this is Lady Bromwich," Donald says, the lady herself taking your hand.

"Very well taken, Dianne," she purrs. "In my youth I was the one on the receiving end of Westjack skill -- now I supplement the Club's legion of whippers. I'm sure we'll get a chance to meet later..."

You blush and thank the lady, before being led on. "This man I think you know -- Horace Jackman, from the Telephone Exchange."

You do indeed know Horace -- a great bear of a man who heads the construction crew for your project. And now he's seeing you completely naked...

"Good show, Dianne," he grins. "Glad you're one of us."

"And rather than bombard you with names all night, I'll just introduce you to your sponsor," says Donald, proudly leading you to a familiar looking blonde English girl, dressed glamorously in a sparkling dress. "Dianne this is Jennifer Anders, a very compliant Club member of three years standing."

"So glad you made it, Dianne!" gushes Jennifer. "I knew you wouldn't let me down!"

You are sat down (gently), brought wine and nibbles, whilst Donald explains to you some of the perks of the Club.

"At the Club we believe in the educational value of a good bare-bottomed spanking," explains Donald. "Spanking is primarily a learning experience where good behaviour and discipline can be instilled in a young lady. For all that the Club is primarily about having fun. You'll indulge your own or other's fantasies here, enjoy excellent company, and have the finest food and drink the island has to offer."

Donald shuffles towards you. "Beyond that we also look out for each other. If any of us are in difficulty our fellow Club member's help out as best we can. We are discreet, so any personal, financial or health problems won't be traded as gossip here. It is an honour to help a fellow Club member in the real world so they can continue to attend the Club in their spare time."

"Are there any Club dues?" you ask, wondering exactly how much this is going to cost you.

"Not for female members," Donald reassures you. "We believe that you girls are sporting enough with your game behinds. We wouldn't think about charging you."

You nod, your eyes drawn to the corner of the room. There is a thin, elegant looking man in the corner, seated upon a chair. He is the only man in the room who has not come up and greeted you.

"Who is that fellow, the one in the corner?" you ask curiously.

Donald follows your eyes warily to view the man in the corner. "That is Philippe Coupe," he murmurs. "The finest caner on the island ... possibly the world. They say he can sting a girl's behind just by swishing his cane above her buttocks. He is our ... enforcement officer. If a girl brings the Club into disgrace she must answer to Philippe. He is not a native of the island -- but a Frenchman who travels the world. They say that he is a mercenary -- a man who can tame the spirit of even the toughest woman and bring her to sobbing breaking point. He's not been to the island for many years. Now he has returned ... waiting. Some poor girl has been sentenced to him. I pity her -- for Philippe has never failed to break the spirit of his victim..."

You shiver in fear. You can't help but imagine that the woman he has come to tame is you...

Turn to page 776.

Page 775

You return to the Club, Alfred bowing slightly as he ushers you through the doors of the Club's grand headquarters.

You are wined and dined by the attending members, gleefully submitting to several light spankings from the well-to-do citizens of the Club.

Gain 1 Fun Point and raise your Bum Status by 1 Level .

If you wish to indulge in the Club's select activities, Turn to page 776.

If you only stopped in briefly for a chat, Turn to page 789.

Page 776

It's time to sample what the Club has to offer. You can either be spanked for pleasure, indulging in costume and role-play fantasies of your own or other's making -- or you can enrol in the Club's educational spankings which help to build character.

What do you do?

Get spanked for Fun? Turn to page 777.

Attend Donald Trueman for Ambition training? Turn to page 778.

Attend Lady Bromwich for Dignity training? Turn to page 779.

Attend Horace Jackman for Willpower training? Turn to page 780.

Page 777

Before the week is through you have played a dozen penitent schoolgirls and secretaries, several disobedient daughters and housewives and even a Roman slavegirl.

In full costume various members of the Club give you a just spanking, rarely hard or cruel, but always in a spirit of fun and frolics. Each evening is rounded off with a superb meal or set of drinks, where you are pampered afterwards for your good sportsmanship.

You may raise your Bum Status any number of levels, although not above maximum. For every level you raise you can gain 1 Fun Point .

When you have finished with this notorious luxury it's finally time to get back to work.

Turn to page 789.

Page 778

After explaining to Donald you desire to become more forceful and assertive he quickly summons several girls of the Club to attend you and puts a cane in your hand. He gives you some instruction on how to use the implement and informs you that any incorrect, off target or weak strokes will be repeated on your own backside.

The longer you play the more demanding Donald becomes, until only the finest, firmest, most on-target strokes are exempt from a retaliatory stroke to your own backside.

Gain the codeword TRAINED .

You may raise your Bum Status any number of levels, although not above maximum. For every level you raise you can gain 1 Ambition point .

By the end of your training you are feeling much more confident, and set off to work with renewed vigour.

Turn to page 789.

Page 779

Lady Bromwich is the perfect tutor to teach you grace and poise. She takes quickly you in hand, first concentrating on your walk and stance -- then on the feminine skills of service and politeness. She dresses you up in a maid's costume and has you serve the other Club members, requiring that they punish you for the slightest infringement of good manners or grace.

Throughout your session you are required to bend over at any time and take a strong dose of the cane or whip -- sometimes as punishment, other times just to test your willingness to submit. It is a harsh regime that drills good manners into you.

You may raise your Bum Status any number of levels, although not above maximum. For every level you raise you can gain 1 Dignity point .

You leave thoroughly obedient and with a serene grace that seems to almost inhabit your every step.

Turn to page 789.

Page 780

It is with acute humility that you ask Horace Jackman for help in bearing the whip. He's an excellent teacher, demonstrating how a little extra endurance can avoid a lot of extra punishment. For, indeed, if you so much as gasp or wince during one of his decreed punishments he thrashes you mercilessly with extra strokes that reduce you to a blubbering wreck.

Slowly, over the week, you learn to contain yourself, as your bottom grows used to daily punishment and you practice remaining still regardless of the provocation.

You may raise your Bum Status any number of levels, although not above maximum. For every level you raise you can gain 1 Willpower point .

Feeling flush, sore, but ready, you depart the Club and head to work.

Turn to page 789.

Page 781

You remember Jennifer telling you about a chemist that lives in Oldwell who sells a special soothing ointment for a beaten bottom. You are beginning to realise that this might be a useful purchase.

Discretely making your way to the chemist's shop you quietly browse the aisles until the till desk is free. Gerald Bagshott, and his adult son Walter, man the desk, and Gerald greets you as you approach.

If you have the codeword FAVOUR, Turn to page 782.
If not, read on.

"Good morning, miss -- how can I help you?" asks Gerald pleasantly, pushing his small glasses back onto the bridge of his nose.

"I was wondering," you say, a little awkwardly. "A friend of mine recommended you. She said that you sold ... a special ointment ... that helps ... cool bottoms after..."

"Madam!" cries Gerald, shocked. "I don't know where you heard such a thing -- but I would never sell such an item here! A properly spanked bottom is a learning tool for young ladies. To sell such an ointment, and thus lessen their suffering, would be a disgrace! How would girls learn anything from their punishment if they could just rub it away with a bit of ointment? As a chemist I am duty bound to support the responsible punishment of young women. Sell an ointment to cool bottoms? My honour cannot be bought so cheaply!"

If you have the trait 'Independently Wealthy' Turn to page 783.
If not, read on.

Lose 1 point of Dignity for this severe dressing down. You quickly apologise and dash from the chemist's, mortified.

You are just about to give up on ever finding help when Gerald's young son, Walter, approaches you in the street.

"Miss Hathaway?" he calls. "Please forgive my father, he can be a pompous old brute. But perhaps I can help?"

Walter takes you aside and explains. "My father does have the ointment you spoke of, but he keeps it secret and only sells it to select customers. Even I don't have access to it."

"Then how can you help me?" you ask, nonplussed.

"Well -- I feel sorry for the vast throng of punished women on this island that have no access to this ointment, so I have been designing one myself," he explains. "I intend to sell it discreetly to any who need help, but ... my ointment is still in the experimental phase. I cannot guarantee its effectiveness. I need a test subject, someone willing to offer their bottom for science. Would you be willing to help me?"

Hmm ... you're not sure. Become a lab rat for a junior chemist? Sounds risky.

Do you:

Accept his offer to test the ointment on your bottom? Turn to page 784.

Or politely decline? Turn to page 789.

Page 782

"Why, Dianne! What a pleasure to see you again!" beams Gerald. Gerald Bagshott is an enthusiastic member of the club who has spanked your bottom many times.

"Hello Gerald," you purr. "I was just in to get some of your famous ointment for my bottom. Jennifer recommended you to me."

"Of course!" he beams. "Anything that gets that bum of yours in better shape for me to smack! You will be discrete, though? My reputation amongst the more serious fellows in town would suffer if they knew I was handing this stuff out. They are awfully crabby about easing female suffering..."

"Of course," you say seriously, nodding.

Gerald reaches below the counter and retrieves an unmarked plastic tub full of white cream. "Just put some on last thing at night and first thing in the morning -- it sooths beautifully and reduces bruising," he instructs.

Indeed the ointment is very effective. Note down the Ointment under your Traits. From now on you may lower your Bum Status by 1 extra level each time you reach the Management or Event hub.

Thanking Gerald for his time you slip the tub into your bag and leave the shop.

Turn to page 789.

Page 783

"Can your honour be bought for six hundred pounds?" you ask lightly, placing the bundle of notes on his counter.

There is an immediate change in Gerald's attitude. "Forgive me, I didn't realise how rich you were," he says brazenly, putting the cash into the till.

Gerald reaches below the counter and retrieves an unmarked plastic tub full of white cream. "Just put some on last thing at night and first thing in the morning -- it sooths beautifully and reduces bruising," he instructs.

Indeed the ointment is very effective. Note down the Ointment under your Traits. From now on you may lower your Bum Status by 1 extra level each time you reach the Management or Event hub.

Thanking Gerald for his time you slip the tub into your bag and leave the shop.

Turn to page 789.

Page 784

You're not sure this is a good idea, but you agree to Walter's plan. He invites you back to his house, located just above the chemist shop. The place is spotlessly clean and sterile, devoid of plants, magazines or any homely knickknacks.

Walter retrieves a plain bottle of white cream from a hidden location at the back of a cupboard.

"This is it, Dianne -- my experimental ointment," he says proudly. "Now, if you'd just like to slip your knickers down and bend over, I'll go and find my father's paddle."

You gasp. "You want me to what?"

"Oh -- bend over and drop your knickers," he explains. "I'd let you bend over a chair, but father would see your imprint in the leather and get awfully cross. It's just safer to take it bending over."

You shake your head. "Walter -- I came here to soothe my bottom, not batter it more!"

"But we need to do an experiment to see if the ointment works properly!" explains Walter. "If you have a bad reaction I need to be present so I can counteract the effects. If the ointment works ... well, then it won't matter that I smacked your bum, and you can use the ointment with confidence."

This deal seems to be getting worse and worse!

Do you:

Bend over and drop your knickers ... all in the name of science, of course! Turn to page 785.

Or put an end to this silliness by walking out? Turn to page 789.

Page 785

Like it or not there seems to be some logic in Walter's thinking. If the ointment goes wrong at least you are being spanked above a chemist's shop and can get immediate treatment. But as you bend over and drop your knickers you cannot help but gasp as Walter brings out the implement he intends to use to further his experiment.

The paddle is as large as your bottom, and is clearly designed to be swung double-handed. Numerous small holes have been drilled into its surface to help fight air-resistance -- and to ensure it strikes your bottom with the maximum possible impact.

"How many must I take?" you squeak, as you see Walter come marching towards you with the heavy paddle.

"A few dozen, I'm afraid," he says sorrowfully. "We need to get your bottom an all over red with a little bit of bruising. Nice, fresh marks should demonstrate the efficacy of the ointment. Get ready..."

You tense sharply as you feel the paddle level against your bum...

Crack!

You rock forwards as Walter strikes your behind, seemingly your entire bum encompassed by the large paddle. You give a sudden grunt and have to put your hands out to stop yourself falling.

"Try to stay steady, Dianne," chides Walter. "This could take all day, otherwise..."

Crack!

Your bum inflames to another stroke, delivered hard to your bum -- Walter swinging like he's holding a baseball bat in his hands. You cannot help but suspect that Walter's interest in spanking your behind is not purely scientific...

Crack! Crack!

The paddling goes on, scalding your rear with each stroke. Every so often Walter touches your bottom, as if to feel its consistency, before announcing that you need to have more strokes for a successful experiment.

Crack!

Raise your Bum Status by 2 Levels .

If your Willpower is 4 or more, Turn to page 786.
If not, read on.

You yowl and bounce as Walter inflicts stroke after stroke on your scalding bum. Finally you have had enough.

Crack!

"Ah! Walter! Stop!" you cry, leaping to your feet and grasping your sore arse.

"But we're not finished yet!" protests Walter. "I need a properly thrashed bum to test..."

"My bum's thrashed enough!" you shout. "Keep your stupid ointment -- I'm going!"

Walter isn't man enough to stop you, and you storm out of the flat, tears pouring from your eyes. Only later, nursing your bottom in your bedroom battered red from Walter's paddle, do you wish you had a little something to rub onto your scalding behind...

Turn to page 789.

Page 786

If this ointment works it will all be worth it, you keep telling yourself, as Walter batters away at your bottom with his massive paddle. Only once your cheeks are sore and blazing does Walter stop his thrashing.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 Level .

"Right," says Walter, unscrewing the lid of the bottle. "I'll apply the ointment -- you let me know how it feels."

You wince slightly as Walter rubs the ointment deep into your thrashed bum-skin, covering the entire surface with his creamy hands.

Count how many codewords you have written on your character sheet:

If the number is even, Turn to page 787.

If the number is odd, Turn to page 788.

Page 787

The ointment, much to your relief, is delightfully cooling, the worst of the sting easing as Walter massages the cream into your sizzling bottom.

Lower your Bum Status by 1 level .

Note on your character sheet, under your Traits, that you have Walter's Ointment. It only works on very bruised bottoms, however. Whenever you go to the Management or Event Hub you can lower your Bum Status by 1 extra Level provided your Bum Status is Fiery or higher.

Thanking Walter for his precious ointment you take the bottle and leave the flat to get back to work.

Turn to page 789.

Page 788

At first the ointment is cooling and refreshing, easing the sting in your behind wonderfully so that you are practically purring as Walter massages your bottom. Then the itching starts ... and then the burning.

"My God! My bum's on fire!" you cry, leaping to your feet and grabbing your bottom.

"Let me see -- let me see!" demands Walter, batting your hands away. "My goodness -- there is some swelling ... your bottom's puffing up!"

"Fix it, fix it!" you demand, hopping up and down, grasping your blazing cheeks.

Raise your Bum Status by 2 levels .

You are compelled to quickly shower off the stinging ointment in Walter's bathroom, during which he retrieves a cream to bring down the swelling.

"You're obviously allergic to the ointment," he says sadly. "Curses! I thought I'd fixed that problem."

"Well you haven't!" you cry, furiously rubbing. "Thanks for nothing, Walter!"

Sore and itchy you leave the chemist, vowing revenge against Gerald's useless son.

Turn to page 789.

Page 789 - Event Hub

It is the end of the week. Increase the Week number by 1 on your character sheet. You can lower your Bum Status by 2 levels as your bottom naturally heals up.

Your stress level is building as you get closer to the end of the project. If your number of Fun points is lower than the Week number you must lose 1 point of Ambition , Dignity and Willpower as the stress of work diminishes your competence.

Whilst you were busy doing your own thing your team have hopefully been working hard on the telephone project. The better your Reputation the harder your team will work for you. Consult the table below and get the following additional Progress points.

Reputation -> Progress Points

0-6 -> 0

7-12 -> 1

13-18 -> 2

19-24 -> 3

25-30 -> 4

31+ -> 5

Finally, events don't just stand still on Westjack Island while you go about your business.

If you are on Week 2, Turn to page 790.

If you are on Week 3, Turn to page 793.

If you are on Week 4, Turn to page 797.

If you are on Week 5, Turn to page 800.

If you are on Week 6, Turn to page 809.

If you are on Week 7, Turn to page 812.

If you are on Week 8, Turn to page 833.

If you are on Week 9, Turn to page 837.

If you are on Week 10, Turn to page 841.

If you are on Week 11, Turn to page 847.

If you are on Week 12, Turn to page 857.

Page 790

As you are dressing in your bedroom one morning you receive a not entirely welcome visit from your landlady, Mrs Hamilton.

"Spot inspection," she declares, bursting into your room whilst you are only semi-dressed.

If you have the Trait 'Domesticated', Turn to page 791.

If you have the weakness 'Messy', Turn to page 792.

If not, read on.

"Excuse me, Mrs Hamilton, I'm dressing!" you cry, secretly ashamed that your room isn't as spotlessly tidy as you would have liked.

"Don't be ridiculous, girl -- it's nothing I haven't seen before," says Mrs Hamilton dismissively. Her eyes scan the room.

"Why do you have so many paper's out on your desk? And this cardigan, does it live on the floor?" she demands.

"I was in the middle of..." you start to protest.

"You were in the middle of dressing, not working," blusters Mrs Hamilton. "And cardigans never sit on the floor, is that clear?"

You look shame-faced. "Yes, Mrs Hamilton," you say, bowing your head.

"Bend over the edge of your bed -- leave your knickers off," commands Mrs Hamilton. "I'll be back shortly with the tawse to teach that cheeky English backside of yours a lesson!"

Groaning inwardly at being so easily busted you turn to obey. There's no point in making a fuss, or it's straight to your landlord for a lengthy strapping. When Mrs Hamilton returns she finds you kneeling in place by your bed. She fingers her tawse expectantly.

"This will teach you to keep your room clean -- you little hussy!" she spits.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

Mrs Hamilton thrashes the two-tailed tawse across your backside a dozen times. You attempt to keep yourself from calling out, both because you don't want to let Mrs Hamilton know she's hurting you and because you don't want to raise the ire of her strict husband.

Snap! Snap!

Finally your tawsing stops at a dozen, your bum suitably frazzled from the experience. Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

"Let that be a lesson to you!" barks Mrs Hamilton. "Keep this room clean -- I could return at any time."

Vowing to both yourself and Mrs Hamilton that you will behave you are finally left in peace to dress.

Turn to page 158.

Page 791

Mrs Hamilton gasps as she enters the room. The bed is made, your clothes, except the ones you're changing into, are neatly packed away, your work filed away on the small shelf in your bedroom. The room is dusted and pristine.

"Well ..." she says, speechless. "This seems adequate. Well done."

"Thank you," you say curtly. "Would you mind leaving me to dress? It's considered rude to burst in on someone unannounced in my country."

Mrs Hamilton looks like she's going to say something -- but she is unable to find a rebuke. Grumbling to herself she closes the door, leaving you flushed with victory.

Gain 1 point of either Ambition or Dignity.

Turn to page 158.

Page 792

"Good lord!" cries Mrs Hamilton horrified. "Were you robbed?"

You gaze about your room. Your bed is unmade, your floor is awash with dirty clothes, and your papers spill across your desk without order.

"Oh ... umm ... I was going to tidy up this afternoon..." you mutter ashamedly.

"You'll tidy up right now!" screeches Mrs Hamilton. "And only once this room is spotless will I issue your punishment. This is a disgrace!"

Mrs Hamilton storms off, ranting. You look at your room -- it is rather disgusting. Sighing you set to work getting it straight, stuffing clothes into draws and tidying your paperwork. Even your landlord, Mr Hamilton, seems offended as he passes by your open door.

"A rather poor show, Dianne," he tuts. "I trust you'll take your coming punishment without complaint?"

You swallow as the stern old man gazes you down. "Yes, sir," you mutter meekly.

Once your room is completely cleared you go downstairs to ask Mrs Hamilton to inspect it. It's still not up to scratch as far as she is concerned -- your drawers are in disarray, and your bed sheets need changing. She instructs you that she is going to punish you double for your failings.

"Two dozen strokes of the tawse across your bare bum cheeks!" she declares. "That should concentrate your mind on keeping your room clean!"

Under Mr Hamilton's supervision, you are stripped below the waist, bent over your bed and thrashed with the tawse, your bed sheets muffling your cries. Only once your bottom is a mottled red from the twin straps of the tawse and two dozen strokes have been issued are you allowed to tearfully rise, promising earnestly you will mend your ways.

Raise your Bum Status by 2 levels .

Turn to page 158.

Page 793

Later that week, in your office, you receive a visit from a man called Mr Worthington. Apparently he sits on the council and requires a private word from you regarding the telephone project.

"Let me be clear -- I'm not very keen on your little scheme to bring mobile phones to the island," admits Mr Worthington. "Nonetheless it is the wish of the island council. That being the case I'd like you to employ my son's company to do some electric work for you. You must have all kinds of wires and things you need soldering together -- he'll be useful to you."

You smile politely but explain that you already have enough electricians on the contract -- brought in from London by ComLondon. Mr Worthington frowns.

"It wasn't a request, you stupid woman," he barks. "You'll employ him at once! If Earnest Worthington requires a woman to do something for him she does it, lickerty-split! So I'll have no more cheeky backtalk. Here, I've brought a contract for you to sign."

Mr Worthington slides the contract across the table, taking a pen from his jacket pocket for you to use. You cannot believe the cheek of the man!

"I don't know your son, and I don't know you," you say firmly. "Now get out, or I'll have you thrown out!"

Mr Worthington leans forwards. "I'm very influential on the council, Miss Hathaway," he hisses. "Deny me this and I will make it my life's work to ruin you. Your every success will become a failure. Every step forwards will be two steps back. If I leave this room without a signed contract your project is doomed!"

That's ... quite a threat!

What do you do?

Sign the contract. Having an enemy this powerful will be more trouble than it's worth? Turn to page 794.

Refuse to sign the contract and have Mr Worthington thrown out? Turn to page 795.

Refuse to sign the contract, but insist Mr Worthington spanks you for your audacity? Turn to page 796.

Page 794

You flinch under Mr Worthington's implacable gaze. "Very well, Mr Worthington," you sigh. "It appears I have no choice."

"None at all," insists Mr Worthington. "Sign!"

Groaning inwardly you sign over the electrical contract for the project to Mr Worthington's son, Peter. It proves to be a disastrous mistake. Within a week Peter has fried the main computer comms room at the Telephone Exchange due to his inept electrical skills. The damage can be repaired but the loss to the contract is great.

Lose 20 progress points (this cannot take you down below zero).

After this monumental cock-up Mr Worthington finally allows you to wriggle out of the contract, if only to save face. You hope the project is not completely ruined!

Turn to page 158.

Page 795

"I don't give in to bullies, Mr Worthington," you say rising. "Now get out of my office or I'll have security throw you out!"

Gain 1 point of Ambition .

Mr Worthington goes red with rage. "You'll regret this, Miss Hathaway!" he hisses as he rises from his chair and storms out.

Mr Worthington will work tirelessly to halt the progress of your project. Whenever you are told to gain Progress points from now on you must halve the number you receive, rounding up. If, for example, you are told to gain 7 progress points , you only gain 4. Mr Worthington uses his influence on the council to slow all your future development.

With this grim news, Turn to page 158.

Page 796

"I refuse to sign," you say flatly. "However -- I insist that you deal with my defiance the traditional Westjack way," you add slyly. "You must take me over your knee and spank me until you feel I've learnt my lesson."

Mr Worthington looks surprised. "Why would you wish to add to your misery, Miss Hathaway? Why have a spanked bottom and my eternal enmity?"

"Because in Westjack all honour is satisfied once a spanking is complete," you explain. "You will not be able to pursue a vendetta against me if you have already punished me once."

Mr Worthington looks trapped and concerned. "Then ... I'll refuse to spank you..."

"You can't," you smile. "You are honour bound to spank a woman who requests it."

You rise from your chair, walk over to Mr Worthington and drape yourself over his lap. "Westjack culture is a two edged sword, Mr Worthington," you mock. "It cuts both ways. I won't have an enemy like you at my back and neither will I have your useless son. I'm ready for my spanking now."

Mr Worthington is so enraged that he begins spanking your bottom clothed, before realising he is dishonouring himself by not striking a naked bottom. He soon rectifies that mistake, raising your skirt and tugging your knickers to your ankles, before spanking your presented nude cheeks as hard as he can.

It is certainly a painful spanking, and a long one. For over an hour Mr Worthington rains his hand down upon your bottom, holding you down firmly as you begin to squirm and cry out. You can only imagine what your colleagues must make of your cries and curses next door, but perhaps the sound of a spanked female is so common on Westjack that they think nothing at all?

After a full hour of spanking your bottom Mr Worthington finally tires, cursing his limited endurance.

Raise your Bum Status by 3 Levels .

"Well," you say, rising from his lap when it becomes obvious his hand is too sore to continue. "I'm very sorry I couldn't help you. Shall I have one of my staff show you the door?"

"I can find my way myself..." snaps Mr Worthington grumpily, storming out of your office.

Grinning quietly to yourself you pull up your knickers and get back to some work.

Turn to page 158.

Page 797

You have just finished a hard week at work when you receive some bad news. Mr Hamilton summons you into the living room for a little chat.

"I'm afraid you appear to have missed your rent payment," he says gravely. "My understanding was that I would be paid at the end of each month by your company. This has not happened."

"There must be some mistake," you say, panic rising in your voice. "All my arrangements are being made by ComLondon. Perhaps they are just a little late?"

"Perhaps," says Mr Hamilton sadly. "Unfortunately payment is now due. It's bad form to allow a contract to be unfulfilled."

If you have the trait 'Independently Wealthy', Turn to page 798.
If not, read on.

"What are you going to do, sir? Evict me?" you ask worried. If you have nowhere to live your project ends today...

"No -- that would be unreasonably harsh," reassures Mr Hamilton. "Perhaps, as you say, payment is merely late. I'll take your word for it, and only deliver two dozen strokes with the strap across your bottom as punishment. If payment is still not made next week, the punishment will double, then double again each week until you either pay up or voluntarily leave my house. Does that sound fair?"

It doesn't sound fair at all. But it is inevitable.

After supper, which you can only swallow through tremendous force of will, you prepare yourself for Mr Hamilton -- removing all your clothes below the waist as he requires, before knocking on his study door at ten o'clock at night.

After leaving you waiting a sufficient time, Mr Hamilton opens the door for you and asks you to present yourself across the back of his comfortable leather armchair.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

Mr Hamilton plies his belt across your bottom, his faulty aim impacting upon your left cheek more than the right. He has justice on his side and it lends him strength to his strokes.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

Soon you are wriggling and moaning to his rhythm, your blazing left cheek contrasting with your only slightly beaten right one. The cruel imbalance is driving you mad.

If your Willpower is 5 or more, Turn to page 799.
Otherwise, read on.

Snap!

Another hot stroke to your left buttock has you pleading with Mr Hamilton to even out his strokes a little. He sounds offended. "It is not for a punished lady to comment or complain about her punishment -- but very well. Since you want more on your right cheek you shall have it ... from a dozen extra strokes!"

You start to object, but another stroke to your burning cheeks silences your protests and turns them into a long groan of despair.

True to his word Mr Hamilton delivers thirty six strokes to your backside before the end. Raise your Bum Status by 3 levels .

You spend a sleepless night wondering how to get in contact with ComLondon to get them to send your rent earlier. Fortunately the very next day a brightly coloured envelope marked for Mr Hamilton's attention arrives on his doorstep.

"Splendid -- it's your rent money!" cries Mr Hamilton. "What a relief, eh?"

Cursing the inefficiency of the Westjack postal service you make your way wearily to work.

Turn to page 158.

Page 798

"How very embarrassing!" you cry. "Here, let me pay you in cash, right now!"

Popping open your wallet you take out the five hundred pounds rent Mr Hamilton charges for his tiny room. Mr Hamilton takes it gratefully.

"What a clever girl," he congratulates. "You know I am so glad you had this spare. I do hate to upset a girl by whipping her bare bottom. I'll hold onto this money and refund you when your cheque from the company comes in."

"No need," you assure him. "I'm just mortified you had to ask for it. Keep hold of the money in case of any other late rent payments."

"Wise girl," nods Mr Hamilton.

You return to your room, breathing a sigh of relief.

Turn to page 158.

Page 799

It would not do to complain. You remind yourself you are being punished for late payment of rent -- it's supposed to be uncomfortable.

Supressing further howls you mutely take your punishment as bravely as possible, Mr Hamilton's belt snapping across your bum the decreed twenty-four times. Raise your Bum Status by 2 levels .

You spend a sleepless night wondering how to get in contact with ComLondon to get them to send your rent earlier. Fortunately the very next day a brightly coloured envelope marked for Mr Hamilton's attention arrives on his doorstep.

"Splendid -- it's your rent money!" cries Mr Hamilton. "What a relief, eh?"

Cursing the inefficiency of the Westjack postal service you make your way wearily to work.

Turn to page 158.

Page 800

Halfway through a relatively productive day at the office you receive a call from Jennifer, Mr Stevenson's secretary. Your boss wants a word with you. Fearing the very worst you immediately attend him.

"Take a seat, Dianne," says Mr Stevenson gruffly. "There's a problem. Mr Crabtree, an important landowner on the western reaches of the island, is preventing the construction of a telephone booster on his land."

"Did we not secure permission to build first?" you ask.

"Of course we did -- but it was his wife who signed the documents," says Mr Stevenson irritably. "Mr Crabtree is absent from the island for about six months at a time. He claims his wife signed the order without his consent."

You shrug your shoulders. "If we have permission to build he doesn't have a leg to stand on."

"He could make trouble for us -- lots of trouble," explains Mr Stevenson. "I need you to persuade him to see things our way. Use your feminine wiles, or something. Just get his to drop his objection!"

Mr Stevenson's tone is not one to be denied easily. "Of course, sir -- I'll go and visit him now," you assure him.

Amazed that you managed to leave Mr Stevenson's office without a single stroke of the cane caressing your backside you quickly get the address of Mr Crabtree from Jennifer.

The Crabtree estate isn't the largest on the island, but it envelops a major road that links the western end to the town of Oldwell. Unless you intend to stick the booster in the middle of nowhere it has to go somewhere on his estate. You pass a frustrated ComLondon work crew who are waiting by the side of the road with the broadcast tower sticking out the end of a large truck. Mr Crabtree has chosen a very awkward time to object.

You are escorted into the estate manor by the gardener, who intercepts you on your way down the path. He warns you that you are unlikely to change Mr Crabtree's mind, and indeed his prophesy turns out to be rather accurate.

"Never!" insists Mr Crabtree, a man in his fifties, once you bring up the subject of the tower whilst having drinks in the drawing room. "I'll never have that filthy tower built on my land. It would ruin the view."

"Sir, it's vital to position the tower there -- you would cut off the entire western side of the island if you refused now," you say.

"Let them be cut off -- no one asked my permission," he huffs. "They side-tracked me and went through my gullible wife whilst I was away. Well, she's sorry for it now. Thirty strokes of the cane across her bare arse I gave her, she sees things quite differently now -- don't you, dear?"

"Yes, dear," concurs Mrs Crabtree ashamedly, shuffling awkwardly on the chair next to him.

"Mr Crabtree," you say, trying not to blush. "The position we've chosen for the broadcast tower already contains an electricity pylon and a set of telephone wires. I hardly think that a broadcast tower will impinge the view much more."

"It's an inconvenience!" he rails. "An inconvenience -- who will pay for my inconvenience?"

"We're paying you rent, Mr Crabtree..."

"Not money! Real inconvenience!" he insists. "I want someone to suffer for the rape and desecration of my land."

"Oh, Martin," cries Mrs Crabtree, "do you have to be so dramatic, dear?"

"Not another word out of you, woman! Or it's another session across the punishment bar for you!" he warns his wife.

This is getting ridiculous. What do you do?

Pass this matter on to the lawyers -- like it or not, Mr Crabtree's estate has given permission for construction and that it that. Turn to page 801.

Offer to suffer some 'inconvenience' as compensation for Mr Crabtree's woes? Turn to page 802.

Page 801

Although you'd prefer your legal team to be doing more practical work, at the end of the day this is the sort of thing they are paid to do. Referring the matter to the courts you get on with some real work. Hopefully the lawyers will sort the whole thing out before switch on day in seven weeks' time!

Lose 4 progress points , but gain 1 point of Ambition .

Turn to page 158.

Page 802

"Mr Crabtree -- I feel passionately that this mobile phone project is exactly what this island needs to get on in the modern world," you say firmly. "And I'm willing to prove it to you if necessary."

"And how would you do that, exactly?" demands Mr Crabtree.

"You feel that my company deceived you by brokering a deal through your wife," you explain. "You've caned her for it. But you're not angry with her, you're angry with us -- the company that deceived you. If I hear you right you're not upset with the deal per-see, but how the deal was made. I represent ComLondon, Mr Crabtree -- so if you're after someone to punish ... it should be me."

Mr Crabtree doesn't look too sure, but his wife soon changes his mind. "You won't win this through the courts, dear -- everything has been legally signed. Why don't you cane the girl, at least it will make you feel better!"

Mr Crabtree harrumphs a little, but eventually concedes. "I suppose it's better than nothing," he grumbles. "Fine. Get the girl ready, Dorothy. I'll join you in fifteen minutes."

You watch as Mr Crabtree leaves, his steps a little more vigorous than they were when you first arrived.

"Come on, dear," sighs Mrs Crabtree. "He'll want to take you over the punishment frame, I expect. This way."

Mrs Crabtree takes you to a large, airy room hung with sports and shooting trophies. She explains that her husband was quite the sportsman in his youth, and even now spends half his time away from home collecting sporting memorabilia and going on hunts overseas. "A tedious little man, really," sighs his wife, "but he must have his way or he becomes impossible to live with."

She looks you up and down critically. "Still -- I think he's going to enjoy himself with you," she says appreciatively. "Take your clothes off, dear -- all of them, please. My husband likes to whip a woman nude."

If you have the codeword NAKED, Turn to page 803.
Otherwise read on.

This is an outrageous demand! If you wish you can leave the house and pass the matter to the lawyers. If you do you must lose 4 progress points and 4 points of Reputation for refusing an official punishment. Turn to page 158.

Otherwise you have no choice but to accede to Mr Crabtree's decree. You have never taken your clothes off in public. You find the task acutely shameful. Slowly removing your work jacket first, you fold it up and place it neatly on the ground next to you. You remove your skirt next, reasoning that your top at least covers your knickers for a few precious seconds as you do so.

Still under the accusing eyes of Mrs Crabtree you slowly pull off your top, leaving you in your underwear. Which to remove first? You suppose dignity demands that you reveal your breasts first, and you unclasp your bra with trembling fingers that delays the final release of your round tits delightfully.

Just the knickers to go. Trying to suppress your tears you swiftly tug your knickers down and clamber out of them, your naked buttocks rolling and generous breasts bobbing as you complete the manoeuvre.

You've never felt less ready, more vulnerable or nervous. Lose 1 point of Ambition , Dignity and Willpower as your Mrs Crabtree drinks in your nakedness.

Record the codeword NAKED .

Turn to page 804.

Page 803

A bald faced demand that you strip nude in public? Once, perhaps, this would have given you pause. Now, however, it's no sweat.

You pull your clothes off as simply and as easily as if you were alone, soon standing quite naked in the roomy punishment chamber. Mrs Crabtree looks impressed.

Turn to page 804.

Page 804

"Well done, Dianne," says Mrs Crabtree once you are standing nude before her. "What a gorgeous body you have -- my husband is in for quite a treat! Well, let's get you in position."

Mrs Crabtree opens a side cupboard. In addition to the numerous canes, belts, straps and quirts that seem common in every Westjack household there is a folded up triangular whipping frame, much like an old school horse but with a steel frame instead of solid wood. It has a comfortable padded top at its apex. When you see Mrs Crabtree struggling with the frame you quickly go to help her, and between you and her you lock the frame in place.

"Now -- it's up to you dear, you can be manacled to the frame so you can't move or you can just grip on," explains Mrs Crabtree. "Either is fine -- but I should say that my husband has rather wondering hands when a girl is tied up in front of him. Of course, being tied down means you can't get extras for changing position ... it's up to you, really."

What would you like to do?

Allow yourself to be manacled to the frame? Turn to page 805.

Or are you tough enough not to need it? Turn to page 807.

Page 805

On balance you'd rather be locked on to the frame. Surely being caned naked is humiliation enough, and to be frank you're still a little unsure of your endurance under the cane.

Mrs Crabtree soon has you bent over the frame and locked into position, your arms and legs securely fastened to the corners of the whipping bench. Your legs feel indecently spread behind you -- but there is no way to cover yourself now. You must endure whatever Mr Crabtree deigns to give you until your body is released from the frame.

"I'll leave you to it, dear," chirps Mrs Crabtree. "My husband is a nasty old caner, but you've made him very happy by agreeing to this. It will all be worth it -- you'll see!"

You hope she's right. You feel very vulnerable and alone now she's gone.

You are left waiting on the frame, stretched and taut, for a full hour before Mr Crabtree returns to deal with you. "My wife told me you were manacled, so I saw no reason to hurry," he explains shamelessly. "I was in the middle of finishing the newspaper when you came and still had a number of articles to get through."

His hand touches your bottom, feeling over its smooth expanse. His fingers brush lightly against your bumhole, and then more roughly at your sex. "Does the prospect of a naked caning excite you, Dianne?" he wonders aloud.

If you have the trait 'Lust for the cane', Turn to page 806.
If not, read on.

You squeal as you feel his fingers begin to push into your sex. You feel utterly humiliated and demand that he stops his probing at once. Lose 1 Dignity point .

"Alright, fussy!" snaps Mr Crabtree. "I thought you might appreciate a bit of fun as well as pain ... but so be it!"

Marching over to the cupboard he retrieves a stout bamboo cane, swishing it through the air. "Thirty -- just like my wife had to take," he says briskly. "Scream all you want, it's music to my ears."

At that Mr Crabtree sweeps the cane through the air with a low whoosh!

The cane bites in, straight and true, your helplessly exposed buttocks sliced by the heavy stroke. A powerful red trackline forms just moments after the stroke. Nodding appreciatively Mr Crabtree swings again.

Whoosh! Snip!

The cane finds its mark again, lower this time, causing you to hiss and cry.

Whoosh! Snip! Whoosh! Snip!

Soon your bottom is gyrating to the rhythm of numerous strokes of the cane, cruelly laid on by a skilled practitioner of the instrument. Mr Crabtree is a man who has always had his way -- today is no different and the unlikable little man thrashes your arse contemptuously with his stick, having never felt the implement himself across his own backside.

Locked to the frame, with permission granted to cry out, you unleash a musical howling from your voice to control the pain of your cruel whipping. A girl's fortitude to the cane means nothing to Mr Crabtree, whether you take it stoically or not he thrashes with the same disregard, welting your behind with powerful strokes.

Raise your Bum Status by 3 levels .

When he has finished with you he lights a cigarette and takes a seat, coolly studying the arse he has just whipped as if it were a canvas he has painted. "The high stripes are a little uneven -- the welts a little messy. Besides that I'm quite happy with it. What do you say?"

Desperate to cradle your sore behind you respond with a simple "thank you, sir," and leave it at that.

"I had a quick look at that contract my wife signed -- looks pretty water-tight so I suppose that blasted tower of yours can go up," he says. "Superb crupper, by the way, enjoyed thrashing it."

At that he gets up and leaves, finally granting his wife permission to unlock you some fifteen minutes later. Dressing and swiftly leaving you just hope this ordeal has been worth it in the end...

Turn to page 158.

Page 806

You feel as if you want to crawl under a rock and die as Mr Crabtree's fingers emerge from your sex wet and sticky right up to the knuckles. "Obviously you like the idea quite a bit," he laughs, drying his fingers on your bum.

You are too ashamed to say anything, and can merely droop your head in disgrace. Lose 1 point of Dignity .

"Not to worry, girly," he says caustically, tweaking your clitoris cruelly. "I can play with this as well as lash your bum. Maybe it will make up for what I'm going to do to your arse ... probably not, but maybe..."

Marching over to the cupboard he retrieves a stout bamboo cane, swishing it through the air. "Thirty -- just like my wife had to take," he says briskly. "Scream all you want, it's music to my ears."

At that Mr Crabtree sweeps the cane through the air with a low whoosh!

The cane bites in, straight and true, your helplessly exposed buttocks sliced by the heavy stroke. A powerful red trackline forms just moments after the stroke. Nodding appreciatively Mr Crabtree swings again.

Whoosh! Snip!

The cane finds its mark again, lower this time, causing you to hiss and cry. Mr Crabree's fingers return to your clit, mashing it furiously, causing you to moan in helpless abandon. Just as you are reaching a crescendo his fingers pull away.

Whoosh! Snip! Whoosh! Snip!

Soon your bottom is gyrating to the rhythm of numerous strokes of the cane, cruelly laid on by a skilled practitioner of the instrument. Mr Crabtree is a man who has always had his way -- today is no different and the unlikable little man thrashes your arse contemptuously with his stick, having never felt the implement himself across his own backside.

Locked to the frame, with permission granted to cry out, you unleash a musical howling from your voice to control the pain of your cruel whipping. A girl's fortitude to the cane means nothing to Mr Crabtree, whether you take it stoically or not he thrashes with the same disregard, welting your behind with powerful strokes. Between sets of six or so he returns to your sopping clit, mashing and stroking your throbbing nubbin until you feel you might explode. When finally he allows you to come over three dozen strokes have cracked into your arse, with plenty more inflicted during your howling orgasm.

Raise your Bum Status by 4 levels , but gain 2 Fun points .

When he has finished with you he lights a cigarette and takes a seat, coolly studying the arse he has just whipped as if it were a canvas he has painted. "The high stripes are a little uneven -- the welts a little messy. Besides that I'm quite happy with it. What do you say?"

Desperate to cradle your sore behind you respond with a simple "thank you, sir," and leave it at that.

"I had a quick look at that contract my wife signed -- looks pretty water-tight so I suppose that blasted tower of yours can go up," he says. "Superb crupper, by the way, enjoyed thrashing it."

At that he gets up and leaves, finally granting his wife permission to unlock you some fifteen minutes later. Dressing and swiftly leaving you just hope this ordeal has been worth it in the end...

Turn to page 158.

Page 807

You don't think it's safe to trust your body to a man 'with wandering hands' and opt to take your strokes unbound. Besides, taking your punishment without restraint might impress him...

Mrs Crabtree bends you right over the bar and instructs you to spread your limbs in a wide x-shape. "He'll just whip you until you obey, so you might as well get on with it, dear," she says sadly as she separates your legs, placing each heel in a different corner.

"I'll leave you to it, dear," chirps Mrs Crabtree, once you are settled in position. "My husband is a nasty old caner, but you've made him very happy by agreeing to this. It will all be worth it -- you'll see!"

You hope she's right. You feel very vulnerable and alone now she's gone.

Not five minutes later Mr Crabtree has returned, perhaps nervous you might chicken out and run off on him.

Marching over to the cupboard he retrieves a stout bamboo cane, swishing it through the air. "Thirty -- just like my wife had to take," he says briskly. "Scream all you want, it's music to my ears -- but don't get up or close your legs. I like to see everything."

At that Mr Crabtree sweeps the cane through the air with a low whoosh!

The cane bites in, straight and true, your helplessly exposed buttocks sliced by the heavy stroke. A powerful red trackline forms just moments after the stroke. Nodding appreciatively Mr Crabtree swings again.

Whoosh! Snip!

The cane finds its mark again, lower this time, causing you to hiss and cry.

Whoosh! Snip! Whoosh! Snip!

Soon your bottom is gyrating to the rhythm of numerous strokes of the cane, cruelly laid on by a skilled practitioner of the instrument. Mr Crabtree is a man who has always had his way -- today is no different and the unlikable little man thrashes your arse contemptuously with his stick, having never felt the implement himself across his own backside.

If your Willpower is 5 or more, Turn to page 808.
If not, read on.

You are soon hollering as Mr Crabtree's thick cane slices into your bum again and again. Your legs twitch and your feel curl, but you don't dare move your legs together. You are fortunate - a girl's fortitude to the cane means nothing to Mr Crabtree, whether you take it stoically or not he thrashes with the same disregard, welting your behind with powerful strokes.

Raise your Bum Status by 3 levels .

When he has finished with you he lights a cigarette and takes a seat, coolly studying the arse he has just whipped as if it were a canvas he has painted. "The high stripes are a little uneven -- the welts a little messy. Besides that I'm quite happy with it. What do you say?"

Desperate to cradle your sore behind you respond with a simple "thank you, sir," and leave it at that.

"I had a quick look at that contract my wife signed -- looks pretty water-tight so I suppose that blasted tower of yours can go up," he says. "Superb crupper, by the way, enjoyed thrashing it."

At that he gets up and leaves, finally granting his wife permission to unlock you some fifteen minutes later. Dressing and swiftly leaving you just hope this ordeal has been worth it in the end...

Turn to page 158.

Page 808

Plumbing all your reserves you grip onto the lower bar of the punishment frame and howl through your punishment as lightly as you can. You needn't have bothered - a girl's fortitude to the cane means nothing to Mr Crabtree, whether you take it stoically or not he thrashes with the same disregard, welting your behind with powerful strokes.

Raise your Bum Status by 3 levels .

When he has finished with you he lights a cigarette and takes a seat, coolly studying the arse he has just whipped as if it were a canvas he has painted. "The high stripes are a little uneven -- the welts a little messy. Besides that I'm quite happy with it. What do you say?"

Desperate to cradle your sore behind you respond with a simple "thank you, sir," and leave it at that.

"I had a quick look at that contract my wife signed -- looks pretty water-tight so I suppose that blasted tower of yours can go up," he says. "Superb crupper, by the way, enjoyed thrashing it."

At that he gets up and leaves.. Dressing and swiftly leaving you just hope this ordeal has been worth it in the end...

Turn to page 158.

Page 809

Managing to come home on time for a change you imagine that Mrs Hamilton would at last be a little bit nicer to you. Far from it -- she has a nasty trap in mind.

"My husband and I decided that you can cook the dinner tonight," says Mrs Hamilton with sniff. "It seems only fair that you pull your weight around here every so often. We'll be having some of the neighbours over, so make sure whatever you make is good enough for public consumption."

Leaving you gaping like a fish Mrs Hamilton goes and joins her husband in the living room. It looks like dinner is on you tonight!

If you have the trait 'Domesticated' Turn to page 810.

If you have the trait 'Independently Wealthy' Turn to page 811.

Otherwise, read on.

As a London girl, born and bred, you naturally have no frigging idea how to cook. You lamely cook up some sausages and baked beans, since someone at university once taught you how to make that.

Mr Hamilton and his guests politely accept your fare, but given they came dressed up in their best clothes, clearly with the idea they were going to receive three courses of something, they leave a little disappointed.

At Mr Hamilton's suggestion his wife gives you a good belting that night across your naked bum cheeks for humiliating the family.

"Useless ingrate!" she thunders as she whips your behind. "Do they even bother to teach girls anything in that decadent English island of yours?"

There is no time to respond. There is only time to wince and cry as Mrs Hamilton snaps two dozen strokes of the belt across your bottom.

Raise your Bum Status by 2 levels .

Turn to page 158.

Page 810

Mrs Hamilton doesn't have many exotic ingredients, but you are able to whip up a nice prawn cocktail, a roast chicken, and some homemade lemon meringue from what she has in her larder. The meal is succulent and tasty, and you are publically congratulated by Mr Hamilton and his guests. Only Mrs Hamilton doesn't appear to be enjoying her meal. She enjoys it even less when her husband suggests she take some cookery tips from you in the future.

Gain 1 Dignity point and 2 points of Reputation; word of your domestic skills travels through the close-knit Westjack community.

Strangely, Mrs Hamilton never asks you to cook again!

Turn to page 158.

Page 811

Why cook for yourself when you can pay someone else to cook for you? Of course this will require some skill at deception. Quickly popping out to 'buy some ingredients' you pop over to the local restaurant and give them a bucket load of cash to make your food for you.

Sneaking back into the house you quickly put the pre-prepared meals in the oven and keep them warm until dinner time, clattering some cutlery and jiggling some pans to imitate the sound of hard work coming from the kitchen.

The meal is succulent and tasty, and you are publically congratulated by Mr Hamilton and his guests. Only Mrs Hamilton doesn't appear to be enjoying her meal. She enjoys it even less when her husband suggests she take some cookery tips from you in the future.

Gain 2 points of Reputation ; word of your domestic skills travels through the close-knit Westjack community.

Strangely, Mrs Hamilton never asks you to cook again!

Turn to page 158.

Page 812

You are sick with nerves. Today is the day of your update meeting with Mr Stevenson. You spent a restless night, seeming to hear the sound of his dreaded cane whistling through the air as you slept. You just hope you are completely prepared...

You make your way into Mr Stevenson's office and see Jennifer, his secretary, waiting for you. She looks almost as nervous as you are.

"He's not in, yet," she explains. "That gives us time to get you ready, come on."

She escorts you into his office and places his papers to one side of the desk. "Just pop yourself over the desk, raise your skirt and drop your knickers for him. I'll go and make his coffee..."

"What?" you cry. "I haven't done anything wrong ... yet."

"Oh -- it's just to save him time," explains Jennifer innocently. "He sees all his girls like this, when they have a performance meeting with him. It shows him you're ready for your punishment."

"But he might not cane me!" you insist. "He might be happy with my work!"

Jennifer bursts into laughter, putting a hand across her mouth as she does so -- her pretty blonde hair bobbing with her mirth. "Happy with your work -- that's a good one, Dianne!" she giggles. "Seriously he canes everything that wears a skirt so get in position for him -- otherwise he'll only cane you for not being in position!"

Jennifer departs Mr Stevenson's room for the coffee machine. The sound of distant footsteps from down the hall panics you, and you quickly fold yourself over the desk, all pretence at dignity gone. As you hear the footsteps getting closer you quickly flip up your skirt and wriggle down your knickers. Oh, God! He's coming!

"Your cup of coffee is nearly ready, Mr Stevenson!" exclaims Jennifer brightly, still boiling the water.

"Too slow," snaps Mr Stevenson. "How many strokes are you up to now?"

"Twenty ... twenty four, Mr Stevenson," stammers Jennifer.

"I'll see you after I finish caning Dianne," he says coldly.

A shiver of fear runs down your spine. Jennifer was right! He'll cane you no matter what. Lose 1 point of Willpower unless you have the trait 'Lust for the cane'.

You hear the door slam closed behind you, the brush of air tickling your exposed bum hole and sex. You can see in your mind's eye what Mr Stevenson's first impression of you must be -- a half-naked girl presented for his cane.

"The council has been giving me hell about your project, Dianne," snaps Mr Stevenson as he moves around the table and into your line of sight. His hand begins to search through his canes in the umbrella stand. "I've had a wretched morning and it's only nine o'clock. Let's hope you have some good news for me."

"Yes, sir," you quail, as he picks up his file on you and leafs through a few pages.

"First of all -- the Update Presentation," he announces. You hold your breath.

If you have the codeword COMPLETE, Turn to page 813.

If you have the codeword FOUND, Turn to page 814.

If you have the codeword GAIN, Turn to page 815.

If you have the codeword BLANK or LOST, Turn to page 816.

Otherwise, read on:

"First question -- where is it?" he roars.

You tremble before him. "I ... I haven't got round to it yet, sir..." you admit feebly.

Mr Stevenson withers you with his gaze. "You haven't got round to it," he repeats slowly. Mr Stevenson picks up his cane and slowly walks around behind you. "Was I talking to a wall, or my project manager, when I asked for you to complete that presentation?"

You swallow, terrified. "Your project manager, sir," you croak feebly.

"Good," he says, tapping his cane against your trembling buttocks. "There's no point caning a wall, after all..."

Vip!

Like a gunshot the cane cracks into your presented arse and you give a great cry. That was a fierce cut, even from Mr Stevenson. He's really angry with you.

"This is not a child's game, Dianne..." shouts Mr Stevenson.

Vip!

"Ah!"

"I did not ask you to do homework..."

Vip!

"Uh!"

"I asked you to complete a business presentation..."

Vip!

"Oh!"

"So that I could figure out just how severely I should beat you for your incompetence!"

Vip! Vip! Vip!

"Ow! Ah! Ahh!" you whimper, as the cane slashes into your behind.

"But it appears that you are so completely incompetent I cannot even do that!" he roars.

Vip! Vip!

You cry, you tremble, you moan as Mr Stevenson thrashes you in anger. His disappointment with you is obvious, and his cruel rebuke to your behind is savage. In all four dozen strokes cut across your cheeks before Mr Stevenson is through, leaving you a sobbing wreck.

Raise your Bum Status by 4 levels .

Finally lowering his cane he growls at you: "Get that Update finished in the next four weeks, or this caning will seem like a stroll in the park compared to the next one!"

"Yes, sir -- I promise!" you sob, bum blazing.

Gain the codeword REPORT .

Turn to page 817.

Page 813

"I have to say I was greatly heartened when I read your report," admits Mr Stevenson, to your absolute relief. "The report is detailed, accurate, and demonstrates we are much closer to project completion than I first thought. Good work and well done."

Such praise from Mr Stevenson is practically unheard of! You may add one to either your Ambition, Dignity or Willpower.

Almost sighing with relief you wait for Mr Stevenson to continue his assessment.

Turn to page 817.

Page 814

"This information seems to be mostly accurate -- but I noticed several gaps in the data which have been filled in with mindless spread sheets and vapid observations," Mr Stevenson says grumpily. "If you don't have the information just say so, don't try and bamboozle me with figures!"

"Sorry, Mr Stevenson," you say, tensing.

"Don't get me wrong -- the report is a good one," he reassures you. "Therefore I will only inflict a paltry dozen strokes across your bottom as a warning against future deception."

Mr Stevenson's cane taps against your buttocks in warning, and you close your eyes shut as you prepare for the inevitable...

Vip!

Even, crisp and hot, the cane sears into your behind, directly across your middle buttocks.

Vip! Vip!

Mr Stevenson obviously isn't too cross. His cane is slicing evenly into your cheeks, fairly spread across the whole of your bottom. It may be piercingly acute, but the blows are fair and professional.

Vip! Vip!

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level for this brisk, matter of fact caning.

"Let's move on, shall we...?" says Mr Stevenson as you clench your whipped globes sympathetically.

Turn to page 817.

Page 815

"This report is painfully thin on details," tuts Mr Stevenson. "There was little of much substance to read."

"Sorry, sir," you say, stomach fluttering. "But much of the data was lost or destroyed by my predecessor."

"A more industrious girl would be able to recover it," he opinions icily. "Two dozen strokes for performing so poorly..."

You wince as Mr Stevenson taps his cane sharply across the centre of your buttocks. You've let him down, and this is going to hurt...

Vip!

Even, crisp and hot, the cane sears into your behind, directly across your middle buttocks.

Vip! Vip!

Mr Stevenson obviously isn't too cross. His cane is slicing evenly into your cheeks, fairly spread across the whole of your bottom. It may be piercingly acute, but the blows are fair and professional.

Vip! Vip!

However two dozen from Mr Stevenson is enough to try the hardiest soul. If your Willpower is not at least 5, lose 2 points of Reputation as your thrash and howl under Mr Stevenson's strict caning.

Raise your Bum Status by 2 levels .

"Let's move on, shall we...?" says Mr Stevenson as you clench your whipped globes sympathetically.

Turn to page 817.

Page 816

"I read your report ... or should that me your memo?" says Mr Stevenson irritably. "You claim that all the information from your predecessor is entirely lost, destroyed or irretrievable. The various sob stories attached to the report about how you failed in each case to get the information made distracting reading. They also, however, highlighted your astonishing incompetence!"

You shiver in fear. You're really going to get it now!

Vip!

Like a gunshot the cane cracks into your presented arse and you give a great cry. That was a fierce cut, even from Mr Stevenson. He's really angry with you.

"This is not a child's game, Dianne..." shouts Mr Stevenson.

Vip!

"Ah!"

"I did not ask you to do homework..."

Vip!

"Uh!"

"I asked you to complete a business presentation..."

Vip!

"Oh!"

"So that I could figure out just how severely I should beat you for your incompetence!"

Vip! Vip! Vip!

"Ow! Ah! Ahh!" you whimper, as the cane slashes into your behind.

"But it appears that you are so completely incompetent I cannot even do that!" he roars.

Vip! Vip!

You cry, you tremble, you moan as Mr Stevenson thrashes you in anger. His disappointment with you is obvious, and his cruel rebuke to your behind is savage. In all three dozen strokes cut across your cheeks before Mr Stevenson is through, leaving you a sobbing wreck.

Raise your Bum Status by 3 levels .

Mr Stevenson lets you compose yourself for a few minutes before continuing.

Turn to page 817.

Page 817

"So -- the licence authorisations," says Mr Stevenson coolly. "How are they progressing?"

If you have the codeword LICENCE, Turn to page 818.

If you have the codeword HALF, Turn to page 819.

Otherwise, read on:

"Actually, sir, I haven't quite got round to that yet," you admit fearfully.

"Why does that surprise me, Dianne?" asks Mr Stevenson sarcastically. "It seems that you and hard work are not keen bedfellows!"

"Sir...!" you begin to object.

Vip!

A cane stroke, swiftly applied, cuts off your interjection. More follow, until your backside is dancing and rolling to the swiftly applied punishment. You cannot get a word out as Mr Stevenson lashes you for your failure, a full two dozen strokes delivered at a frantic rate.

Raise your Bum Status by 3 Levels .

"Get them done, Hathaway," snarls Mr Stevenson. "You have four weeks."

"Yes, sir," you groan, your backside sizzling behind you.

Turn to page 820.

Page 818

"All complete, sir," you say proudly. "Legally speaking there is nothing holding the project back now."

"Excellent," says Mr Stevenson. "That's one less thing to worry about."

It certainly is for you, you think ruefully as you consider your naked bottom.

Turn to page 820.

Page 819

"About half-way through, sir," you admit. "We should still be able to switch on -- all the legally tenuous licences have been completed first."

"But we are not totally complete?" presses Mr Stevenson.

"No ... no, sir," you admit bitterly.

Mr Stevenson flexes his cane. "I'll hire a solicitors firm to complete the rest -- but that means we've gone over budget. I hate going over budget. I'm going to make you hate it too..."

Mr Stevenson taps the cane across the lowest portion of your buttocks. You grit your teeth.

Vip!

"Ah!" you cry at the cruel stroke. The impact leaves a bright red line across your tender under-bum, your buttocks quivering in complaint.

Vip! Vip! Vip!

Mr Stevenson thrashes you low and accurately a dozen strokes, leaving you hissing and howling to his steady rhythm. This is turning into one hell of an update meeting!

Raise your Bum Status by 2 Levels .

Turn to page 820.

Page 820

"The comms booster survey," says Mr Stevenson, flicking through your file.

If you have the codeword TRANSMISSION Turn to page 821.
If not, read on.

"I see you still have not found a site for it?" presses Mr Stevenson.

"No sir -- nothing yet," you admit.

"Idiot!" hisses Mr Stevenson, his cane flashing through the dappled sunlight.

Vip! Vip! Vip!

Slowly, regularly, Mr Stevenson cracks his cane across your cringing buttocks. You cry out, causing Jennifer next door to break her pencil on a form she is filling in and wince in sympathy. Mr Stevenson punishes you slowly, giving you plenty of time to take in the rising sting in your buttocks between strokes. Only when the pain has reached it absolute height does he slash the cane down again, a gurgling scream emitting from your mouth, such that they can hear you in the car park outside.

Your bottom feels slashed to pieces behind you. Raise your Bum Status by 3 levels .

"Try again, Dianne," demands Mr Stevenson. "I don't know if you have even bothered to attempt it, but try again. I need that comms tower installed before project end or this whole thing will fall apart!"

"Yes, sir," you snivel.

[Note: You may now select the option "Assist with the Comms Booster Survey" in the Management Hub again -- even if you have chosen it before. You must, however, choose a new location to explore.]

Turn to page 822.

Page 821

"Horace Jackman has informed me that the new Comms Tower has been sited and is already in place," says Mr Stevenson with surprise. "Good work. At least we'll have some coverage on the eastern end of the isle."

You exhale in relief. At least that's one thing Mr Stevenson can't cane you about!

Turn to page 822.

Page 822

"I asked you to attend to your staffing levels -- either by sacking useless staff or getting some new ones in," says Mr Stevenson thoughtfully.

If you have the codeword TRANSFER, Turn to page 823.

If you have the codeword DISMISS, Turn to page 824.

If you have the codeword UNWANTED, Turn to page 825.

If not, read on.

"Sir ... other priorities presented themselves," you say evasively. "Such that I couldn't find time to make the changes you wanted."

"In other words you ignored the old man and just did things your way, yes?" snaps Mr Stevenson testily.

"I wouldn't say that, exactly..." you add hastily.

"Don't mince words, Dianne," says Mr Stevenson, tapping his cane against your bum cheeks. "I never mince mine..."

Vip!

You jolt at a cruel diagonal stroke across your bum. A second soon follows it, and then a third. It becomes obvious that Mr Stevenson is forming a new pattern on your bottom, and you can do little more than help futilely as uses your arse as a canvas.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level , or 2 levels if Mr Stevenson has already caned you today -- the diagonal strokes awaken your old cane welts, much to the agony of your poor abused bottom.

"I'll make the changes ... as soon as possible..." you pant, promising anything to stop the caning.

"Don't bother," spits Mr Stevenson. "It's your team. Do what you like with them."

Pah! If that was his attitude, why did he cane you in the first place?

Turn to page 826.

Page 823

"You've made a successful transfer already -- is the new girl working out?" demands Mr Stevenson.

"Oh, very well, sir!" you say enthusiastically. "She's already made a huge impact on the workload."

"Good," says Mr Stevenson. "Only a strong team will get this project completed."

An intact bottom helps too, you think (but do not say).

Turn to page 826.

Page 824

"I'm aware that you've removed a team member ... who wasn't pulling their weight," says Mr Stevenson carefully.

"With great reluctance, sir," you add, equally carefully.

"Of course," he replies thoughtfully. "It's the hardest thing for a manager to do. But it takes steel to lead, and you've shown it."

Mr Stevenson quickly moves on from this awkward subject.

Turn to page 826.

Page 825

"You sacked my son," says Mr Stevenson, flatly. "I was very surprised. I have to say it wasn't what I was expecting when I told you to throw out the deadweight from your team."

"I did what I had to, sir," you say defiantly. There's no way you're going to re-employ Nigel Stevenson!

"Of course!" says Mr Stevenson, brightly. "We are professionals here -- we don't fall prey to cronyism or petty politics!"

You breathe a sigh of relief. You thought Mr Stevenson might be difficult about this.

"On a completely unconnected matter," says Mr Stevenson breezily, "I happened to notice that your skirt was indecently short last week. As professionals it's vital that we present a professional front. I think a dozen strokes of the cane should prove an adequate reminder of the importance of decent dress?"

Swine. You say nothing as the cane taps against your taut bum. It looks like Mr Stevenson is going to have his revenge after all...

Vip!

With unhealthy enthusiasm Mr Stevenson lashes the cane into your soft buttocks. You've hurt his family, regardless of the rights and wrongs of it, and now he's going to hurt you...

Vip! Vip!

You lift onto tiptoes and hiss as the cane snakes underneath your buttocks to the line where bottom and legs meet. Sitting down is going to be a distinct problem over the next few days.

Vip! Vip!

You groan through twelve strokes, well laid on. Mr Stevenson grits his teeth as he lashes you, ensuring that each stroke is as painful as possible. Raise your Bum Status by 2 levels .

When he finally stops you breathe a sigh of relief. As a Westjack man he is now required to let his vendetta drop now that he has punished you. The ghost of Nigel Stevenson can finally be laid to rest.

Turn to page 826.

Page 826

"Community relations," says Mr Stevenson loudly, brushing the cane across your pouting bottom cheeks. "I asked that you present a public face to the Westjack community."

If you have the codeword SPORTY or FETE, Turn to page 827.
If not, read on.

"As far as I can tell you've spent most of your time locked in the office barely seeing anyone," he shrugs.

"Sir -- I had to prioritise the project..." you bleat.

"You could have humoured the old man and done something!" snaps Mr Stevenson. "Well ... I suppose it's too late now. Bum up for a dozen good ones!"

Mr Stevenson slides the cane under your shivering buttocks, pushing you up onto tiptoes. You close your eyes as his cane taps out his mark.

Vip!

"Uh!" you cry, the unfairness of the beating more painful than the sting.

Vip! Vip!

Your bottom churns as strokes are laid on with speed. Mr Stevenson intends to make this a perfunctory punishment. How you wish now you had got a spot of fresh air instead of suffering this!

Vip! Vip!

If your Willpower is not at least 5 you must lose 1 point of Ambition , as Mr Stevenson's cruel caning puts you firmly in your place.

Once the twelve strokes are over your bum feels positively aflame. Raise your Bum Status by 2 levels .

"I dare say its too late to do anything about community relations now," ponders Mr Stevenson. "Just crack on with getting the project finished -- I'll not discuss this matter again with you."

"Thank you, sir," you moan, defeated.

Turn to page 828.

Page 827

"You appear to have done an adequate job on that front," concedes Mr Stevenson. "Plenty of people know your name and what you stand for. Thank you for indulging me."

Thanks from Mr Stevenson! You must be doing something right...

Add 1 point to either your Ambition, Dignity or Willpower.

Turn to page 828.

Page 828

"Lastly, I asked you to discover the identity of the spy who has been dogging our project and end their activities," growls Mr Stevenson. "What have you to report on that front?"

If you have the codeword INFORM, Turn to page 829.
Otherwise, read on.

Either you do not know the identity of the spy or you do not have sufficient proof to accuse them.

"I'm sorry sir -- I wasn't able to find them out..." you say weakly.

Mr Stevenson slaps your left cheek with his hand angrily, but then seems to calm himself. "Nor did I -- and I've been looking for them actively," he concedes. "It wouldn't be right to punish you for something I couldn't do myself. I am, however, very disappointed in you."

You heart sinks. Why is it that even a casual remark of disapproval seems to cut you as deep as a cane stroke? Lose 1 point from either your Ambition, Dignity or Willpower.

Turn to page 830.

Page 829

"I never managed to find the spy," you lie. "But I found the man responsible for ordering the espionage. I'm afraid it's Steven Claremont, the deputy mayor."

Mr Stevenson cracks the cane flat across the desk, only inches from your face. "That swine! I knew it! He's always been opposed to the project!"

"I've warned him off, sir -- the spying has stopped," you reassure you manager, eyes fixed to the cane tip only inches away from your nose. "But I dare say he'll try and cause us trouble again in the future."

"I dare say you're right," growls Mr Stevenson. "But you leave Mr Claremont to me -- he's my problem now. You ... you've done well. I'm beginning to see why ComLondon sent you to me, Dianne Hathaway."

You blush with pride. Gain 1 point of Willpower .

Turn to page 830.

Page 830

If Mr Stevenson has caned you during the meeting, Turn to page 831.

If he didn't cane you, even once, Turn to page 832.

Page 831

Mr Stevenson strolls back to the umbrella stand, placing his faithful cane back where it belongs. "As I expected you've failed to meet my expectations," grunts Mr Stevenson. "Let that scorched backside of yours serve as a lesson. Get my project finished, Dianne! I'll see you in a few weeks' time. Now get out!"

"Yes, sir!" you cry, hopping to your feet, clutching your burning bottom behind you.

You are so keen to leave his presence you practically hop out of his office and into Jennifer's without even pausing to pull up your knickers. Jennifer rises to comfort you, before Mr Stevenson's voice bellows through the door.

"Don't think I've forgotten about you, Jenny!" he snaps. "In here, skirt up, knickers down!"

"Oh, crumbs!" curses Jennifer, giving you a quick peck on the cheek before going to her own doom.

By the time you have dressed and fixed your makeup Jennifer's shrill voice can be heard echoing through the corridors of ComLondon, to the rise and fall of Mr Stevenson's cane. Wincing in sympathy you head back to your office.

Turn to page 158.

Page 832

"Well ... everything seems to be in order," concedes Mr Stevenson, considering his unused cane with surprise. "I am very hopeful that this project is on track and on target."

You can't believe it! You've managed to get through an entire update meeting with Mr Stevenson without a single stroke of the cane kissing your backside!

Add one point to your Ambition, Dignity and Willpower.

"Thank you, sir!" you cry, amazed. "Will that be all?"

"Yes ... yes that's everything," grumbled Mr Stevenson. "Now crack on..."

"Yes, sir!" you say brightly, rising smoothly, tugging your knickers over your unblemished backside and smoothing down your skirt.

You enter Jennifer's office, the secretary open mouthed in surprise.

"He didn't even cane you once?" she asks amazed.

"Of course not -- I'm a good girl, Jenny," you smirk.

Mr Stevenson's voice bellows through the door. "Don't think I've forgotten about you, Jenny!" he snaps. "In here, skirt up, knickers down!"

"Oh, crumbs!" curses Jennifer, giving you a quick peck on the cheek before going to her doom.

By the time you have left the office Jennifer's shrill voice can be heard echoing through the corridors of ComLondon, to the rise and fall of Mr Stevenson's cane. Wincing in sympathy you head back to your office.

Turn to page 158.

Page 833

One evening, as you return to the house at six o'clock in the evening, you find that Mr Hamilton is entertaining a guest. It is Mr Simmonds, from next door -- a man of a similar age but of rather greater girth than Mr Hamilton. He seems rather grumpy and upset.

"Ah! Dianne -- I was hoping to see you back early," says Mr Hamilton, waving you into the small brown living room. "Have you met Mr Simmonds?"

"Just in passing -- good evening Mr Simmonds," you say brightly.

"Well -- it's been a better evening than it has a morning..." grumbles Mr Simmonds.

"Has something happened?" you ask cautiously.

"Yes!" he cries. "Your damned ComLondon men have been digging up the road all morning! Something about laying cables."

You think carefully. The broadband installers were due to be in this area today -- that's true.

"I'm awfully sorry for the inconvenience," you reply neutrally.

Mr Hamilton smiles warmly. "I knew that you would be, Dianne," he says with relief. "I told Mr Simmonds you would have no objection to going over his knee as compensation for his troubles. He seemed to think that you would be too pompous and stuffy. I'm glad we could put him right on the matter..."

Whoa! Hold on! Who said anything about going over fat old Mr Simmonds' knee?

What do you do?

Readily agree with your landlord, apologising to Mr Simmonds as you bend over his lap? Turn to page 834.

Refuse -- point out that digging up the road is hardly your fault? Turn to page 835.

Page 834

It wouldn't do to humiliate your landlord...

"Of course, Mr Hamilton -- neighbourly relationships are so important," you say meekly. "I'd be happy to take responsibility for my company."

"Good girl!" congratulates Mr Hamilton, his eyes full of pride. "You see, Derek? She's the sweetest, hardest working, most honest English girl I've ever met."

"Yes, yes -- I'm sure she's an angel," grumbles Mr Simmonds. "Now over my lap, girl!"

You slide yourself over Mr Simmonds fat legs, allowing him to adjust your skirt and knickers to his own liking (they end up around your knees like a pinion). Mr Hamilton leans back in his chair to watch proceedings, and you feel almost reassured he is in the room. At least he will stop any churlish behaviour on Mr Simmonds part.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

A rhythmic slapping of your bottom soon begins, Mr Simmonds bending over you so that his belly presses up against your side. What a grotesque old man!

Smack! Smack! Smack!

The spanking goes on -- but not for too long. Soon enough Mr Hamilton declares that you've had enough, and that honour is satisfied. You're not sure Mr Simmonds would agree, but he holds off after having delivered a mild spanking to your bottom.

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level , but lose 1 point of Ambition for allowing yourself to be treated like a common Westjack girl.

Mr Hamilton excuses you from the room, looking pleased. At the very least you've got your landlord on side. Heaven knows what would have happened to your bum if he'd gotten angry with you!

Turn to page 158.

Page 835

Gain 1 Ambition point for standing up for yourself.

"Sir, this is not very reasonable," you object with as much restraint as possible. "I can hardly be held responsible for any disruption to Mr Simmonds' morning."

"Really," says Mr Hamilton archly. "Why is that?"

If you have the trait 'Organised' Turn to page 836.
If not, read on.

"The construction timetables fall under a different manager," you say. "I have no say over what time they choose to work."

"A poor excuse," sniffs Mr Hamilton. "Now get over Mr Simmonds' lap at once!"

Mr Simmonds looks upon you lustily. You cannot bear this. "No!" you shout. "I refuse to be spanked by a man I have not offended. This island is ridiculous!"

You flee to your room, seething with outrage. You've submitted to quite a few spankings in your time but this one just seems arbitrary and cruel. After a few hours you begin to realise that punishment for your behaviour is going to be inevitable. You've offended Mr Hamilton -- and he'll have you out of his house unless you act the penitent girl.

Waiting until he has retreated to his study and the loathsome Mr Simmonds has gone you prepare yourself for Mr Hamilton's wrath. You know that he likes penitent women to visit him in his study stripped from the waist down so they can demonstrate how sorry they are. Gingerly doing so you creep half naked to his study door, lowering your head in mock shame, knocking on the door three times.

Mr Hamilton leaves you to wait for a few minutes, during which his wife passes you on the landing, grinning wickedly at your semi-nude state. She knows what is going to happen to you, and you don't doubt the old witch is getting considerable pleasure from the idea.

Finally, a very grumpy voice bids you "enter!"

You quietly enter the room, head down, hands agitating in front of you. Mr Hamilton receives you coolly.

"Well -- what do you have to say for yourself?" he asks sternly.

"I'm ... very sorry I acted in such a childish way, Mr Hamilton," you say, your speech rehearsed in your head. "I shouldn't have stormed out of the room like that."

"And?" he presses.

"And ... I'd very much appreciate it if you would punish me for my misbehaviour," you add miserably.

"I shall," he says dryly. "Mr Simmonds has quite gone off the idea of giving you a spanking now -- but I assure you, I haven't! You'll bend over my lap for that spanking now, and after that it's two dozen with the strap. You are the most incorrigible girl, Dianne!"

You are too ashamed to say anything. Why does Mr Hamilton make you feel like a disobedient school girl reporting to her headmaster? In any case you must appease him or lose your place to stay in Westjack.

Your spanking is sharp but perfunctory. Your bum is soon glowing under Mr Hamilton's hand, which blurs as it strikes your naked bottom. You are only spanked for five minutes or so, but it serves to warm you up nicely. Raise your Bum Status by 1 level .

Next the strap. Ordered over the back of Mr Hamilton's leather armchair, your feet barely touching the floor, you wince through two dozen strokes of leather across your backside. Mr Hamilton's fierce tone brooks no argument, and you dare not place so much as a foot out of place as he sears your behind. Raise your Bum Status by 2 levels .

Mr Hamilton dismisses you coldly, still obviously angry with you -- but too honourable to inflict extra strokes just due to his mood. He quietly tells you all is forgiven and that you should go straight to bed. You do so, unable to shake the feeling that you've let the old man down...

Turn to page 158.

Page 836

"We sent out notification that there would be road repairs three weeks ago," you say, remembering the memo Horace Jackson, the construction manager, sent you. "Everyone in the road should have got a letter."

"That's true," admits Mr Hamilton. "We did receive prior warning. And there was a notice on the lamp post by the post box saying much the same thing."

"But ... the inconvenience!" blusters Mr Simmonds.

"I hardly think Dianne could have done more to warn you," opinions Mr Hamilton thoughtfully. "Road works have to happen sometimes. I don't think there is a case to answer here. As her landlord I have to look after my lodger's interests, and I see no reason for her to be punished simply for executing her duties."

Mr Simmonds seems outraged but can't summon up a counter argument. He swallows some tea and grumbles slightly.

"Sorry to detain you, Dianne," says Mr Hamilton brightly. "I'll let you crack on, shall I?"

"Thank you, Mr Hamilton," you say politely, trying not to smirk at Mr Simmonds as you leave the lounge.

Turn to page 158.

Page 837

There has been a spate of thefts at work, recently. Money has been taken from handbags, and no one seems to be able to find the culprit. It's beginning to affect the morale of the team.

If you have the codeword AGENT, Turn to page 838.

If you have the trait 'Sneaky', Turn to page 839.

Otherwise, read on:

You have little choice but to contact the police. Constable Farley himself arrives, much to the terror of many of the office girls. He begins to interview broadly across the office.

If you have the codeword HOLD, Turn to page 840.
If not, read on.

Unable to discover the culprit Constable Farley opts to thrash your entire female office staff, reasoning that the thefts must be local. Wearily and obediently the ladies form a long line and bend over for the constable, seamlessly dropping their knickers as they do so.

The constable informs them that this thrashing shall happen every week until the thefts stop, before proceeding to thrash the poor girls two dozen each with his heavy paddle.

As a manager you can be exempt from this beating if you wish. If you opt to take the spanking along with the rest of your team raise your Bum Status by 2 levels .

Constable Farley's solution is not popular with your team. Lose 4 points of Reputation , or only 2 points if you allowed yourself to be spanked with the rest of the team.

The thefts don't stop ... but no one is foolish enough to call in the law next time!

Turn to page 158.

Page 838

Thefts and intrigue? You know the perfect woman for this. Jennifer is more than happy to help find your thief, especially since you could have her sacked if you breathed so much as a word about her indiscretions.

A couple of days later Jennifer informs you that she has caught the thief and that she has been punished appropriately. She refuses to divulge the name in case you feel wrathful and seek to sack the poor girl. The money, however, has been returned, much to the delight of your staff.

Gain 2 points of Reputation .

Turn to page 158.

Page 839

It takes a sneak to catch a thief, and you're the sneakiest of them all. Deliberately leaving your bag open on a table with your purse temptingly lying on top of your things, you nonchalantly stroll around the office occasionally assisting a staff member, your eyes constantly fixed on your bag.

Sure enough, just as the cleaning lady begins to noisily vacuum around the office, you make sure you are near to your bag -- letting Julian Bennett show you the latest server upgrades he had sent to him from London.

With a deft move you grab the cleaning lady's hand just as it delves into your bag, her hand still gripping your purse as you tug it clear. The cleaning woman, a middle aged lady who looks like she wouldn't harm a fly, freezes in terror as you lock her with a fierce gaze and the office gasps in surprise.

You escort her up to Mr Stevenson, so he can issue the correct justice upon her. You didn't get anyone's money back, but the thief is caught and justice is done.

Gain 2 points of Reputation .

Turn to page 158.

Page 840

The constable, after due consideration and investigation, accuses you of stealing the money, siting your previous criminal actions. At least he has the common decency to make his accusation in your own office, away from prying ears.

"Me?" you cry. "I'm the most well paid professional woman on the island! Why would I steal money?"

"I've found that the thrill of the theft itself tends to motivate bored and overqualified women," he says flatly.

"Bored and overqualified?" you roar, outraged.

"Besides, we had an agreement, did we not?" presses Constable Farley. "That I would not spread tales about your misdeeds provided I was allowed to correct them at will -- with my special paddle?"

So that's what it is. Farley doesn't suspect you at all -- he was just looking for another excuse to thrash your bottom. The man has you over a barrel, you can't object to your punishment for fear he will mention the little misunderstanding at the docks. Seeing your shoulders slump in defeat he orders you to bend over your own desk to receive your punishment.

The humiliation of being beaten in your own office, with your entire staff in hearing range, by a member of the police is acutely embarrassing. Lose 1 point of Ambition or Dignity. Coldly commanding you to step out of your knickers you await, your ripe cheeks tensing as the paddle is measured against them...

Crack!

Constable Farley's special punishment paddle slaps against your bottom cheeks, momentarily squashing them flat, a fiery burn immediately ignited across them.

Crack! Crack!

With heavy swings the constable thrashes your bottom, several of your staff pressing their ears to the door to hear if you will scream.

If your Willpower is 5 or more you manage to stay silent. Otherwise lose 1 Dignity point as your cries are heard clear across the office.

Crack! Crack!

By the end of three dozen strokes your bottom feels numb, all the sorer for the brutal unfairness of your punishment. Raise your Bum Status by 3 levels .

Most of your staff still think you innocent of the thefts, but Westjack is a gossipy place where a ladies good name is in constant peril to rumour and innuendo. Lose 3 points of Reputation .

Turn to page 158.

Page 841

The stress is really building up in the office now. With just two weeks to go everyone is feeling frazzled and burnt out. It is then something happens in the office which you expected to happen much earlier, and it fairly catches you off guard.

You are presented with a ream of data by Natalie Philpot, one of your data analysers. Unfortunately she has got a formula wrong in one of her columns which has ended up making the entire spread sheet useless. You ask her to start again on it, and get the data updated by the end of the day.

Finally, Natalie cracks. "You know what, miss," she snaps through clenched teeth. "I've had it up to here with your endless, stupid demands. You're not even from around here! Just some jumped up English tart who thinks she knows it all even though you barely do anything around here!"

You are shocked!

If you have the codeword ANGELA, Turn to page 842.
If not, read on.

You grind your teeth. "Natalie -- in my office!" you bark.

"No -- why should I?" she demands bald faced. "You're English, you don't even know how to cane properly!"

The gauntlet has been laid down. What do you do?

Fetch your cane and thrash the wretched girl? Turn to page 843.

Threaten her with Mr Stevenson? Turn to page 844.

Or, since she won't talk to you in private, discuss what is making her so upset at her desk? Turn to page 845.

Page 842

"Natalie, enough!" snaps a voice from across the office. It is Angela Carmichael, your deputy manager. Her duty cane is already in her hands. "Bend right over your chair -- right over you wretched girl!"

Natalie pales and instantly obeys, Angela's tone so frightening you are almost tempted to do the same.

In moments Natalie has her skirt lifted and knickers down, Angela firmly delivering the first of twelve strokes to her bottom. Natalie hisses and moans, her agitated state making her forget the poise and grace normally expected from a Westjack girl under fire.

A dozen savage cuts later Natalie is sobbing, her poor backside ablaze behind her.

"What do you say to Miss Hathaway, Natalie?" demands Angela mercilessly.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" she sobs. "I'll get that data fixed!"

"See that you do," you say coldly. "Thank you, Miss Carmichael."

"You're welcome, Miss Hathaway," Angela smiles slyly.

Turn to page 158.

Page 843

You hoped you wouldn't have to do this, but maybe it was always inevitable? The longer you've been on the island the more you've come to realise that many Westjack girls expect to punished by their boss. Maybe Natalie is just old school to accept anything else?

You emerge from your office, cane in hand, looking as fierce as you can. "I'm very disappointed in you, Natalie," you say sharply. "But it looks like this is the only thing you understand."

Natalie sneers at you. "Oh, please, Miss Hathaway," she snorts. "I've been caned my whole professional life, you really think you can bother me with that weedy little twig?"

"Let's find out, shall we?" you reply archly. "Over your desk. Now."

Natalie's eyes flash as she twists around and lays herself prostrate over her desk. She reaches for her skirt. "Bare bum, I assume?" she says sarcastically. "Or would that be too shocking for an English girl?"

"It's always bare bum on Westjack, Natalie -- you know that," you growl. "Now get those knickers down!"

Natalie complies, clearly unafraid of the weapon you wield. You'll have to make these hurt if you seek to recover your reputation. "Twelve of these, then you can apologise," you say, levelling the cane against her naked cheeks.

If you have the codeword TRAINED, Turn to page 846.
If not, read on.

It's a pity you never learned how to use the cane properly. You try to make up in enthusiasm what you lack in skill, slashing the cane down swiftly to leave bright red track lines across her bum. But at full strength many of your shots are off target. Besides Natalie is a tough old thing and a few lashes wouldn't trouble her from an inexperienced hand.

"Is that it?" she asks sarcastically after the twelfth stroke has lashed her bottom. "No wonder this project is failing..."

"That's enough Natalie!" you snap.

Natalie stand up, re-arranging her clothing. "You know -- you're right. I'm not working for an English girl; it's beneath me! I quit!"

Natalie grabs her bag and storms out of the office, leaving you feeling very foolish with that cane in your hand. Lose 1 point of Ambition and 5 points of Reputation.

Barking at the rest of your crew to get on with their work you retreat to your office in shame.

Turn to page 158.

Page 844

"Do I need to get Mr Stevenson down here, Natalie?" you threaten.

Marjorie goes pale. "But ... but I'm your employee..."

"And his!" you insist. "I'll give him a call now, shall I? I expect he'll be extremely annoyed that his day was interrupted by the likes of you."

"No! No -- there's no need!" says Natalie quickly. "I'll get that spread-sheet re-written..."

Natalie quickly scampers off to obey your instructions. Nevertheless your standing is somewhat undermined. Your staff realise that you need to threaten them with Mr Stevenson rather than fear any retribution upon their backsides from yourself.

Lose 2 points of Reputation .

Turn to page 158.

Page 845

You'll not sink to the level of some brutish Westjack male just because you've been slighted. Firmly, but quietly, you sit at Natalie's desk and talk through her difficulties. At first she simply rages, but later you manage to find out just how overworked and stressed she has become. It seems that she has about three project deadlines to finish today and your demand that she re-do the figures was the last straw.

Once she has calmed down she apologises, and you in turn extend her deadline to the end of next week. Gain 1 Dignity point for resolving this dispute amicably.

However your staff don't quite see it that way. As far as they can see Natalie exploded and insulted you and you did nothing to re-assert your honour. Lose 4 points of Reputation .

Turn to page 158.

Page 846

Vip!

With practiced cruelty you lash into Natalie's buttocks, dead across the centre. It wasn't the hardest hit, but it was true and clearly stung. As Natalie jiggles her bottom to disperse the pain you steady her cheeks with your cane to demonstrate who is in charge. She instinctively stops her little dance and raises up on tiptoes.

Vip!

Another measured stroke, just slightly lower than the first. This time Natalie gives a grunt of pain. That's better -- she's feeling it now.

Vip! Vip!

Cautiously, taking your time, you lash Natalie's buttocks with patience and skill, guiding her bottom into position with your cane between strokes. It is this silent command, more than the pain of the strokes, that tames Natalie's spirit. She knows that you understand the feel of the cane and how to use it.

Vip! Vip! Vip!

You lay the last three on quite fast to prevent her from recovering. Because they come in contrast with the slow, measured performance earlier, you have Natalie howling in surprise and fear.

"Do you have anything to say to me, Natalie?" you demand, tapping your cane against her streaked buttocks.

"I'm very sorry, miss!" she squeaks, at last able to accept you as her boss. "I'll get those figured corrected this afternoon."

"Good girl," you say, drawing the cane away. "Carry on, everyone."

Gain 1 Ambition point . This is a lesson your team won't forget in a hurry!

Turn to page 158.

Page 847

If you have the codeword REPORT or ENDEAVOUR, Turn to page 848.

Your stomach is sick with nerves as you come to your second update meeting with Mr Stevenson. You hope it will not end in one of his customary lashings, but prepare yourself nonetheless. As before you wait for him bent over his desk, your naked bottom facing the door, inwardly pleading that he will not find an excuse to beat you.

You are surprised when Jennifer comes in having taken a phone call. "Dianne, message from Mr Stevenson," she says brightly. "I'm afraid he's had to cancel this morning's meeting as he's in council sessions this whole week. He left a message to say that you should 'just bloody well get on and stop sticking your arse in the air'."

You don't need to be told twice! Thanking Jennifer for the message you correct your clothing, uttering a sigh of relief as you do so.

Turn to page 158.

Page 848

You hear Mr Stevenson's shoes clacking down the hallway long before you feel him enter the room. Your bottom quivers in fear. You just hope he's in a better mood today than he was last week.

"Bum up, Dianne," commands Mr Stevenson as he enters, smacking your right buttock as he passes you. You see him reach into his umbrella stand for his favourite rattan cane. You shiver in fear.

"There were one or two outstanding matters last month that you needed to deal with," he says nonchalantly, flicking through his file on you.

If you have the codeword REPORT, Turn to page 849.

If you have the codeword ENDEAVOUR, Turn to page 854.

Page 849

"I asked you to have another crack at the Update presentation," he announces.

If you have the codeword COMPLETE, Turn to page 850.

If you have the codeword FOUND, Turn to page 851.

If you have the codeword GAIN, Turn to page 852.

If you have the codeword BLANK or LOST, Turn to page 853.

Otherwise, read on:

"Now, since I don't have an update presentation on my desk I'm going to assume that you still haven't bothered to do it -- would I be correct in that assumption?" demands Mr Stevenson.

"You would, sir," you whimper. Why, oh why didn't you not at least attempt it?

"Tell me, Dianne," asks Mr Stevenson none-too-sweetly, stepping behind you. "Have you ever experience a hundred strokes of the cane across your bottom?"

"No, sir," you squeak.

"Then today is going to be a new experience for you..."

Vip! Vip! Vip! Vip! Vip!

Mr Stevenson lays on a flurry of cane strokes, slicing into your bum with strength and speed. You can do little more than grip the table and howl as your bottom is thrashed to pieces. You don't know if you were actually given a hundred strokes -- you lost count at fifty -- but either way your backside is cruelly damaged by the vindictive Mr Stevenson.

Raise your Bum Status by 6 levels .

"Useless girl," he spits afterwards, your backside utterly ablaze. "Now I just have to take your word for it that the project is on schedule..."

"It is, sir..." you choke.

"It better be," he growls. "I won't be so lenient to your backside if this project fails at the last minute!"

If you have the codeword ENDEAVOUR, Turn to page 854.

If not, you are dismissed in tears. Turn to page 158.

Page 850

"I have to say I was greatly heartened when I read your report," admits Mr Stevenson, to your absolute relief. "The report is detailed, accurate, and demonstrates we are much closer to project completion than I first thought. Good work and well done."

Such praise from Mr Stevenson is practically unheard of! You may add one to either your Ambition, Dignity or Willpower.

Almost sighing with relief you wait for Mr Stevenson to continue his assessment.

If you have the codeword ENDEAVOUR, Turn to page 854.

If not, you are dismissed. Turn to page 158.

Page 851

"This information seems to be mostly accurate -- but I noticed several gaps in the data which have been filled in with mindless spread sheets and vapid observations," Mr Stevenson says grumpily. "If you don't have the information just say so, don't try and bamboozle me with figures!"

"Sorry, Mr Stevenson," you say, tensing.

"Don't get me wrong -- the report is a good one," he reassures you. "Therefore I will only inflict a paltry dozen strokes across your bottom as a warning against future deception."

Mr Stevenson's cane taps against your buttocks in warning, and you close your eyes shut as you prepare for the inevitable...

Vip!

Even, crisp and hot, the cane sears into your behind, directly across your middle buttocks.

Vip! Vip!

Mr Stevenson obviously isn't too cross. His cane is slicing evenly into your cheeks, fairly spread across the whole of your bottom. It may be piercingly acute, but the blows are fair and professional.

Vip! Vip!

Raise your Bum Status by 1 level for this brisk, matter of fact caning.

"Let's move on, shall we...?" says Mr Stevenson as you clench your whipped globes sympathetically.

If you have the codeword ENDEAVOUR, Turn to page 854.

If not, you are dismissed. Turn to page 158.

Page 852

"This report is painfully thin on details," tuts Mr Stevenson. "There was little of much substance to read."

"Sorry, sir," you say, stomach fluttering. "But much of the data was lost or destroyed by my predecessor."

"A more industrial girl would be able to recover it," he opinions icily. "Two dozen strokes for performing so poorly..."

You wince as Mr Stevenson taps his cane sharply across the centre of your buttocks. You've let him down, and this is going to hurt...

Vip!

Even, crisp and hot, the cane sears into your behind, directly across your middle buttocks.

Vip! Vip!

Mr Stevenson obviously isn't too cross. His cane is slicing evenly into your cheeks, fairly spread across the whole of your bottom. It may be piercingly acute, but the blows are fair and professional.

Vip! Vip!

However two dozen from Mr Stevenson is enough to try the hardiest soul. If your Willpower is not at least 5, lose 2 points of Reputation as your thrash and howl under Mr Stevenson's strict caning.

Raise your Bum Status by 2 levels .

"Let's move on, shall we...?" says Mr Stevenson as you clench your whipped globes sympathetically.

If you have the codeword ENDEAVOUR, Turn to page 854.

If not, you are dismissed in tears. Turn to page 158.

Page 853

"I read your report ... or should that me your memo?" says Mr Stevenson irritably. "You claim that all the information from your predecessor is entirely lost, destroyed or irretrievable. The various sob stories attached to the report about how you failed in each case to get the information made distracting reading. They also, however, highlighted your astonishing incompetence!"

You shiver in fear. You're really going to get it now!

Vip!

Like a gunshot the cane cracks into your presented arse and you give a great cry. That was a fierce cut, even from Mr Stevenson. He's really angry with you.

"This is not a child's game, Dianne..." shouts Mr Stevenson.

Vip!

"Ah!"

"I did not ask you to do homework..."

Vip!

"Uh!"

"I asked you to complete a business presentation..."

Vip!

"Oh!"

"So that I could figure out just how severely I should beat you for your incompetence!"

Vip! Vip! Vip!

"Ow! Ah! Ahh!" you whimper, as the cane slashes into your behind.

"But it appears that you are so completely incompetent I cannot even do that!" he roars.

Vip! Vip!

You cry, you tremble, you moan as Mr Stevenson thrashes you in anger. His disappointment with you is obvious, and his cruel rebuke to your behind is savage. In all three dozen strokes cut across your cheeks before Mr Stevenson is through, leaving you a sobbing wreck.

Raise your Bum Status by 3 levels .

If you have the codeword ENDEAVOUR, Turn to page 854.

If not, you are dismissed in tears. Turn to page 158.

Page 854

"So -- the licence authorisations," says Mr Stevenson coolly. "How are they progressing?"

If you have the codeword LICENCE, Turn to page 855.

If you have the codeword HALF, Turn to page 856.

Otherwise, read on:

"Actually, sir, they still haven't been done," you quaver.

"Idiot!" snaps Mr Stevenson

Vip!

Your bum hops to a savage cut from the cane. More follow, swiftly and mercilessly applied until your entire backside from top to bottom is mass of crimson welts.

Raise your Bum Status by 4 levels .

"Getting those licences done is your only priority next week!" snaps Mr Stevenson. "Useless, useless girl!"

You scamper from the room, burning backside clenched firmly between your hands.

Turn to page 158.

Page 855

"All complete, sir," you say proudly. "Legally speaking there is nothing holding the project back now."

"Excellent," says Mr Stevenson. "That's one less thing to worry about."

It certainly is for you, you think ruefully as you consider your naked bottom.

Mr Stevenson has no more questions and you are dismissed. Turn to page 158.

Page 856

"About half-way through, sir," you admit. "We should still be able to switch on -- all the legally tenuous licences have been completed first."

"But we are not totally complete?" presses Mr Stevenson.

"No ... no, sir," you admit bitterly.

Mr Stevenson flexes his cane. "I'll hire a solicitors firm to complete the rest -- but that means we've gone over budget. I hate going over budget. I'm going to make you hate it too..."

Mr Stevenson taps the cane across the lowest portion of your buttocks. You grit your teeth.

Vip!

"Ah!" you cry at the cruel stroke. The impact leaves a bright red line across your tender under-bum, your buttocks quivering in complaint.

Vip! Vip! Vip!

Mr Stevenson thrashes you low and accurately a dozen strokes, leaving you hissing and howling to his steady rhythm. This is turning into one hell of an update meeting!

Raise your Bum Status by 2 Levels .

It seems, however, that Mr Stevenson is finished with you. You exit his office stiff and sore. Turn to page 158.

Page 857

Dianne Hathaway your time is up! You had twelve weeks to get 100 Progress Points. How did you do?

If you have 99 or fewer Progress Points, Turn to page 858.

If you have 100 or more Progress Points, Turn to page 859.

Page 858

Despite your best efforts you have failed to complete the project on time. The broadband lines are incomplete, the mobile phone towers are not installed, and the city hall has tied up your paperwork in several miles of red tape.

You are to be recalled to London in disgrace. ComLondon will have to pay a fortune in fines for late delivery. Indeed such is the furore surrounding the missed project date the council have requested a full refund from ComLondon. You have cost your employer forty million pounds.

But the wreck of your career and your public humiliation all pale into insignificance. For you have one last meeting to come with your boss, Mr Stevenson. Jennifer tells you, as you tremulously walk into her office, that he has booked the entire day off to 'discuss the failings of the project'.

You buttocks quiver and your legs turn to jelly. You observe through the glass Mr Stevenson preparing an array of canes, his whippy rattan flexing in his hands. This is going to be a long meeting...

Your adventure is over.

Page 859

The entire office is gathered around Julian's computer screen, watching nervously as the numbers turn green one by one. You are almost frantic with nerves -- it only takes one red number on the screen to refuse to turn green to mark the project as a failure.

You've worked so hard, and in such difficult conditions -- you've put your heart and soul into this project. But at the end of the day it comes down to this: a bunch of red and green progress numbers on Julian's computer monitor. You glance at the clock -- it's alright ... still plenty of time, another three hours before switch on. If there's something small, like a piece of code out of place or a single faulty transmitter you might, just, get it sorted in time.

Julian is on the phone to one of his engineers, cautiously checking through each number. "Right," he says. "That just leaves Section south-west -- are you ready? Okay ... okay ... go."

You watch, your heart in your mouth, the last two stubborn red numbers at the bottom of the list. There is a brief screen pause, and the numbers flick to a brilliant emerald green.

"Miss. Hathaway -- the board is green!" cries Julian in joy.

There erupts a mighty cheer across the office. Philippa grabs you and holds you close. "We did it ... my God! We did it Dianne!"

You laugh with joy and tears well up in your eyes. All those hard times, all those thrashings and delays -- it was all worth it! You've brought the twenty-first century to Westjack Island! There is a popping of Champaign corks and whoops of delirious delight. You didn't do this alone, your staff have worked harder and longer than they thought possible -- they've pushed themselves beyond all limits. Now it's paid off, and you are showered with praise from your ecstatic team.

Raise your Ambition, Dignity and Willpower by 1 point each.

Out of the corner of your eye you spot Mr. Stevenson, hanging at the office door, looking dark and gloomy as usual. You'll not stand for that on victory day.

"Mr. Stevenson!" you laugh, running up to him -- nearly hugging him in joy. "Come and join us -- the board's green! We're just waiting for final call from the council to turn on..."

"Dianne ... I..." Mr. Stevenson clams up. He goes a deathly white and hides his eyes away from you.

"Sir ... what's wrong? Are you alright?" you ask concerned. You've never seen Mr. Stevenson look so pale.

"My office. Now," he says quietly.

Mr. Stevenson spins around and walks quickly to the stairs, not even willing to wait for the nearby lift doors to open for him.

Pauline, still giggling from the Champagne, wraps her arms around your waist, placing her chin on your shoulder. "What's wrong?" she laughs. "Oh ... ignore him, this is your day, Dianne!"

"Something terrible has happened," you say darkly. You unwrap yourself from Pauline's arms and quickly turn to face her. "Look after everyone. I need to speak to the boss."

"Dianne...!" calls Pauline after you, but you have already begun to trot down the hall, punching the button for the elevator. What could have happened to have brought the indestructible, all-powerful Mr. Stevenson to such terrors?

You exit the lift at the top floor and march into Jennifer's office. Jennifer intercepts you, tears in her eyes. "Oh, God! Dianne! I'm so sorry...!" she blubs.

"What? What's happened?" you demand, your eyes flicking to the glass screen in the door to Mr. Stevenson's office. The great man has his head in his hands, almost slumped over his desk.

"The Authority," weeps Jennifer. "They've cancelled the project. God ... after all that work you did ... all those sacrifices..."

"They can't...!" you cry.

"They have ... it's not his fault, Dianne! Please don't blame Mr. Stevenson...!" cries Jennifer, but you have already burst through the door, Mr. Stevenson's shamed face barely able to meet your gaze.

"They can't do this!" you shout. "Everything is set up -- it's all finished! All it takes to turn it on is one button!"

"Dianne!" groans Mr. Stevenson. "My poor Dianne! I'm so sorry..."

"Everything's agreed, the licences are in place, the money's been spent!" you rant. "They can't just not turn it on!"

"I didn't think ... I didn't think you could do it," he admits, tears creeping into his eyes. "No one imagined you could go so far with it ... overcome so many hurdles. And as a woman too ... with every man against you."

You sit opposite Mr. Stevenson, leaning across the desk to bring your face closer to his. "I told you!" you hiss. "I told you I could do it! I gave you my word."

"I thought you were just a girl ... a slip of a girl, I'm so sorry," chokes Mr. Stevenson, the tears dripping down his cheeks.

"What's happened? What's changed?" you demand. "Mr. Stevenson, explain it so I can understand!"

Mr. Stevenson leans back, his eyes red, his lips quivering. "The Authority. The secret power of the island. I'm a member of it, Dianne. I've just come from a meeting ... stormed out of one, actually -- it's still going on even as we speak. They control everything -- the council, the police, everything. They think the phone network will be too disruptive. They allowed the mobile project to go ahead only to please the radicals on the island; they never thought it would actually work. They placed numerous impediments and restrictions on constructions -- made life impossible for ComLondon. Your predecessor went mad from the stress. The project looked doomed. When ComLondon insisted on hiring another Project Head the Authority demanded that it be a woman -- thinking that it would doom any possibility that ComLondon could complete in time."

Mr. Stevenson looks up with watery eyes, admiration gleaming. "But they sent you ... the most incredible businessman I've ever come across. I expected you to fail ... but slowly, as the weeks passed, I saw the project leap towards completion. In the last few weeks I've been in a hundred meetings with the Authority ... trying to change their minds. Once the project was complete I thought I could change their minds. But those ... useless bastards ... they never intended to complete the project. They just humoured me along. I've failed you! All that hard, impossible work you did for me ... and I failed you!"

Mr. Stevenson bursts into tears, shame overcoming him. You are dazed and dumbstruck.

What do you want to do?

Make a call to the Westjack town council, and demand they turn the new phone network on? Turn to page 860.

Get in contact with ComLondon back in London and inform them what's happened? Turn to page 861.

Try to break into the on-going meeting the Authority are having, and get them to change their minds? Turn to page 863.

Page 860

Mr. Stevenson is a wreck. It looks like you're going to have sort this one out!

You emerge into Jennifer's office, leaving the weeping Mr. Stevenson to his thoughts. "Jenny, get me the mayor," you say firmly.

"They mayor...?" she blurts.

"Quickly," you insist. "I have three hours to save this project."

Jennifer swallows and quickly picks up the phone. Over the next two hours she scours the island, calling the mayor's secretary, his friends, even his wife, trying to get the elusive town council leader on the phone.

Finally she manages to track the mayor down ... at the Boar's Head pub in Oldwell. Jennifer passes the receiver over to you.

"Hello? Hello? Is that Miss. Hathaway?" comes a crackly voice on the other end of the phone.

"Yes -- am I speaking to the mayor?" you ask uncertainly.

"That's right ... what can I do for you, Miss. Hathaway?" comes the remote voice at the end of the receiver.

You breathe in. "Mr. Mayor -- I work on the network and mobile phone project. We've just green lighted the project and were about to turn it on, but a rumour is going around that the project is cancelled. Is that true?"

There is a brief pause on the line. "That's right -- don't turn it on..."

"Mr. Mayor ... can I ask how this decision came about?" you say testily.

"The council felt that the internet would provide a negative influence on our society, so the project is suspended indefinitely whilst we conduct an investigation..." the mayor explains mechanically.

"And ... what? ... You made this decision this morning?" you ask exasperated.

"That's right..."

"After spending forty million pounds on a new network system?"

"Err..." the mayor seems to hesitate, you hear him consult with someone else a moment.

"You're being ridiculous," you snap. "You will condemn Westjack to bankruptcy and obscurity. Please, Mr. Mayor, you will make hundreds of people unemployed..."

"Miss. Hathway!" barks the Mayor with a new confidence. "We are a democracy! The decision has been made..."

"But not by the council!" you thunder. "Don't let a group of shadowy men control your destiny, Mr. Mayor!"

"I've heard enough, Miss. Hathaway," snaps the mayor. "I'm the employer and you will be paid either way. What we chose to do with our technology is no concern of yours. Good day, Miss. Hathaway."

He hangs up.

Over the next few days you manage to get in contact with your bosses in London. They are astonished at this turn of events, amazed that Westjack, having completed a complex network system, is now content to let the architecture rot in the earth.

"It's amazing, Dianne," admits Todd Wilkins, the head of ComLondon, over a satellite phone conversation held at great expense on the GlobeOil rig. "Westjack council signed up to a fifteen year maintenance contract with us. We're going to be paid to do nothing. Our lawyers will be all over this one..."

"I'm so sorry I couldn't get it done..." you croak, your throat tightening as the emotion takes over.

"Dianne, you did get it done!" insists Todd. "No one could have predicted that they wouldn't even turn the bloody thing on!"

"I don't know ... I guess I saw it coming, somehow," you admit. "I thought they might change their minds when it was turned on..."

"I want you back in London on the first plane, Dianne," asserts Todd. "Get out of that backward hellhole and come back to civilisation."

If your Reputation is 40 or more, Turn to page 862.

If not, read on.

Two weeks later you are waiting in the airport lounge at Westjack airstrip. Your cases sit by your feet as you take one last look at the quaint furniture and designs of Westjack. Even the chair you are sitting on, a wooden school chair that looks well over fifty years old, is a relic from the past. Westjack hangs suspended in time, small and fragile like a crystal glass, and forever fearful of the change that one day must come. The chance of managing that change, of the dutiful people of Westjack being in charge of those changes, has passed. When the future comes, it will dictate, not guide the innocent folk of Westjack Island.

A few minutes before your plane arrives you receive some visitors. Practically your whole team, including Jennifer, Julian, Pauline and Phil crowd into the small departure lounge, bearing a great bundle of flowers (expensive on Westjack) and a large, homemade card with dozens of names on it. You hug your colleagues tightly, a lump rising in your throat as you do so. Despite your best efforts you've failed them -- many of them shall shortly find themselves unemployed.

As you board the plane and gaze out of the window one last time at the windswept Westjack Island you behold a sight you never expected to see. Mr. Stevenson is standing next to the runway -- he's obviously been waiting some time for you to gaze out the window towards him. As he sees you recognise him he raises a hand, half a salute, half a wave. In his eyes is nothing but pride. It is a last bitter-sweet memory to treasure as your plane begins to take off and you leave Westjack far behind you...

Page 861

Mr. Stevenson is a wreck. It looks like you're going to have sort this one out!

You march straight through Jennifer's office and back into your own, where the rumours of the project's cancellation have already started spreading.

"I need to make a phone call," you say ominously. "Julian -- throw the switch..."

"Miss -- we can't!" objects Julian. "Without the council's permission to turn on it's..."

"Throw the bloody switch!" you thunder. "I need to be able to talk to London, I need to do it now or this whole project is sunk. So either get me a four thousand mile piece of string with a tin can on either end or turn the bloody mobile phones on!"

Intimidated by your sudden outburst Julian flicks the last few trip switches that activate the network for public use. Taking out your mobile phone you see all five signal bars light up for the first time since you left London. You flick through your address book to find Todd Wilkins' number and prepare to make the most expensive phone call the world has ever seen.

After a few rings you hear Todd pick up. "Congratulations Dianne," he answers warmly. "I assume this means that the network is up and running?"

"No Todd," you snap, "it means everything has fallen apart. At the eleventh hour the council have decided to scrap the project."

"Why? What went wrong?" asks Todd, bemused.

"Nothing went wrong -- everything went right!" you insist, emotion creeping into your voice. "We're all systems go over here. Now they're telling us we can even turn the damn thing on!"

"Alright, calm down Dianne -- we'll sort it," insists Todd. "I need you to put me in touch with Mr. Arthur Parritt. He's the council treasurer and our biggest supporter. Have Julian patch me through -- he was able to do it in the test runs last year so it should be no problem now."

You call over to Julian and issue the instruction. After a few instructions to the server Julian nods to you. "You can hang up now, miss -- he's through." And then, nerves frayed to tatters, you wait as Todd makes his call. You feel terribly helpless. After weeks of being utterly in charge of the project you have been reduced to waiting like a helpless school-girl on report whilst the teachers hammer out an agreement out of earshot.

The eleven O'clock deadline comes and goes and there is still no word. Finally, after an age, your phone rings. It's Todd.

"Well?" you say, as you pick up.

There is a momentary silence before Todd replies. "It's off," he says, defeated. "The Island council have terminated the contract -- just a few minutes before you phoned. Apparently there was a last minute vote, and the mayor used his veto to over-rule the council. There were objections, but they've subsequently petered out. Mr Parrit was about to lead a vote of no confidence in the mayor, but his closes allies seem to have been nobbled. There's a group on the island with a lot of influence called..."

"The Authority..." you mutter.

"That's it -- apparently threats have been made and the council has buckled," explains Todd dejectedly. "Arthur thinks there's no chance of overruling the decree in the short term. He holds out some hope that a few years down the line..."

"It's ready now!" you cry. "They've spent forty million quid on it. They can't just leave it to rot in the ground."

"Dianne," says Todd firmly, "it's over. The Westjack council will pay for it, but it's over. We'll sue them for the maintenance contract they've just abruptly terminated, that was worth fifteen million alone. But these people ... you just can't reason with them."

"I'm so sorry I couldn't get it done..." you croak, your throat tightening as the emotion takes over.

"Dianne, you did get it done!" insists Todd. "No one could have predicted that they wouldn't even turn the bloody thing on!"

"I don't know ... I guess I saw it coming, somehow," you admit. "I thought they might change their minds when it was turned on..."

"I want you back in London on the first plane, Dianne," asserts Todd. "Get out of that backward hellhole and come back to civilisation."

If your Reputation is 40 or more, Turn to page 862.

If not, read on.

Two weeks later you are waiting in the airport lounge at Westjack airstrip. Your cases sit by your feet as you take one last look at the quaint furniture and designs of Westjack. Even the chair you are sitting on, a wooden school chair that looks well over fifty years old, is a relic from the past. Westjack hangs suspended in time, small and fragile like a crystal glass, and forever fearful of the change that one day must come. The chance of managing that change, of the dutiful people of Westjack being in charge of those changes, has passed. When the future comes, it will dictate, not guide the innocent folk of Westjack Island.

A few minutes before your plane arrives you receive some visitors. Practically your whole team, including Jennifer, Julian, Pauline and Phil crowd into the small departure lounge, bearing a great bundle of flowers (expensive on Westjack) and a large, homemade card with dozens of names on it. You hug your colleagues tightly, a lump rising in your throat as you do so. Despite your best efforts you've failed them -- many of them shall shortly find themselves unemployed.

As you board the plane and gaze out of the window one last time at the windswept Westjack Island you behold a sight you never expected to see. Mr. Stevenson is standing next to the runway -- he's obviously been waiting some time for you to gaze out at the window towards him. As he sees you recognise him he raises a hand, half a salute, half a wave. In his eyes is nothing but pride. It is a last bitter-sweet memory to treasure as your plane begins to take off and you leave Westjack far behind you...

Page 862

With great sadness you begin to pack your things. In your tiny room in the Hamilton's house you try to refold your clothes back into the cases you arrived in. It proves difficult, despite the fact you haven't really bought anything new since you arrived on the island. No trinkets, no mementos, not even many photographs.

Why then does your throat tighten and stomach churn when you think about leaving? It's not as if these people have shown you much respect.

Mr. Hamilton has been very kind, full of comforting words. His wife has remained as cold as ever -- in fact you're sure she is revelling in your failure, the slightest smirk curling at the corners of her lips when she thinks you aren't looking.

You are surprised, therefore, when she comes into your room without her usual imperious attitude. Instead she looks surprised and bewildered.

"Dianne," she says, her eyes full of wonder. "You have a visitor..."

You raise an eyebrow. "Who would want to see me?"

"Marcus Aldershot!" she replies breathlessly.

"Never heard of him," you reply, going back to your packing.

"He's ... he's the chairman of the Authority!" exclaims Mrs. Hamilton breathlessly. "He wants to have a word. He's in the sitting room. My husband is out, but I don't think it's a problem. You must go and see him."

The Authority! The very people who killed your project dead and probably your career with it. "I don't have anything to say to him," you say sharply.

You wince as Mrs. Hamilton touches your arm. But she looks earnest. "I was wrong about you," she says flatly, swallowing slightly. "That's not an easy thing for an old woman to say -- but I was wrong. I've treated you appallingly. But you're one of us -- a Westjack girl. Your conduct on the island proves it. I don't care about your project, and neither does hardly anyone else. But we do care about you."

Your eyes open in wonder to hear Mrs. Hamilton say such things.

"Go and see Marcus," she insists. "He's not here to gloat, I promise."

The strangeness of the situation intrigues you, and you nod dumbly. Making your way down the Hamilton's creaking staircase you come to the brown living room, where a well-dressed man in his middle years is nonchalantly examining the photographs on the mantelpiece.

"Mr. Aldershot?" you ask crisply.

The man turns. He is handsome for his age, strong too, from the look of his over-large suit. He smiles warmly as he sees you.

"Dianne," he says grandly. "It's a pity we never got the chance to meet before. I've heard so much about you."

"I wish I could say the same," you reply archly. "But then since you're the chairman of a secret organisation that specialises in sabotaging well-intentioned attempts to improve your island, I suppose knowing your name would rather defeat the point."

He laughs. "You surprise me -- I expected more diplomacy from you. Your reputation on this island has you as a paragon of manners."

"I'm angry," you say flatly. "With the Authority -- and especially with you. Why did you do it?"

"You know the answer to that, Dianne," he replies sadly.

"Because you're afraid of the future?" you accuse.

"Not the future," he corrects. "The present. I see how things are in England now and I don't like it, neither does the Authority."

"Then why did you waste my time?" you thunder. "For three months I haven't slept. I've been lashed, whipped, disrespected, my projects sabotaged and spied upon. Why did you bother to have me come here if you were never going to turn the damn thing on?"

"Legal reasons," he explains simply. "We knew the project was impossible -- years away from completion. But we had to give ComLondon the opportunity to fail so that we could sue them through the London courts when the project collapsed. All that money we spent to keep the island council happy? We'd have got it back -- or at least most of it."

"But I did complete the project!" you hiss.

"Yes," he laughs, shaking his head. "Yes you did. Impossible as it was you actually did it. You're quite remarkable. Dianne, you're furious with me because I wasted your time. Can you imagine how angry I am with you at costing me forty million pounds?"

"You asked me to do a job and I did it," you insist. "Turn it on. Turn the phones on, Mr Aldershot, and then you haven't wasted anything."

"It won't be turned on, Dianne, and that's the end of it -- besides that's not why I'm here," says Mr Aldershot dismissively. "I didn't come here to discuss your project. I came here to discuss you. I want to offer you something. Something very special. Something that is rarely offered to any but the most deserving."

Marcus indicates a chair for you to sit on, and he himself sits in Mr Hamilton's chair, tugging up his suit trousers slightly as he does so. Cautiously, intrigued, you follow his direction and sit upon the sofa.

"What will you be doing now? Work-wise?" asks Marcus.

"I don't know -- I'll probably be assigned as a deputy project manager in London, I suppose," you say honestly. "That's what I did before my promotion."

"Good wage?" inquires Mr Aldershot.

"Yes," you admit. "I'm paid very well. I have a company car, my travel expenses are paid for me and I get London weighting in my wage packet."

"Well," says the Authority leader, clearing his throat. "I'd like to offer you a job. It pays about a tenth of what you earn at the moment, it doesn't come with a company car or London weighting. It does include a small house on the outskirts of Oldwell, but that's only because I can't sell the bleeding thing. Your holiday allowance is about three weeks, and you'll work the same hours as you do currently. The role is to be my secretary."

You laugh. "Why would I take that?"

"You'll find me a strict employer," he continues, as if you hadn't interrupted. "I pounce on the smallest error. A spelling mistake, incorrect grammar, damning me with faint praise, you'll find me extremely critical. My late wife said I was far too pernickety, but you might as well know before you accept. I will cane, whip and spank your bottom for each error, and there will be no hope of repeal. I would regard myself as at least the equal of Mr Stevenson in my skill, except that I practice greater variety in my punishments. Sometimes you'll be punished privately and sometimes in public. I'll require you in various states of dress, and expect you to obey without question, for fear of further and harsher punishments. You'll be my confidant, and I'll expect unhesitating loyalty from you -- putting my demands and requirements above your own. I will also expect you to be a paragon of virtue, and for your conduct on the island to be above reproach -- for you will be representing me. Any whisper or rumour of inappropriate behaviour will be punished harshly, whether there is truth in the rumour or not. You'll start Monday."

Your mouth is dry -- and Marcus Aldershot's list of intimidating demands makes your face flush.

"Again ... sir," you say carefully. "Why would I take that job?"

Marcus leans forward, his eyes boring into you. "Because it's not enough just to work, Dianne. You need to live. I know all about you -- the people of this island are incurable gossips. You've acceded to far too many punishments just for your project. You need Westjack Island. London will never sate your needs like I can."

Marcus leans back confidently in his chair, his eyes fixing you. "I need an answer now," he says.

What do you do?

Will you accept Marcus's offer? Turn to page 864.

Or flatly refuse him? Turn to page 870.

Page 863

"Where are they?" you ask the weeping Mr. Stevenson.

"What...?" he sniffles.

"The Authority -- where are they meeting?" you demand.

Mr. Stevenson shakes his head. "I can't tell you ... the oath forbids..."

You slam your hands onto the desk in a sudden rush of anger. "Damn it, sir -- get off the fence!" you snap. "Ever since I came here I never knew whether you approved of this project or not! If you think this network will destroy the fabric of society you just sit there and cry! But if you think there's any merit in it at all you need to tell me where that meeting is!"

"They'll never listen to a woman," he warns. "You can't change their minds..."

"I can do anything!" you boast. "I've dragged this project into shape from nothing; I'm not going to let the Authority piss all over it now. Where are they meeting?"

Mr. Stevenson gazes at you in wonder, his eyes red and bloodshot. "At the Guildhall," he suddenly says, almost as if he cannot believe he has spoken. "Three-Flowers Lane, just off the High Street."

You stand up tall, and, taking in a deep breath, spin on your heal and out the door -- leaving an astonished Mr. Stevenson gaping in amazement.

You stride right out of the building and up the road, towards the high street, the blood pumping in your ears. The Authority. They've been meddling with your progress since the beginning. When everyone told you that you would never get the project off the ground what they meant was this: the Authority would never allow it. Now you have to change their minds. But how do you change the minds of a club full of bigots? What will make them reverse their decision? You don't have any kind of plan in mind. You'll have to see what you come up with when you get there...

Down a small, winding road, about halfway up the high street, you spot it. Three-Flowers Lane -- barely wide enough for a small car to drive down it. You make your way down the lane until you come to a magnificent old building, hidden away amongst the more modern shops and houses. It is the old Westjack guildhall, where the first English settlers co-ordinated their mid-Atlantic trade and banking. Now it is simply a fine Georgian house, nestled within the newer buildings like a spider in its web. A sufficiently grand but hidden place for the shadowy Authority.

You stride right up to the doors and open them, walking into a grand hallway with a polished floor, tastefully decorated in Georgian style. At the end of the hall stand a fantastic pair of double doors. Voices can be heard beyond.

You are intercepted by a butler, who looks shocked to see you.

"This is no place for you, young lady!" he warns sharply. "Back outside with you, this is private property...!"

You are about to respond when there is a sudden ring from the old telephone on the table. The butler strolls over to it and scoops it up, keeping a sharp eye on you in case you try to bolt for the door.

"Yes, sir?" he asks, listening intently. He looks appalled as he listens to the voice on the other side of the phone. "But that is completely against ... yes? Oh ... I see ... yes, sir. Dressed appropriately, sir? Yes, sir."

He hangs up the phone -- it seems he can hardly believe what he has heard.

"Well, Miss. Hathaway," he says, shaken, having learnt your name from the other gentleman on the phone. "It seems that for the first time in fifty years a woman is to be allowed entrance into the Chamber."

He looks you up and down. "First, though, you must be appropriately dressed," he insists. "The Authority require you to be naked before them, as a sign of your submission to their power. Also your hands are to be bound behind your back so you cannot hide your womanly charms from them. Do this as a sign of respect and you may enter. Otherwise you may go back the way you came."

This is an important decision. What do you wish to do?

Show the Authority respect by stripping naked and allowing yourself to be bound? Turn to page 871.

Or simply push past the old butler and storm into the room? Turn to page 865.

Page 864

Low pay, terrible conditions, a cruel boss who will lash you on a whim ... are you mad? Why would you consent to this? But the images of your submission, the endless bare-bottom punishment that awaits you infects your reason and your sense.

Mr Aldershot is the head of the Authority, a bigoted, arrogant man who will have a fully trained and successful manager grovelling at his feet for the satisfaction of his own ego.

He's perfect.

"Yes!" you blurt, earnestly, your face flushing and eyes going watery. "You don't know how miserable I was in London ... I didn't know how miserable I was. I know it's wrong ... I know I deserve better ... but I've never been happy in my whole life until I came to this island. Never been satisfied..."

You gaze deeply into Mr Aldershot's eyes. "I want to live here. I want to work for you. And I want to be punished. I don't care if I deserve it. And you ... you're the person to do it, aren't you?"

Mr Aldershot smiles and nods. "Yes," he says warmly. "I'm the person to do it."

You shiver in confusion and embarrassment, feeling completely exposed. "Now I'm afraid," you admit suddenly.

"You'll always have me to look after you," he says warmly. "And when I meet my maker, someone else on the Authority will look after you. We'll guide you, protect you, and punish you. And you need lots of punishment, I'm afraid, Dianne. Forty million pounds worth. You'll pay for it all in time. For the moment, remove your clothes and let me have a look at you. I have to decide what you'll be wearing for me as my secretary, and it's best if I can see your measurements for myself."

You swallow. You were already feeling exposed and vulnerable -- now you will have no shelter at all. "Yes, Mr Aldershot," you murmur.

"Sir," he corrects coldly. "You will call me 'sir' from now on, in public and private. You call me Mr Aldershot only in those rare moments I have to be referred to in the third person."

"Yes, sir," you quickly correct.

"And you're being too slow -- get those clothes off!" he barks sharply. "You'll never wear one of those ridiculous power suits again."

"No, sir -- yes, sir!" you blather quickly, desperately pulling off your clothes as quickly as you can. No sooner has the last stocking been rolled off when he commands you to kneel, hands behind your back. Naked, in the Hamilton's living room, you shiver with barely controlled nerves as Mr Aldershot reaches forward to cup one of your breasts nonchalantly, weighing it as if he was shopping.

"There will be some physical contact," he admits. "It will be necessary to examine your bum, back, thighs and breasts from time to time -- mostly to judge the consistency of welts I inflict on you. Occasionally just for my pleasure. However you need not fear for your modesty -- they'll be no sex. You'll have to find someone else for that. That doesn't mean I cannot admire beauty..."

He sharply pinches your right nipple between thumb and forefinger. You yelp, but do not move your hands, enwrapped in his spell.

"You'll have to wait until Monday for your first proper induction," says Mr Aldershot ruefully. "It would be inappropriate to cane you until you are my employee. However the slowness of your obedience does merit repudiation. Slide yourself over my knee, Dianne. I shall spank that delicious peach until it glows red, until your naked body is thrashing helplessly, until all your modesty and pride is subsumed in your obedience to my hand."

Your breath is short and your eyes glaze. "Yes, sir," you cry lovingly, rising up to lie your body across his lap.

With that you let go of all ambition, all direction, all choice. You will do exactly what this man tells you to do without question. As you feel his hand stroke your behind, clenching the globes to feel their naked consistency, you unleash a sigh as all the accumulated stress over the last few months is released. This is who you are now. This is all you want to be.

And as Mr Aldershot raises a stiff and cupped hand above your trembling bottom you bid farewell forever to your promotion, and begin to live the life you have always craved.

Your adventure ends here...

Page 865

You raise your eyebrows in a sarcastic arch. "Oh, please!" you sigh, shoving the filthy old man out of your way, such that he lands comically in a padded armchair in a sprawl. Without hesitation you pull the handles of the great wooden door and swing it open with a mighty creak.

You step into a large meeting room, a great oval oaken table filling much of it. Around the table sit a number of men, most of them in their late middle ages. More than a few are familiar, including Mr Mowbray whom you first met on the plane journey into the island. Others you have met in passing, either on the streets of Oldwell, or incidentally as you have walked the lanes of island. These grave old men are the true rulers of Westjack, who hold sway over the town council, the companies and even the private relationships of the island. Their views, their opinions have shaped the island since its colonisation. They are the true Authority -- and what they think matters.

No sooner have you barged in when a man at the head of the table, no doubt the defacto-leader of the organisation, rises to his feet.

"Dianne Hathaway, I assume?" he says dryly. "Your reputation for rudeness precedes you. I would have thought even you would have the common courtesy to respect the ways of this island's oldest institution. Or did I expect too much?"

"You have me at a disadvantage, sir," you say. "Evidentially I'm famous. You -- I don't know."

He bows slightly. "Marcus Aldershot -- and with that I, and my colleagues will take our leave of you. Gentlemen -- we shall meet again next week to continue our meeting. Good day, Miss Hathaway."

In unison the Authority begin to stand, preparing to exit the chamber.

If your Ambition is 9 or more, Turn to page 866.
If not, read on.

"Wait! Wait!" you cry. "We need to talk about the network..."

You are pointedly and rudely ignored, as if you weren't there. One by one the members of the Authority amble past you. When you try blocking the doors, they simply leave by another exit. You are left crying to an empty chamber -- the Authority will not listen to a woman.

The steward, ruffled from his earlier rough treatment, steps up to you.

"Shall I show you out, miss?" he asks icily.

Two weeks later you are waiting in the airport lounge at Westjack airstrip. Your cases sit by your feet as you take one last look at the quaint furniture and designs of Westjack. Even the chair you are sitting on, a wooden school chair that looks well over fifty years old, is a relic from the past. Westjack hangs suspended in time, small and fragile like a crystal glass, and forever fearful of the change that one day must come. The chance of managing that change, of the dutiful people of Westjack being in charge of those changes, has passed. When the future comes, it will dictate, not guide the innocent folk of Westjack Island.

A few minutes before your plane arrives you receive some visitors. Practically your whole team, including Jennifer, Julian, Pauline and Phil crowd into the small departure lounge, bearing a great bundle of flowers (expensive on Westjack) and a large, homemade card with dozens of names on it. You hug your colleagues tightly, a lump rising in your throat as you do so. Despite your best efforts you've failed them -- many of them shall shortly find themselves unemployed.

As you board the plane and gaze out of the window one last time at the windswept Westjack Island you behold a sight you never expected to see. Mr. Stevenson is standing on next to the runway -- he's obviously been waiting some time for you to gaze out at the window towards him. As he sees you recognise him he raises a hand, half a salute, half a wave. In his eyes is nothing but pride. It is a last bitter-sweet memory to treasure as your plane begins to take off and you leave Westjack far behind you...

Page 866

"Sit down, boys!" you thunder, with the tone of an arch-matriarch. "It's grown up time!"

So fierce is your tone and penetrating your stare that the indulgent, public-school educated men of the authority can't help but respect it.

"Now you're in charge of this island," you admit sternly, "that means you have to take responsibility for it. You will condemn this island and its entire economy to ruins unless you seize this chance of modernisation now."

"Our way of life is at risk!" bleats one member, daring to raise his voice against your own. "The unquestioned authority of man to chastise an errant female is a cultural trait being swept away in a tide of modernity."

There are numerous grunts of approval.

"You're right," you admit. "You're absolutely right. Once the internet is installed women on this island, slowly but surely, will demand change when they realise how disrespectfully you treat them. But it really doesn't matter -- because the simple matter is you are flat broke, with no way of making your way in the world. Without the network Westjack will become a backwater, and you'll all be in penury."

There is a slow clapping sound at the back of the hall. It is Marcus Aldershot, his slow clap sarcastically ringing across the room. He looks at you with pity and shakes his head.

"Such ignorance," he smirks. "This island is in no danger. We are well supported by ... clients ... gentlemen. Rich gentlemen that come to this island often to taste of its unique ways, to feel the power we all enjoy as the most causal right -- to take a girl, any girl, over our knee and punish them for their own good. So rare is this right in the rest of the civilised world that these rich businessmen and politicians pay a fortune every year to sample our wares. What need do we have of faster telephones or computer newspapers when we offer such unique enjoyment?"

The Authority roundly agree with him.

If you have the codeword ECONOMY, turn to 867, if not, read on.

"These businessmen need the internet and mobile phones," you insist. "You can't be out of communication in the modern world..."

"And yet they come, nonetheless," smiles Marcus. "No ... your argument is meaningless. Our culture is our wealth. All we own stems from our traditions. Risking it for a few modern conveniences is unwarranted and pointless."

You struggle to come up with a counter-point, but in the space Marcus simply gets to his feet. "This meeting is adjourned, gentlemen," he says grandly.

Your heart sinks as you watch the members of the authority begin to file out. Marcus himself strolls next to you. "Leave on the next plane, Miss Hathaway," he advises. "Otherwise you'll end up over my knee -- and a stubborn girl like you wouldn't like that..."

Two weeks later you are waiting in the airport lounge at Westjack airstrip. Your cases sit by your feet as you take one last look at the quaint furniture and designs of Westjack. Even the chair you are sitting on, a wooden school chair that looks well over fifty years old, is a relic from the past. Westjack hangs suspended in time, small and fragile like a crystal glass, and forever fearful of the change that one day must come. The chance of managing that change, of the dutiful people of Westjack being in charge of those changes, has passed. When the future comes, it will dictate, not guide the innocent folk of Westjack Island.

A few minutes before your plane arrives you receive some visitors. Practically your whole team, including Jennifer, Julian, Pauline and Phil crowd into the small departure lounge, bearing a great bundle of flowers (expensive on Westjack) and a large, homemade card with dozens of names on it. You hug your colleagues tightly, a lump rising in your throat as you do so. Despite your best efforts you've failed them -- many of them shall shortly find themselves unemployed.

As you board the plane and gaze out of the window one last time at the windswept Westjack Island you behold a sight you never expected to see. Mr. Stevenson is standing on next to the runway -- he's obviously been waiting some time for you to gaze out at the window towards him. As he sees you recognise him he raises a hand, half a salute, half a wave. In his eyes is nothing but pride. It is a last bitter-sweet memory to treasure as your plane begins to take off and you leave Westjack far behind you...

Page 867

"Except that isn't true, is it?" you rebut smartly. "In fact, didn't you commission Mr Mowbray to conduct a small study into your visitor numbers quite recently?"

You see Marcus physically shift in his large oaken seat. A frown crosses his face as the Authority mutter around him.

"Oh? Perhaps that report was suppressed?" you smile. "It was locked away in Mr Mowbray's draws. Haven't visitor numbers halved in the last five years?"

"They'll come back..." says Marcus quietly.

"Such confidence!" you cry. "There was little of that in the report. Face it -- businessmen are staying away because they can no longer be out of contact with the rest of the world for two weeks at a time."

There is a hubbub of concern across the table. Marcus gets to his feet and leans across the table towards you.

"Very well played, Miss Hathaway," he snarls. "It's true -- we enjoy playing host to other appreciative men. But do we need them? Hardly! Not with half a dozen oil refineries powering our future. The fees we extract from Globe Oil keep Westjack in a virtually opulent lifestyle. Broke? Per head we're richer than London!"

He laughs, and the Authority join him in his mirth.

If you have the codeword POVERTY, Turn to page 868.
Otherwise read on.

"That oil won't last forever!" you warn sharply.

"Only until your old age, Miss Hathaway!" jeers Marcus, the rest of the Authority chuckling with him. "Perhaps we'll call you back then, and you can laugh at us!"

The Authority fall about, as if this were the funniest joke ever told. You have lost your audience -- they feel secure in their future and see no reason to adopt your futuristic technologies. You have failed.

Two weeks later you are waiting in the airport lounge at Westjack airstrip. Your cases sit by your feet as you take one last look at the quaint furniture and designs of Westjack. Even the chair you are sitting on, a wooden school chair that looks well over fifty years old, is a relic from the past. Westjack hangs suspended in time, small and fragile like a crystal glass, and forever fearful of the change that one day must come. The chance of managing that change, of the dutiful people of Westjack being in charge of those changes, has passed. When the future comes, it will dictate, not guide the innocent folk of Westjack Island.

A few minutes before your plane arrives you receive some visitors. Practically your whole team, including Jennifer, Julian, Pauline and Phil crowd into the small departure lounge, bearing a great bundle of flowers (expensive on Westjack) and a large, homemade card with dozens of names on it. You hug your colleagues tightly, a lump rising in your throat as you do so. Despite your best efforts you've failed them -- many of them shall shortly find themselves unemployed.

As you board the plane and gaze out of the window one last time at the windswept Westjack Island you behold a sight you never expected to see. Mr. Stevenson is standing on next to the runway -- he's obviously been waiting some time for you to gaze out at the window towards him. As he sees you recognise him he raises a hand, half a salute, half a wave. In his eyes is nothing but pride. It is a last bitter-sweet memory to treasure as your plane begins to take off and you leave Westjack far behind you...

Page 868

"I'm sorry, haven't you heard?" you ask innocently. "The oil's running out. GlobeOil are just about to close down two rigs, with the rest to be deserted over the next decade."

There is uproar in the chamber, with comments being shouted over towards a recoiling Marcus Aldershot.

"Oh ... did you not tell your friends on the Authority that either, Mr Aldershot?" you smirk. "Suddenly makes those missing businessmen rather more important, doesn't it?"

The men of the Authority stand, pointing their fingers at the panicked Marcus. "Quiet! Quiet, you fools!" he barks. "Silence!"

Marcus' booming voice quietens the dissenting men, and he turns his most venomous glance towards you. "You think me an idiot, Miss Hathaway? We have had fifty years of oil revenues -- did you think we squandered them on idle luxury? The island coffers are full! Our investment portfolio is vast! We could live a hundred years on the interest alone! So -- by all means, take away our visitors and our oil. We shall live quite well in quiet moderation, our customs and dominance assured!"

Although the authority members are upset with Marcus, they are clearly reassured by his insistence.

If you have the codeword VAULT, Turn to page 869.
If not, read on.

"You really think you can last forever on a few stocks and shares?" you ask aghast. "What will the normal working men and women do, deprived of all outside work?"

"We will look after them, as we always have," says Marcus reassuringly. "Just as we did after the war. And we'll do it without the interference of an English woman who chooses to lecture us on our long established ways."

"Hear, hear!" comes the general cry.

You shake your head in amazement. Do these ignorant old men really think that their fellows will just share their money out amongst the islanders and each other, like some hippy commune? But their wishful thinking is too strong. Shaking each others hands and jeering at you, you are left with the taste of failure in your mouth.

Two weeks later you are waiting in the airport lounge at Westjack airstrip. Your cases sit by your feet as you take one last look at the quaint furniture and designs of Westjack. Even the chair you are sitting on, a wooden school chair that looks well over fifty years old, is a relic from the past. Westjack hangs suspended in time, small and fragile like a crystal glass, and forever fearful of the change that one day must come. The chance of managing that change, of the dutiful people of Westjack being in charge of those changes, has passed. When the future comes, it will dictate, not guide the innocent folk of Westjack Island.

A few minutes before your plane arrives you receive some visitors. Practically your whole team, including Jennifer, Julian, Pauline and Phil crowd into the small departure lounge, bearing a great bundle of flowers (expensive on Westjack) and a large, homemade card with dozens of names on it. You hug your colleagues tightly, a lump rising in your throat as you do so. Despite your best efforts you've failed them -- many of them shall shortly find themselves unemployed.

As you board the plane and gaze out of the window one last time at the windswept Westjack Island you behold a sight you never expected to see. Mr. Stevenson is standing on next to the runway -- he's obviously been waiting some time for you to gaze out at the window towards him. As he sees you recognise him he raises a hand, half a salute, half a wave. In his eyes is nothing but pride. It is a last bitter-sweet memory to treasure as your plane begins to take off and you leave Westjack far behind you...

Page 869

"Your stocks and shares?" you ask incredulously. "Would they be the same stocks and shares that went bust in the last global recession? The ones in those bankrupt companies you riskily backed at great expense? I overheard the finance minister himself say that the coffers were empty -- that they were already borrowing money to fund the hospital. Don't believe me? Have a peek at the council's last budget meeting -- see how much money is being borrowed. Ask yourself 'Why is Westjack council borrowing money when it sits atop an oil fortune?'"

Marcus's face drains of colour. His fellow Authority members likewise look shocked and aghast.

"You're broke," you say flatly. "People aren't coming to the island, and the oil is running out. Now it's time to grow up!"

You stalk around the table, your high heeled shoes clacking in the massive hall. "Turn the network on. In the short term it will get your pervy businessmen back, and might extend the oil drilling for a few years when GlobeOil no longer need to communicate through satellites. Long term you invest that money in becoming a tech hub and tax haven. Maybe, after twenty years or so of hard work you might make something of this island."

Marcus Aldershot, his head buried in his hands, rocks in his chair. "Two hundred years of tradition ... all lost. How could you ... how could you...?"

"Steady on, old man," says Mr Mowbray reassuringly, extending his arm to pat Marcus' shoulder. "She's whipped you -- and whipped you hard. Now you need to show grace under fire."

Mr Mowbray rises and addresses you. "I know when I'm beaten, Miss Hathaway," he growls. "We'll make a call to the town council. Your blasted mobile telephones will be switched on. But do not be too confident you'll get everything your own way. Culture goes both ways. Perhaps the world will not change us -- but us the world?"

You raise a small smile. "Anything is possible," you say, your victory suddenly sinking in. "After all I've been though that's something I believe for the very first time..."

Turn to page 879.

Page 870

You lean forwards towards the arrogant Marcus Aldershot and look him straight in the eye. "Your selfishness and greed may have sunk this island," you say quietly, "but it won't sink me."

You stand up tall above him as he surveys you with a dark look. "I respect this island and its people," you say flatly. "I don't respect a coward who snipes from the shadows while honest people strive to improve their lives. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some packing to do..."

With that you leave the brooding, powerful Mr Aldershot and head upstairs, wondering faintly if you have just missed out on a dangerous but exciting adventure.

Two weeks later you are waiting in the airport lounge at Westjack airstrip. Your cases sit by your feet as you take one last look at the quaint furniture and designs of Westjack. Even the chair you are sitting on, a wooden school chair that looks well over fifty years old, is a relic from the past. Westjack hangs suspended in time, small and fragile like a crystal glass, and forever fearful of the change that one day must come. The chance of managing that change, of the dutiful people of Westjack being in charge of those changes, has passed. When the future comes, it will dictate, not guide the innocent folk of Westjack Island.

A few minutes before your plane arrives you receive some visitors. Practically your whole team, including Jennifer, Julian, Pauline and Phil crowd into the small departure lounge, bearing a great bundle of flowers (expensive on Westjack) and a large, homemade card with dozens of names on it. You hug your colleagues tightly, a lump rising in your throat as you do so. Despite your best efforts you've failed them -- many of them shall shortly find themselves unemployed.

As you board the plane and gaze out of the window one last time at the windswept Westjack Island you behold a sight you never expected to see. Mr. Stevenson is standing on next to the runway -- he's obviously been waiting some time for you to gaze out at the window towards him. As he sees you recognise him he raises a hand, half a salute, half a wave. In his eyes is nothing but pride. It is a last bitter-sweet memory to treasure as your plane begins to take off and you leave Westjack far behind you...

Page 871

"Of course," you say, lowering your eyes. "I shall obey the Authority with all due reverence and respect."

When you first arrived Mr Stevenson told you that only a true Westjack girl would ever be accepted by the locals. It's time to find out if he was right. If they can see that the manager of the project is a decent, submissive, game girl perhaps their fear of the new phones and internet will evaporate. Your promotion, indeed your entire future career, depends upon it.

With so much at stake you do not object as the butler removes your jacket. Rather than have him completely undress you you begin to slip off your top and loosen your skirt. The butler's hands are everywhere, both on your body and politely collecting your clothes as you strip yourself vulnerably naked. If your scheme is to work there must be no whiff of assertiveness from you -- only entrancing and dutiful submission.

Once naked your hands are secured behind your back with silver cuffs, forcing your shoulders back and your breasts forward. You'll make quite a sight before the most powerful people on the island. Completely defenceless and vulnerable the butler leads you towards the main doors, your heart thumping in your chest.

You step into a large meeting room, a great oval oaken table filling much of it. Around the table sit a number of men, most of them in their late middle ages. More than a few are familiar, including Mr Mowbray whom you first met on the plane journey into the island. Others you have met in passing, either on the streets of Oldwell, or incidentally as you have walked the lanes of island. These grave old men are the true rulers of Westjack, who hold sway over the town council, the companies and even the private relationships of the island. Their views, their opinions have shaped the island since its colonisation. They are the true Authority -- and what they think matters.

A well dressed, middle aged man, seated at one end of the table stands as you enter. He looks firm, but jovial, and smiles as he sees you enter the room completely naked at his behest.

"Good morning, Dianne Hathaway," he says grandly, his eyes wandering across your nude body. "I am Marcus Aldershot, chairman of the Authority. I, of course, know you by reputation."

If your Reputation is 40 or more, Turn to page 872.
If not, read on.

"You are an English girl -- ambitious, scheming, determined to win at all costs," he says darkly, summarising your character. "This last day conversion to submission is an unconvincing show, although your pert young body is certainly a delight."

There is a ripple of laughter from across the table.

"I assure you, sir," you say quickly. "I have done much learning during my stay in Westjack, and have come to submit myself to you, not oppose you."

"Your conduct suggests otherwise," he snaps. "Truly you must think us addled old men if you thought you could show us some tit and we'd come running to turn your blasted internet on."

You flush with humiliation. You gaze across the room, but it appears no one will speak in your defence.

"You are a beaten force, Miss Hathaway," smiles Marcus, slowly taking a cane from a nearby stand. "Your project has failed, the island cares nothing for you, and now the Authority shall punish you for your continual defiance."

You hang your head in shame as Marcus approaches, flexing his cane. You are naked, friendless and alone. In a moment you shall receive the whipping of a lifetime before being sent home in disgrace...

Your adventure ends here.

Page 872

"You are surprisingly popular," he laughs. "Despite the fact you mean to wreck our community and turn our womenfolk into liberal, hedonistic sluts, I've rarely heard a bad word about you."

There is laughter -- but only from a few hardcore members. Many seem to frown at this assessment of you.

"No doubt you have heard that we have cancelled your project for the island's good," drawls Marcus. "You mean to change our minds, perhaps? Unfortunately the decision is made. This matter cannot be discussed again unless you were publically backed by a member of long standing. I think it highly unlikely any of us would be interested in hearing the opinions of a naked foreigner..."

If you have the codeword FAVOUR, Turn to page 873.

There is another round of laughter. You flush with humiliation. You gaze across the room, but it appears no one will speak in your defence.

"You are a beaten force, Miss Hathaway," smiles Marcus, slowly taking a cane from a nearby stand. "Your project has failed, and now the Authority shall punish you for your continual defiance."

You hang your head in shame as Marcus approaches, flexing his cane. You are naked, friendless and alone. In a moment you shall receive the whipping of a lifetime before being sent home in disgrace...

Your adventure ends here.

Page 873

There is heard in the hall a small cough. Marcus' eyes flick over to the far end of the table. You must have been frightened indeed to miss Donald Trueman, the chairman of the Club, sitting with the traveling Frenchman Philippe Coupe.

Donald rises stiffly. "I shall speak for Dianne," he intones formally. "I would like to hear what she has to say."

There is a general 'hear, hear' across the room. Even those opposed to your project feel it is only right that a woman of your standing on the island be allowed to speak.

Marcus Aldershot rolls his eyes. "I should have expected the Club to interfere. You've always put your loyalty to your members before that of the Authority."

"I hope the two are not completely opposed," says Donald archly. "But surely you have nothing to fear from what a woman would say? We wouldn't be much of an Authority if we feared even female speech."

There is a small titter of laughter and Marcus frowns. He doesn't like to be mocked.

"Very well," he says dismissively. "Say your piece, Dianne. Just remember that the slightest female defiance is treated most harshly here."

Marcus sits down in a huff. The eyes of the Authority burn into you.

If your Dignity is 8 or more, Turn to page 874.
If not, read on.

"Sirs," you say, voice warbling. "As a good and dutiful woman of Westjack I implore you to allow us to finish the project. I love Westjack with all my heart -- I couldn't stand to see it fall into poverty and obsolescence just because of a misguided decision to..."

"I've heard enough!" snaps Mr Mowbray, a fat old landlord who lives on the eastern end of the island. "More threats -- turn on the phones or you're bankrupt! And what's all this about us making misguided decisions?"

"The girl is arrogant!" snaps another member.

"Another wheedling Englishwoman who thinks she can bully us into submission," roars another.

Your shoulders sag in defeat. All across the hall men are barracking you for your wilfulness and pomposity. Even Donald can do nothing to calm them and is forced to take his seat again.

"You are a beaten force, Miss Hathaway," smiles Marcus, slowly taking a cane from a nearby stand. "Your project has failed, and now the Authority shall punish you for your continual defiance."

You hang your head in shame as Marcus approaches, flexing his cane. You are naked, friendless and alone. In a moment you shall receive the whipping of a lifetime before being sent home in disgrace...

Your adventure ends here.

Page 874

Here is your chance. You must apply everything you have learned about Westjack culture into this speech if you are to have a chance.

"Good sirs," you begin. "You just voted to cancel the project I've been working on for twelve weeks because you feel it would corrupt your female population. I cannot argue with your reasoning. Obviously you have come to this decision after many months, perhaps years of careful thinking. All I can do is speak from my heart."

There are no objections yet. Indeed the Authority members seem happy you have no intention of challenging their decision.

"I grew up in London, with the internet and mobile phones all around me," you say. "Although I found them useful I cannot say they brought me any happiness besides monetary rewards. But there was a hole in my soul, a need unfilled. A need I did not realise until I came to this island. Slowly, decently, thoroughly the men and women of Westjack have purged me of the arrogance and pride that was making my life a misery. By submitting myself wholly to you and your ways I have found a satisfaction unmatched in my English life. Now, when I hear the command to bend and take my punishment I do it willingly, knowing that I will learn through the process of my suffering."

Your speech is moving the Authority. This is exactly what they want to hear.

"So all I say is this," you swallow. "I am a London girl, a manager and a woman of power. The internet has been at the core of my working life forever. But its grip on my soul is pale compared to draw of this island and its ways. If even a woman like me, a modern western girl, desires to submit to your rule, what are the odds that local girls, brought up to respect the rod, would shun their own ways? That's all I have to say."

There is a murmured agreement across the hall. Your reasoning, as far as an Authority man is concerned, is impeccable.

"Fine words," comes a hawkish response from Marcus Aldershot. "But how are we to know you are truly this paragon of womanhood?"

"She did not claim to be a paragon, merely a woman," responds Donald, carefully.

"But she did say she had submitted herself entirely to our rule -- is there any proof of this?" he laughs.

If you have the codewords EGG, WET and VAULT Turn to page 875.
If not, read on.

This seems like rather an unfair demand. After all, the Authority are a secretive group -- how are you supposed to serve them. None the less the accusation sticks. Slowly the Authority realise that your fine speech was merely words well spoken -- there is no proof you are loyal to them at all.

Your shoulders sag in defeat. All across the hall men are barracking you for your wilfulness and pomposity. Even Donald can do nothing to calm them and is forced to take his seat again.

"You are a beaten force, Miss Hathaway," smiles Marcus, slowly taking a cane from a nearby stand. "Your project has failed, and now the Authority shall punish you for your continual defiance."

You hang your head in shame as Marcus approaches, flexing his cane. You are naked, friendless and alone. In a moment you shall receive the whipping of a lifetime before being sent home in disgrace...

Your adventure ends here.

Page 875

There is a snort of laughter from the far side of the table. "I'm very sorry, Marcus," admits Charlie Daniels, the man who set you your challenge at the Westjack Fete, "you're going to be very angry with me. But to be fair to Dianne she has served the Authority. I set her a little challenge ... well ... a trap really, on behalf of the Authority. I thought to show her up and break her spirits, but in the end it was me with egg on my face. Dianne got involved in every fete activity you can name, and eagerly too. She's quite the country girl for a Londoner."

"And you made this an official request from the Authority?" inquires Mr Mowbray.

"Oh yes -- I was quite specific," admits Mr Daniels. "She thought she was doing our will as she subjected herself to cold water hose pipes and public spankings."

"An honest girl, then," muses Mr Mowbray. "Perhaps we were wrong, Marcus...?"

Marcus Aldershot practically jumps out of his seat. "We were not wrong!" he snaps. "I cannot believe that you are willing to take the word of a naked foreign girl!"

"We asked her to be naked," points out Donald Trueman, "and she obeyed without question, like a proper Westjack girl."

"She is not a proper Westjack girl!" roars Marcus. "All this is a pretence! A show she has put on to fool the weak-minded! Give this girl a proper thrashing and she'll crumble, like all foreign girls!"

There is a ghastly silence. The men of the Authority look torn between loyalty to their leader and their fondness for you.

From the far end table there comes a polite cough. Everyone in the hall turns, to see the elegant Frenchman Philippe Coupe dabbing a white handkerchief to his lips. He smiles chillingly.

"Perhaps I could resolve this impasse," he suggests lightly. "Marcus claims the girl is a fraud, Donald thinks she is genuine. But the cane brings all truths to light. With so much at stake you will want the best man behind it. That is me, monsieurs."

The light of hope sparkles in Marcus' eyes. "Yes ... this shall provide all the proof we need!" he enthuses. "A few dozen from Philippe will soon have this girl repenting her folly..."

"I need only twelve," says Philippe rising, adjusting his cufflinks. "With twelve I could make a stone weep. Let lesser men slice away at a lady's derriere like butchers. Pain is pain. If I cannot do it in twelve I am not a man."

Your heart begins to hammer in your chest. Philippe Coupe? He is the most feared lasher on the island. Donald thinks him the finest in the world. To be whipped in front of the entire Authority by the cruellest caner alive ... surely there is no hope?

Donald looks apprehensive, but it is clear the rest of the Authority are eager to see Philippe ply his skill against your bum. Nonetheless he attempts to defend you. "Very well," Donald submits. "Twelve strokes, after which we shall judge how well Dianne took her blows."

"Tedious," says Marcus dismissively. "We are not judging a beauty pageant, but the strength of the girl's character. Dianne shall fail this test if she cries out or rises."

"Twelve strokes from Philippe without calling out!" cries Donald. "Impossible!"

"So are your claims that this foreigner doesn't mean us any harm!" snarls Marcus. "Let's see just how submissive Dianne is to our demands. I think you shall find the result illuminating!"

You tremble as Philippe approaches, the elegant Frenchman fixing you with cold eyes...

Turn to page 876.

Page 876

Your final trial now approaches. You sense that if you can prove stoic under the cane that the Authority will back you and turn on your mobile phone network. Fail, and Westjack will be plunged into poverty and your promotion will be on the rocks.

The Frenchman kindly asks an Authority member to shift aside so you can lay yourself flat against the meeting room table. Lacking free hands you have to rely upon Philippe himself to help you, which he does with speedy courtesy. The table is cold on your breasts and stomach, and as your bottom rises you wonder just how many faint marks and welts your audience can see from your previous beatings.

"Monsieur," says Philippe to the butler. "Would you kindly bring in the package I left with you? S'il vous plait."

The butler bows sharply and exits the Chamber. He returns shortly with a long, glass box, within which lies a familiar looking cane...

"The Whalebone Rod!" cries Donald, appalled. "Philippe! That is Club property for Club business!"

Philippe calmly opens the case. "It is the whipping rod of Westjack itself," corrects Philippe. "Every native girl on the island knows of it, or has heard of it. It is the ultimate sanction, the cane that gives them sleepless nights for fear it might be used on them."

Philippe removes the rod and feels along its bone-white length with satisfaction. "It is an icon of Westjack. Depending on what happens here today it may be the last time it is ever used, if the female revolution comes to your island. Or, today will be just another chapter in its glorious history. The Whalebone Rod is fighting for its life as well. It deserves the chance to be used."

"Hear, hear!" roar many members of the Authority.

"Too severe..." groans Donald, but his objections are overruled.

You shiver as you feel the Whalebone Rod level itself against your bottom, pressing firmly into your cheeks as if gauging their tenderness.

"A dozen, mademoiselle," Philippe reminds you. "Do not rise, do not call out."

"Yes, sir," you whisper, stealing yourself for the first blow.

Philippe places his free hand on his hip and swings the rod back so that its tip rises high in the air above him. Then, with a deep grunt in his throat, he whistles the rod down towards your trembling buttocks.

Thwack!

It is like an explosion on your bottom skin. The white rod bites deep into your bum, both bruising and stinging your flesh at once. You gasp at the sudden flame. Not even Mr Stevenson can ignite your buttocks so fiercely.

Thwack!

You shut your eyes and hiss as another blow cuts into your helplessly vulnerable cheeks. Your cuffed hands clench empty air as the rising sting burns its way into your behind.

Thwack!

All too soon another blow sinks into your flesh, low, where you sit, the burning brand searing your bottom, the impact slamming your legs against the table edge. A sudden ripple of applause finally reminds you, through your haze of pain, that the Authority are watching. It is not you they are applauding either.

Thwack!

If your Willpower is 9 or more, Turn to page 877.
If not, read on.

Too much! The Whalebone Road cuts into your already previously damaged flesh and you unleash a howl of defeat. The applause rises through the room, the Authority in awe of Philippe's exquisite skill at hurting you.

"So," says Mr Mowbray with a little sadness. "She is just an English milksop after all."

"Victory for the men of the island!" crows another. "Can we really risk losing such delightful entertainment in the future for this broken girly's computer toys?"

The Authority harrumph their agreement. Marcus Aldershot sits back in his chair in relief. You sob in pain and failure. Your promotion is over...

Your adventure ends here.

Page 877

That stinging blow, the sharpest you have ever endured, nearly tipped you over the edge. Cutting across all three previous welts, it strikes with an even greater impact. Despite the agony of those first three strokes Philippe was evidently holding back...

Raise your Bum Status by 3 levels .

You let out a hissing blast through your nose, scrunching up your face in pain. Your bottom quivers and hops.

"Now she's feeling it!" laughs Mr Mowbray, to the general mirth of the others.

Thwack!

Another blow focuses your mind, and the men of the Authority melt away from your consciousness. This is a battle between you and Philippe. He has all the advantages; skill, cane, a supportive crowd. All you have is yourself and your naked bottom, being cut to ribbons.

Glinting in the sunlight, the pale white rod cuts through the air with a sinister whistle before slicing into your globes again, this time higher up, just below your spine. You pant in torment, your toes clenching tight, pushing your bottom up high. Philippe spots your momentary weakness and homes in, slicing the cane again across your sit spot with a whistling Thwack!

Even before you have finished moaning, a second stroke, fast and furious, strikes the same spot!

Thwack!

Raise your Bum Status by 3 levels .

If your Willpower is 10 or more, Turn to page 878.
If not, read on.

Too many strokes in too sensitive an area! You scream out, all your pent up agonies ripping through your lungs as you throw your head back. Your scream ends in a moan, and then a sob. The applause rises through the room, the Authority in awe of Philippe's exquisite skill at hurting you.

"So," says Mr Mowbray with a little sadness. "She is just an English milksop after all."

"Victory for the men of the island!" crows another. "Can we really risk losing such delightful entertainment in the future for this broken girly's computer toys?"

The Authority harrumph their agreement. Marcus Aldershot sits back in his chair in relief. You sob in pain and failure. Your promotion is over...

Your adventure ends here.

Page 878

That last blow, full of cruelty, perfectly timed to pitch you over the edge by a master of the cane, bites sharply into your crease. You'll not be sitting down comfortably for weeks. And yet, as you exhale a sigh, you cusp over the agony and into pleasure. They want to hurt you, these beastly men, and you are letting them. You've completely surrendered yourself to their will, naked and bound. But the pain is your pain -- it is what you wanted ... craved even. There is no cruelty in someone giving you something that you desire with all your heart.

So, after that savage blow you softly raise your lashed, bruised buttocks up for Philippe. You can almost sense the shock from the Frenchman as you willingly offer up your bottom for more, more, more!

Thwack!

The rod cuts deep, a white blur slashing into your bum. The pain is extraordinary...

Thwack!

Another blow, harder, across the full width of your cheeks sends your buttocks into a spasm of agony. You thrust your bum up higher...

Thwack!

A blow aimed so high it almost brushes your spine, your thin skin blazing red at the impact, your lips sore from biting.

With a great cry Philippe raises his cane high, then, with a mighty whoosh cracks the cane across your bum with all his strength! Thwack!

There is a searing pain, a terrible crackling sound, and a blur of a thousand tiny objects sweeping over your head and across the room. The men of the Authority duck as tiny white shards splinter across the table, dancing and skipping across the Chamber until they fly to their rest.

Behind you Philippe stands shocked and unmanned. In his hand he holds the splintered remains of the Whalebone Rod, smashed to pieces against your too-willing bottom. All across the room is stunned silence, with only the agonising throb of your backside to keep you distracted from the weighty moment.

Slowly Donald Trueman rises from his chair. "Now there's a true Westjack girl," he says in awe.

Marcus Aldershot, grasping a piece of the shattered Rod in his hands, lets loose a tear from his eye. His plans are likewise shattered. The room is yours, and he knows it.

"Why don't we try out this internet thing?" suggests Mr Mowbray lightly. "If it's good enough for Dianne Hathaway I suppose it must be good enough for us."

There is gentle agreement across the Chamber. You feel thin but firm hands help you rise from your prone position across the table. It is Philippe, stunned, but generous in defeat. "You have taught me humility, mademoiselle," he admits. "I have grown lazy with my art, you give me new focus to try harder. You are a remarkable woman, and an inspiration to me."

"Thank you, monsieur," you say, a smile suddenly cracking across your features as it finally sinks in that you have won. You indicate the grand old men of Westjack in front of you with a nod of your head before admitting: "I had excellent teachers."

Turn to page 879.

Page 879

There are cheers as you return to the office. Julian and Pauline literally run into your arms as you cross the office threshold. A second set of Champaign bottles pop as music pipes through the PC's. YouTube is running a music video, streaming live for the very first time.

"A call for you, Miss Hathaway," smiles Jennifer as she walks into the office clutching her new mobile phone. "From London."

Your face is aching from smiling as you take the phone. "Hello Todd," you laugh.

"Evening Dianne -- or is it morning where you are?" asks Todd Wilkins, head of ComLondon, his voice smiling.

"I've lost track," you say bemused.

"Well done," he says firmly. "Very, very well done. I really thought that was mission impossible Dianne -- you're amazing."

"Thanks Todd," you say, your eyes moistening. "Does this mean I keep my promotion?"

"That and way more," laughs Todd. "I'll text you later, but get on a plane back to London. I've got big plans for you."

"I demand a holiday!" you laugh, before the phone is snatched from your hands by Jennifer.

"Go away Todd!" she shouts down the phone. "She's ours today!"

With that she hangs up and grapples you in a hug.

"You cheeky bitch!" you squeak. "That was my boss!"

"What's he going to do? Thrash you?" drawls Jennifer sarcastically. "Drink some champagne!"

And so, deep into the night, a party begins. Your colleagues mass around you, toasting you, reminiscing on your adventures (more than a few of which make you squirm so much that you need plenty of alcohol to get through them). Respect shines in their eyes. You have taken on all the men of Westjack and won -- you crushed them.

Three weeks later you sit at the Westjack airport, in an old wooden school chair amongst several other passengers due to fly out. You've said tearful goodbyes to your old staff in Westjack. Parties have been held and speeches made. Many of the women of the company have told you they hold you up as an inspiration -- a figure they will tell their daughters and granddaughters about. You've never felt prouder.

Even now you can see change careening through the island. The stock of smart phones flown into the island by ComLondon have already sold out, and you spy men and women in the street gossiping about their new phones and swapping tips on how to use them. Office workers are staying late into the night to watch films on internet connected computers that they've never seen before. The world has come to Westjack, and it is met with both sneering and wonder.

But even the detractors are now entranced by the new technology. Thousands of new computers and laptops are pouring through Oldwell port. All want to see -- to learn what has been hidden from them for so long. Several entrepreneurs have approached you about the best way to set up an e-business, to meet the thirsty demand for products from this rich island.

In a way you're sad. Westjack was unlike anywhere else in the world, once; quaint and small. Now the hooks of the world are digging into it -- how long will the ironmongers survive when the island is flooded with cheap plastic goods? Will the old TV and radio network close now people can watch modern and far superior fare on their computer screens? And what change will be wrought by the women of Westjack, once they see no sign of a man's right to punish them at will reflected in the media of the western world? Will they remain content to live as second class citizens? Or will they rise up and demand the respect missing to them? The Authority had much to fear from your technology indeed.

But in other ways you are content. Westjack was unique -- but it was dying ... stagnating, and it was to be an agonisingly slow death. The oil may go, and the sleazy businessmen with them -- but now Westjack has a future. Its highly educated people, combined with its excellent access to modern technology gives it a chance to thrive. You can't think of a better gift to give this remarkable people.

Your flight is announced, not on tannoy, but charmingly by a blue suited concierge with brass trimmings on his old fashioned cap. You get to your feet, along with the other waiting passengers, to move towards the runway.

"Dianne," says a firm voice, touched with sadness.

You turn around with shock. It's Mr Stevenson. You've barely seen him since switch-on day -- the man lurking shame-facedly in his office. Since he's not the sort of man you would want to disturb willingly you left him there, unsure of his feelings towards you since your last harsh words in his office.

"Mr Stevenson," you say, suddenly nervous. "My ... err ... my plane's about to leave."

"This won't take long," he promises. He looks almost as nervous as you are ... older too, as if a great many years had suddenly been layered upon him. "I wanted to say to you, before you left..."

He seems to struggle with the words. You are about to make your excuses and go before he suddenly blurts out: "I wanted to say ... how very proud of you I am. You're a clever girl, Dianne, a clever, clever girl. I misjudged you -- hindered you when I should have helped -- and I'm very, very sorry."

"No," you smile. "You have nothing to be sorry about. You were just a little wary of me. You backed me in the end, against the force of the entire Authority. That took a lot of courage."

"You should know," replies Mr Stevenson. "You faced them all down, and won. More than I could ever do."

"Thank you," you say, a little tear forming in your eye. "That means a great deal to me. Thank you."

There is a moment of awkward silence. In a strange way you want to hug him, but you just can't bring yourself to embrace the old authoritarian. He's the man who canes you, not some doddering uncle you can hold in your arms.

"My plane is ready -- I'd better go..." you say.

"I wouldn't worry, Dianne," says Mr Stevenson. "It won't even start taxiing for another hour -- they're always frightfully early."

His eyes narrow for a moment as he looks at your top pocket. You glance down to follow his gaze, and see a metal pen jutting out of your breast pocket.

"I hope that's not Telephone Exchange property," huffs Mr Stevenson, suddenly grave again. "Taking office property with you back to England is a grave offence!"

"Oh?" you ask innocently. "Just how many strokes would that demand upon my naked bottom?"

"Two dozen with the cane," insists Mr Stevenson flatly. "More if you flinch or make a fuss. Of course, if it's your pen there's no harm done. You could board that plane without a by-your-leave."

You take the pen from your top pocket and examine it carefully. "There's no markings on it," you admit. "There's no way to tell whose it is. It might be yours ... if, say, I'd borrowed it to sign a few documents in your office and forgot to return it. On the other hand it might be mine, from the ComLondon stationary cupboard."

"Well," shrugs Mr Stevenson. "It seems the matter is down to your own conscience."

"And the plane won't leave for an hour, you say?"

"At least," says Mr Stevenson. "Plenty of time to conduct our business here -- providing we have any business..."

You feel the pen in your warm hands. Own up and in a few minutes you will be howling with pain as Mr Stevenson coolly lashes your naked buttocks with his cane -- a final leaving present to painfully endure on your way back to London. Decline and you'll travel in comfort, your bum free of welts as if you'd never even been to Westjack Island.

You look at the pen. You look at it for a very long time...

You have succeeded, and your adventure ends here.