Tour guides on the paddle steamers of the Connecticut River point to the building on the hill, and say: "That's St.Radegund's School of Correction".

Voice dropping to a hoarse stage whisper: "It's said that they beat the young girls who are there -as young as ten years old!"

The forbidding towers and turrets look more like a German fortress than a place for helping troubled girls to find that they can, after all, fit in with life around them -and enjoy it - helped along by tough love and even tougher discipline.

About a year ago I happened to sit next to a jolly horse-riding woman at dinner in a college. The occasion was to hear readings from a new translation of Petronius' Satyricon.

Considering the mixture of philosophy and outrageous bawdiness from ancient Italy that we were about to hear, I was somewhat surprised when my neighbor told me that she was the Principal of St.Radegund's School for the Correction of Girls.

Priscilla Battem, MA, was an outgoing lady and an excellent conversationalist: she quickly drew from me that I fully approved of corporal punishment for young girls.

I made some pious comments too, about "really painful punishment" so a girl never got to (Heaven forbid!) *enjoy* her beatings.

And much other sanctimonious clap-trap.

Priscilla described for me the room where a girl receives her punishment, lying full-length, face down on a table, her wrists and calves held by soft leather binding. The usual paddles, straps and canes used by the school lie on a smaller table.

The girl wears her school uniform of a white blouse and plain grey kilted skirt, with shoes and short socks, but no underwear of any kind. The teacher raises the girl's skirt and lays it up over her back to expose her bare nates for beating.

The end of the table further from the girl's head is wider and the calf straps can be adjusted to hold the girl's legs apart. Many teachers prefer the access this gives to chastise the girl's inner thighs.

Some teachers prefer to spank the girl as she lies, flat on the table, fesses upwards, full and round, perhaps with a cushion under her stomach, Priscilla said.

Others like to lower the table flap so the girl's legs are pulled down by the straps around her calves, and her bottom is presented to the teacher, bent over, in the more usual position for beating.

The staff of St.Radegund's are all female and live in the school buildings, Priscilla told me, and she bemoaned their limited physical strength to give really severe correction when it is clearly called for.

I saw the direction Priscilla's talk was taking us and pretended at first not to understand, and remarked that "I was heavily committed these days".

In the end, though, I "reluctantly let her persuade me" to say I would try to help the school in the way she asked.

To cut a long story short, as we parted that evening after hearing wildly erotic renditions of the Satyricon, I agreed with Priscilla Battem to visit St.Radegund's School for the Correction of Girls on the next Wednesday evening at eight to chastise any girls who needed a specially firm hand.

Next Wednesday, the night was dark and overcast as I parked my car near the massive building, perched on its hilltop: St.Radegund's School for the Correction of Girls.

Not a single light in any of the windows - they must all have shutters that are closed at night - except for one small window up in the roof of that forbidding building, which showed a dim glow.

The moon appeared briefly from behind clouds and it's reflection glistened silver for a moment in the black surface of the Connecticut river far below.

The single outside light was enough for me to find my way up the wide stone steps and reach the iron-studded oak door at the top, with its bell-pull.

I yanked it hard, just as the clock over the school was striking eight. The door was opened by an elderly maidservant in uniform - I told her my name:

"The Principal is expecting you, Sir. Please come in and let me have your hat and coat".

"Thank you. Do you have a bath-room I can use before meeting with the Principal?"

"Certainly, Sir. The door there, marked 'B'. I will wait for you here Sir".

I was glad to relieve myself then splash water on my face, in preparation for my exertions.

The maid was waiting and led me to one of the oak doors in the hallway with a brass plate: "Priscilla Battem, MA, Principal".

The maid knocked. We heard "Come in!" and she swung the door open.

Priscilla Battem came across the room:

"Ah! Mr. Embury! Thank you, Katherine. Would you please close the door after you.

"I am so glad you could come as we arranged, Mr. Embury. Let's sit here by the fire a moment. May I call you Pentland when we are together in private? And you please call me Priscilla! (I bowed my assent). Thank you, it lends a frank informality to our talk.

"I will offer you a glass of wine *after* you have done your work for us, but perhaps you would like coffee or something cool before we go?".

"No, thank you, Priscilla. I am ready for work".

"Well, I have just one girl, Pentland, who awaits your firm discipline on this fist visit of yours to St. Radegund's; I see you have brought a brief case, and I assume it has any implements of your own that you may prefer to use in place of our paddles and straps?"

"Yes indeed, Priscilla".

"I have described the punishment rooms to you already, Pentland. You will find a paper clipped to the back of the door: it has the girl's name, with a description of the faults she is to be punished for, and any notes on her background that may be helpful to you - some girls were used to quite violent treatment before coming here; others have had quite easy lives, physically.

"I leave it entirely for you to judge the type and amount of correction that is appropriate for the girl.

"You will not be disturbed, unless you press the electric bell push on the wall - just once - to call a member of the school staff to assist you . . .

"Please take as long as you wish to chastise, counsel and give guidance to the miscreant.

"When you have completed your punishment of the girl, can you please press the bell push on the wall - press it twice? A teacher will come eventually to escort the girl back to her dorm room.

"Are the procedures clear, Pentland? Do you have any questions?"

"Your arrangements are simple, thank you Priscilla. The result of much experience and thought, I'm sure!"

"Well, this has been a lot of introduction, just for your first visit, Pentland. If you are ready, shall we will go to the punishment rooms now?"

For some reason, I had expected punishments would be given in a dank and dismal basement, but I was completely mistaken: We climbed four flights of stairs until we seemed to be up in the attics.

Facing the stairs on the top landing was a partition wall: looked like pine paneling made properly dark and forbidding. with a walnut oak stain.

The ceiling sloped down for a foot or so at each end of the wall: clearly we were near the ridge of the roof.

Two doors in this wall were marked "1" and "2"; a third door betwen them had no marking.

"The center door goes to the girls' side of the house, Pentland. The doors with numbers on them are the punishment rooms.

"The room numbered "One" has the girl, tied down to a table and wearing only a shirt and kilt, who is awaiting your punishment this evening.

"The door over here with "B" on it is a bathroom should you want it.

"I will look forward to sharing a glass of wine with you down in my study when your work is done. You know my door: Just knock and come in!

"Any questions? No? Good luck, Pentland!",

And with that the Principal turned and left me, not quite knowing what lay ahead . . .

When the Principal's footsteps on the stairs had died away, I wished myself luck too, then knocked on the first door and entered the wood-paneled and dimly lit room.

A young girl was lying on the punishment table, just as the Principal had described: face down with her wrists and calves held by leather straps. She was dressed in a grey kilted skirt and a white blouse. I saw green eyes staring anxiously at me from under her red hair, and I could see she had been crying.

I set my briefcase down on the small table, alongside the paddles and straps. The note clipped to the door told me her name was Sarah.

"Sarah", I said, "I am Pentland Embury, and the Principal has asked me to punish you for what it says you did on this note.

"I am going to read it out loud and I want you to listen: I want to know if you think what it says is true.

"Do you understand what I'm saying, Sarah?"

"Yes mister Emby"

"Address me as 'Sir' when you speak to me, Sarah. Right?"

"Sir, Yes Sir."

"Good! Now listen carefully, Sarah".

I read it out loud - all except the last bit about no CP before coming to St.Radegund's:

"SARAH: At lunch in the refectory today, Sarah threw food. She hit the History teacher on the head with a boiled potato.

"Sarah, 12, sometimes gets carried away with her high spirits which can result, as on this occasion, in gross insubordination.

"Sarah must learn to behave herself properly at all times".

Sarah had never received corporal punishment of any kind before she came to St.Radegund's five months ago; chastisement has so far had little affect on her occasional unruly behavior, which must cease if she is to stay at St.Radegund's.

"Now tell me Sarah, is this true? Did you throw a boiled potato at lunch in the refectory and hit the History teacher on the head with it?" (The sight must have been hilarious, but I kept a straight face).

Sarah's words came tumbling out:

"Yes! That'swhatIdid. And Idon'tknowwhyIdidit! Iliketheteacher,reallyIdo. IknowIdeserveabeating, butpleeeeeeasedon'tbetoohardonme MrEmby,please!"

"Sarah, get a grip of yourself! Now I want you to say all that again more slowly, so I'm sure I understand it".

"Sir. Yes Sir. I don't know why I ever did a thing like that Sir. I like the History teacher Sir.

"Something just came over me Sir. I'll never do it again Sir.

"Please don't beat me too hard Sir!"

"Hmmmm. From the way you say that Sarah, I can tell you deliberately aimed the potato at the History teacher. It was not an accident; you intended it to hit the teacher.

"We have to stop 'Something just coming over you', Sarah, so you don't ever do terrible things like this again 'Which you don't understand why'.

"What you did to the teacher was really mean and nasty of you, Sarah. You must remember to behave yourself in future Sarah, and I am going to give you a sound spanking on your bare bottom - probably more painful than you have ever had before, to help you to remeber what I am saying.

"Do you understand me Sarah?"

Sarah, in a trembling voice: "Yes Sir. I do understand Sir"

With that, I lifted Sarah's plain grey pleated skirt and tucked it into the neck of her white blouse . . . and stopped, rooted to the floor:

I had seldom seen such sweet and innocent beauty as Sarah's bare body. She was a slender girl, so slender that the cheeks of her bottom curved smoothly into her legs with no fold or crease in the surface there. It was the color of her skin which lent Sarah an air of angelic purity: she was a clear dazzling white.

I pulled myself together:

"Sarah, I'll start by arranging you the way I want for your spanking. I want your ankles further apart (she gave a low groan), so I will move the leather ties on your legs . . . And I want a cushion under your middle to raise your bottom".

I took the cushion from the table and told Sarah to raise her middle. I slid a hand under to support her and pulled the skirt from under her, up to her neck so she lay completely naked from the waist down to her shoes and socks.

At the same time I slid the cushion under her tummy -feeling with my hand to be sure I left her cunnie uncovered.

"There, Sarah. You are in the position I want. Just one little thing before we start: Let's make sure you are squeaky clean down where I am going to spank you".

I first took a freshly-laundered white cotton handkerchief from my case, spat on it and gently rubbed her coral lips, which were plainly visible with her legs pulled so wide apart.

The stain on the white cotton showed me that Sarah could have been cleaner.

I took a 'Moisture-Wipe' tissue from my briefcase and wrapped it around a finger which I slid gently down between Sarah's cheeks.

I pressed the wet tissue against her rosebud for a long time then rubbed it slowly back and fore over Sarah's nether lips and rocked my finger from side to side. She made faint moaning sounds and clearly loved what I was doing.

Next I took a fresh tissue and slid my hand down between Sarah's legs with it and gently dabbed her cunnie.

To finish, I took the handkerchief and carefully, slowly, dried her quim and sparkling-pink coral lips.

I tucked the cleaning materials carefully into a plastic bag and back into my case: I had noticed a growing market in such things on the Web, and saw no reason to be prudish about joining it.

"Now Sarah, before I can give you a spanking, you must relax your bottom".

That was nonsense of course: Sarah was beautifully relaxed from my gentle massaging down between her legs . . .

I slowly rubbed and squeezed Sarah's soft warm bottom -her cheeks were smooth as silk and exquisitely pliant to my touch - and I asked her:

"Sarah, what brought you here to St. Radegund's School for Correction; what did you do wrong?"

Sarah loved what I was doing to her soft warm bottom, smooth as silk. She bent her back to press her cheeks up towards my fondling hands, and squirmed her bottom slowly from side to side as a dreamy smile came over her face.

"Well, Sir, I never had a Dad Sir and me Mom didn't want me around for her boyfriends to see Sir so I lived a lot at school friends' Sir.

"Then me Mom left home Sir with one of her men Sir - went to Florida or somewhere - and I moved in with a school friend Sir. Her Mom liked me Sir and didn't mind Sir.

"Sir then I did a daft thing at school Sir: all the teachers were on the stage Sir in the auditorium for the start of the year Sir, and I'd seen this lever thing Sir that said 'Sprinkler: Stage: Test' Sir and I went and did it . . . Sir.

"They all got soaked and me friends and me near shit ourselves laughing. But they sent for the police Sir and next day they put me up in front of a judge Sir.

"Sir he found out that no one was respons'ble for me Sir and sent me here Sir. Didn't say how long for Sir; just 'until they think you can behave, then find a foster home for you', is what he said Sir - 'Next case!'"

"The judge said you are to be here until they think you can behave, Sarah. Did he say what would happen if the staff here think you never can be trusted to behave yourself?"

"No Sir. He didn't Sir."

"Well, they certainly wouldn't be able to keep you here Sarah, that's for sure! There's only one place for girls who are violent: girls who soak the teachers with water or throw boiled potatoes at them, Sarah, and who won't change their ways and behave themselves.

"They go to a junior penitentiary, where they sleep in a stone cell behind bars and the warders all carry clubs and handcuffs to keep you in order and to protect themselves.

Sarah had stopped squirming her bottom around and her eyes grew round as I said this.

"They have hungry rats there, which come out at night and wriggle all over you in your warm bed; They like the taste of blood too and bite you in the night".

I didn't need to go on: Sarah was looking really frightened by now. I kept gently rubbing and squeezing her bottom, but she had stopped enjoying it.

"You are only twelve years old, Sarah, but you are an intelligent person. Your mother treated you badly by walking out on you Sarah, and you get these sudden urges to take revenge on the people who are in charge of you now: your teachers.

"You are the only person who can change the way you act, Sarah, and you have got to change or you will be sent to the penitentiary.

"I *know* you can do it Sarah! You must just make new rules for yourself and keep to them:

BEHAVE YOURSELF! DO NOT BE MEAN!

"Do you understand what I am saying, Sarah?"

Tears were running down Sarah's face now, she was scared and sweating: I could smell her fear.

"Yes Sir, I do understand Sir."

"I am going to help you to remember always what I've said, Sarah".

With that, I began to spank Sarah's silky white bottom, light and fast. With one smack I repeated the words: BEHAVE YOURSELF! With the next smack: DON'T BE MEAN!

I kept my fingers together and used my hand like a paddle, loose at the wrist. I smacked fast and light and covered all of Sarah's bottom, giving more attention to any place that was not quite as red as the rest. Her bottom bounced and quivered under my quick pat-a-cake smacks while I watched her dazzling white cheeks grow more and more red.

For every two spanks I said: BEHAVE YOURSELF! and DON'T BE MEAN!

I made Sarah's pain build up slowly until I was flattening her cheeks with every slap; It was agony for her and tears were pouring down her face and she sobbed as she squirmed and wriggled under my inexorable spanking, croaking:

"Nooooo! Stopppp! Ohhhhh! It Huuuurts! Perleeeese! Ohhhhhh!"

Sarah's cheeks became a brilliant glowing scarlet, in striking contrast to her back and legs which remained dazzling white. Never did any painter achieve a brighter red in his paintings of a sunset.

Sarah's bottom was looking just gorgeous.

But I didn't want to numb her bottom so much that she stopped feeling pain from each one of my my spanks so I said:

"I will give you a short rest Sarah, to take some of the pain die away".

Through her sobs and tears: "Oh Sir! Thank you Sir!"