Chapter1

 

The new trend was Exercise Club, a new idea that was spreading like wildfire up and down the country. In essence it was organised activity for young and middle-aged women as part of a nationwide drive to increase fitness, health and therefore longevity among women in general. The New Government was very proud of its new scheme. After all, what was the downside? Exercise Club gave women from all backgrounds an opportunity to get fit, make friends and occupy their time healthily, and all for free as far as the Exercise Club members were concerned.

Phillip Baron scrolled through his laptop taking in the images of attractive, fit-looking young women in their snug, yellow vests and tight, white shorts laughing as they jogged through a pleasant looking park. There was no downside as far as he could see, especially when corporate membership was positively encouraged by making the fees entirely tax deductible. Plus of course, businesses that supported NG schemes like these were looked upon very favourably.

Never one to let the grass grow under his feet, Phillip turned on his laptop and booked Nicola into the next available fitness session. By sheer good fortune it was scheduled for the following evening at their local park. The following morning he waited until midday and then told her that she needed to report to Kenworth Park at 7.00pm. Nicola was already pretty tired from an afternoon spent carrying out her ever increasing rota of daily chores at work and therefore didn't have time to go home.

Part of her wondered why Phillip had not booked a later time slot, but he'd already gone home presumably. She decided to save time by going directly to the park, after all it would only be a dull induction and meeting, she assumed. Unfortunately for her, it wasn't. She was checked in by an obvious dyke who told her she had five minutes to get changed and join the others outside. When she explained that she was sorry but she hadn't brought any kit, the young woman looked up at her and smiled,

"That's no problem, Miss Pringle just take of your suit and blouse, and those heels of course, and you're ready to go."

Nicola looked at her open-mouthed. Was she insane? This wasn't junior school; did she really expect a grown woman to do PE in just her knickers and bra? Evidently she did,

"Hurry up, chop-chop! You haven't got all day," she shouted at the harassed older woman with a certain amount of evident pleasure.

Nicola just didn't have the willpower to resist. Reluctantly she unfastened her suit jacket and unzipped her pencil skirt. She hung them tidily and then unbuttoned her blue silk blouse. The young woman looked at her pointedly and tapped her watch. Quickly Nicola hung her blouse up and headed for the exit. There must have been fifty women stood around in yellow T-shirts and extremely tight, white shorts. On their feet they wore tiny white ankle socks and white gym shoes to complete the look.

Some of the young women looked great in their sports kit; it flattered their shapes and accentuated their long, alabaster limbs. Others were not so lucky; some of the more generously endowed women looked quite ridiculous. Nicola was under no illusion as to which category she fell into. Already she was doubting the wisdom of this. As if to confirm her suspicion she was approached by two fit-looking young women wearing smart, blue tracksuits and carrying clipboards. One looked her up and down,

"Another new recruit for the Hippo Club, I see Moira. Take her over to the remedial class if you don't mind."

Nicola felt herself blush to the roots of her hair, did that bitch just describe her as a hippo? It seemed as if she did. Nicola knew very well that she wasn't in perfect physical condition, too many corporate lunches, bottles of wine and late nights working on projects rather than joining the gym as she'd so often promised herself that she would. But was she really as out of condition as the two supercilious bitches were clearly suggesting?

The younger of the two women told her to follow 'at the double'. Gillian soon realised that meant she was to jog rather than walk to the large group at the bottom of the field. The woman left her there and jogged smartly away. The male instructor with a clipboard in his large hand looked Nicola up and down without attempting to disguise his lack of interest, even though she was wearing black, hold-up stockings as well as her bra and panties. Obviously he'd seen lots of women dressed like she was.

"Name?"

"Nicola."

"Surname, and it's sir, to you."

"Erm...Pringle, sir."

"I'll watch you carefully, Pringle. Afterwards I'll draw up a personal plan for you, understood? Report to me before you go home this evening"

"Yes, sir." Nicola thought it prudent to speak respectfully to the young, muscle-bound oaf. He was after all carrying a thin, lithe-looking cane in the belt of his shorts.

Nicola could feel herself blush despite the cool night air. She felt such a fool, discussing her fitness regime with some random stranger while dressed in just her underwear. All those thoughts soon disappeared when the group of women were led on a run around the perimeter of the park. Nicola, like many of her friends and colleagues of a similar age was very much out of condition. She was panting and blowing after less than half a mile. She could feel the painful start of a stitch developing in her side. Suddenly she felt a slap across her thin knickers,

"Come on, fatty, put a little bit of effort into it!"

The muscular, young instructor was jogging effortlessly by her side. He leaned across and gave her another hefty whack with the full meat of his palm.

"Come on, tubby. This isn't a very good start is it?"

She was too tired to answer, so he smacked her again.

"I asked you a question, Pringle!?" He shouted loudly.

"N...no, sir. It's not a good start, sir."

He jogged alongside her for a few metres as she dropped further and further off the pace. Finally she came to a grinding halt and stood trying to get some air back into her lungs. She no longer cared how she looked to the young staff in just her underwear; she just wanted an end to it so that she could go home. As she leaned over she felt a terrific crack across her backside. She howled and leapt upwards, what on earth was going on. She glanced around just in time to see the instructor draw his arm back. Unfortunately she only realised at the last moment that he was about to use his cane rather than his hand. Before she could take avoiding action it whacked into her other bottom cheek, generating waves of pain.

"RUN!!" bellowed the young man into her ear. And miraculously, despite her terminal fatigue and her unfit and out of condition office worker body, Nicola Pringle somehow dredged up the energy to jog after her group. When she eventually reached them, she flopped inelegantly onto the damp grass too exhausted to even sit; she was rewarded with another cut across a tender, exposed thigh from the expertly wielded cane.

"GET UP!" screamed the young man right into her ear. Once again she managed to lever herself back to her feet and clumsily join in the group callisthenics. Her heart was pounding; she half expected the top of her head to burst open such was the pressure of the blood coursing around her body, her breath came in great rasping gasps. This was absolute torture! There wasn't any pleasure in it whatsoever. Why had Phillip signed her up for this, surely he'd been mistaken?

Over in the nearby trees her boss watched in fascination as his secretary was put through a demanding set of exercises which would have been tough for a woman twice as fit as she was. How enjoyable it all was, the twenty or so mainly elderly men in the same bunch of trees were obviously fellow fitness enthusiasts clearly seemed to think do. They were clearly, to judge by their lustful expressions, aficionados of the female form. He glanced at his watch, only thirty five minutes to go, best get back to the house and to his dinner.

When she finally got back home, she'd had to travel by bus of course, Nicola was close to exhaustion. That unbelievably strenuous session had gone on for what seemed like hours. Her limbs felt as if they were made of jelly. She stumbled into the house and collapsed onto a handy settee. The pain in her bottom from the regular doses of the cane she'd received barely registered. She just about had the energy to prepare herself a quick meal before taking a hot shower and going to bed early.

 

Chapter 2

 

Peter Sharpe liked his job very, very much. Like all public sector workers he was relatively well remunerated but unlike them he suspected he would quite happily have done his job for free. Where else could he get to develop his own personal peccadilloes with regard to the discipline of attractive young college women? But it hadn't always been like it was at the present moment. Oh no, quite the opposite in fact.

There was a time, just a few years ago now when the Women's Equality party was in the ascendancy and middle-aged white men like Peter were regarded as antiquated and unnecessary. Peter had come very close to leaving the profession, simply resigning and finding another way to pay the bills. However he'd hung on in the hope that things would improve, and my how he'd been proved right!

His NG membership, taken out more in hope than anything else, had proved to be the single most important thing that kick-started his new career. When the WEP collapsed into chaos he'd been perfectly placed to accept a couple of important promotions that whisked him almost overnight to the top of the greasy academic pole that he'd previously struggled to make any sort of headway up. He'd been passed over more times than he cared to remember and eventually sidelined.

But now he was the head of department and an academic mentor to scores of impressionable young ladies desperate gain his attention and to please him for the sake of their careers at his prestigious old university. In other words it was pervert heaven. And Peter Sharpe was honest enough to identify himself as one of those people. There wasn't a day that went by that he didn't make someone's life a misery usually for his own amusement.

He was disliked of course and he knew that very well, but so what? All he was doing as far as he was concerned was making up for lost time. He'd spent the first ten blameless years of his career lusting after the largely unobtainable young women that were university students in those more innocent days. He'd had a couple of entertaining encounters with some of the more brazen, uninhibited ones but he'd been very circumspect. That sort of thing was frowned upon even in the good old days.

But the five years under feminist control had been absolute purgatory. It seemed that even glancing at an attractive young woman as she passed in the corridors was seen as some sort of offence where a man could lose his job and even his pension over some misunderstanding. Peter often felt as if he was treading on eggshells and behaved accordingly. The increasingly aggressive, shrill young women he taught were never questioned or checked and virtually all of them received full marks on any piece of work that he set.

And obviously, they couldn't be chastised in any way despite the fact, in Peter's opinion, that some of them would have benefited enormously from a good smacked bottom. His palm positively itched with the idea of applying it as firmly as possible to some weeping miscreants bared bottom cheeks. But like so many dreams, that idea had long been placed into the folder marked reality. Peter had to merely download just as much pornography as he possibly could in order to satisfy his spanking fetish.

But now, with the WEP safely consigned to the dustbin of history the situation had well and truly changed for the better. Firstly the number of female undergraduates had been greatly reduced which was a good idea as far as Peter was concerned. He wasn't particular impressed by the intellect of the average young woman. They were far better off getting a more suitable job behind a shop counter serving their betters to the best of their limited ability before finding a man who'd take them on and then settling down to have children, the actual reason they were put on the earth after all.

Granted there were some bright young women but they were few and far between. His university allowed a small percentage of them to attend based on their (very high) test scores and their ability to behave themselves like proper young ladies once allowed onto the campus. They wore a particular uniform to denote the fact that they were students, one which the local population could immediately recognise and therefore report to the authorities should that be necessary.

They looked like 20 year old schoolgirls in their blazers, short skirts and navy blue and red striped ties which was hardly a bad thing in Peter's opinion and it certainly helped to keep the little darlings in their place. Uniforms, the myriad of rules and regulations and the fact that corporal punishment had been introduced for all female students resulted in a compliant, obedient and respectful female student body. Indeed as a group they were hardly recognisable as the sharp-tongued, entitled little bitches that he'd had the misfortune to have to try and educate over the years.

His own particular course was very demanding; the turnover of students was high. Peter had the right to simply turn students away from his course if he felt that they weren't intellectually up to the standard that he required. Well. That was the theory, in practise he whittled away at the plain and the ordinary and the common-sounding ones until he was left with the more attractive well-spoken, compliant sorts of girls. The sort of young women that he actually enjoyed teaching.

Not that he was particularly worried about teaching them at all if he was honest. The results from the female undergraduates weren't published and had no bearing on the university's overall ranking when compared to its peers. He could if he wanted fail all the women on his course, simply declare that they'd all failed to meet the required standard and send them home. But where would be the fun in that?

No, far better was to tantalise them with the possibility of graduating from his university with a newly-minted, shiny, well-regarded degree which promised to transport them into the world of well-paid, secure employment. Something that was in increasingly short supply as the little darlings were beginning to discover for themselves. The result was absolute commitment from his female undergraduates.

After all, they'd spent a great deal of money enrolling onto the course, 25% more than their male colleagues in most cases. An eye-watering sum that had to be repaid with interest within 5 years of graduation. And that figure had to be repaid even if the student didn't finish the course, hence the desperation to remain enrolled. Nobody wanted to be sent home in disgrace as a failure. Most of the young women selected by the university were hard working high-flyers, their lives until this point a constant stream of academic success.

They were used to being the top of their respective classes all the way through school and therefore failure just wasn't an option. What would their options be if they were removed from a prestigious university? Almost certainly no institution of a similar standing would take a risk on them. Peter for example had never offered a place on his course to a young woman who'd been removed from another university. Sometimes a single phone call to a colleague at another famous college was enough to reveal that the candidate was unsuited to university life, be it for academic, social or disciplinary reasons.

The result was total control of his students, and if there was one thing that excited Peter Sharpe more than spanking the bare bottoms of his attractive female undergraduates it was having a certain degree of control over their everyday lives as well.