Chapter 1

"To be a pilgrim."

The last notes of the hymn, enthusiastically sung by the assembled congregation, boomed out inside the confines of the church. The Reverend Thompson smiled down at his flock. My how it had grown in the last five years! When he first came to Moreton-In-The-Wold, he was quite used to preaching to a few, mainly elderly, parishioners. Admittedly, they hadn't been great days. Nevertheless he had persevered and the Lord had provided.

The Lord, in fact, had been bountiful. His church, like all the others in the local area was now full to bursting point. The Reverend Robin Thompson had a suspicion that this may have been down to the latest government edicts, but on the other hand he liked to think that the new found popularity of the church may be also down to the fact that his parishioners had rediscovered the word of the Lord through his own sterling efforts as the leader of the Parish. He'd always had that title of course but it now it actually meant something, namely prestige, money and power.

He opened the Good Book that was placed on the lectern in front of him and began his sermon.

"Deuteronomy 10:12. And now, O Israel, what does the Lord your God ask of you but to fear the Lord your God, to walk in all his ways, to love him, to serve the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul."

Four rows in front of him, Mark Storey's eyes began to glaze over. Bloody hell! What a waste of a morning! The sun was shining outside, and that's where he should be, outside and enjoying it. That's where they all should be in fact, but instead they were sat on hard wooden benches, dressed uncomfortably in their Sunday best listening to the pompous old fool at the front.

How had it come to this, he thought. Sundays used to be days of relaxation, lazy days in the pub, or maybe watching the kids play their various sports. A day out in the park, or maybe a trip to the beach. But now, Sundays were reserved for God and the church. Sport was banned on a Sunday, pubs and even shops were forbidden to open on the Lord's Day.

The last change in government had brought about a sea change in the way the country was run. Permissiveness had run its course. The population was sick of the escalating crime and unrest. The time had come to stamp down very hard on all of that sort of thing. The reaction, fanned by the populist media, was 'a return to old values'. Old values that weren't specifically described but seemed to encompass things that the majority of older voters were in favour of.

Mark himself had been supportive of a slightly more authoritarian regime. In fact he'd persuaded his wife, Anna and their daughter into joining him in voting for the New Government Party. When it was returned to government with a slim majority, the results were almost instantaneous. Thoughts and opinions that didn't chime with the prevailing orthodoxy were simply silenced. The media outlets that didn't wholeheartedly support the New Government were banned.

All of a sudden, newspapers and social media were full of good news. Political opposition was minimal, and even that was largely ignored by the government friendly media. Rather than talk the country down, newspapers were strongly encouraged to support it. Positive stories regarding the economy were given prominent position on the evening news. The old-fashioned broadcast media had been purged and replaced by StateMedia which was a wholly government run organisation. Good news regarding the nation's health and well-being were a staple diet of the new media.

There was a feeling of optimism in the air that couldn't be denied. The economy appeared to be booming. The government spent a large amount of money on infrastructure, which created jobs and confidence especially in areas where its vote was weak. At the peak of its popularity the New Government Party called a snap election and won a huge, landslide majority.

And that's where it had all changed as far as Mark was concerned. The government had taken its mandate regarding authority very seriously. More prisons were built, and more criminals incarcerated. Sentences were longer and there was no longer any chance of parole. Opposition to the government was conspicuous by its absence. In fact many opposition politicians seemed to have just disappeared into thin air.

And yet the government's approval rating continued to soar. Buoyed by this, the government introduced yet more Draconian methods. An evening curfew for young people, those under the age of 21 was introduced. This proved to be wildly popular among the over 21 electorate and was yet another vote winner as far as the government was concerned. As a result of its positive reception, the voting age was increased to 21, a motion that was easily carried in parliament.

It was about that time that the government became religious. The new Prime Minister, Reginald Mourne, had recently married his long term partner who was known to be extremely pious. Suddenly attendance at church became obligatory for schoolchildren, Sunday school was mandatory as well. Shortly after that there was a huge push in the media to persuade people to go to church. Then larger businesses, with the support of the government, made it clear to their staff that they expected them to attend church.

That was mainly why Mark and Anna were sat, bored to death, in their parish church. She worked for a large, national insurance company. Earlier that year they'd sent around a memo telling their employees that they, and their partners and where appropriate their children, would in future be attending church and or Sunday school.

Although Mark had cursed the initiative and told Anna that he wouldn't be going, in truth he had no option. That is if he wanted Anna to keep her job. And at the moment the new raft of legislation made it very difficult for people to chop and change their jobs like they did in the old days. In fact the internet sites that Mark often frequented were buzzing with the rumour that the larger businesses had colluded with the government on mandatory church attendance in exchange for a relaxation of the employment laws.

At that moment everyone around him started to get to their feet. Oh dear, another song was about to begin. Mark fumbled for the hymn book and the appropriate page. For a second his eyes caught those of his wife and he raised his eyebrows in mute resignation. Just how long was this seemingly endless charade going to go on for anyway? He would have given anything to be sat out in the sun somewhere and enjoying a nice refreshing beer. He licked his and lips and then started to sing along with everyone else.

Chapter 2

At that precise moment, Helen Arnold was having very similar thoughts. She wanted to be anywhere but where she was now. She was in church, but rather than singing along with the rest of her local congregation she was in the parish meeting room at the back of the building. Dimly she was aware of the noise of the hymn being sung. She wouldn't have minded being with them, but instead she was stretched over the ample knee of Mrs Thompson, the vicar's wife.

She'd been late for this week's service and as a result had found herself locked out of the building. Instead she'd reported to Mrs Thompson and was now receiving her punishment. There had been ten of them altogether. Ten latecomers, seven of which had already been punished and were stood with their toes and noses touching the skirting board and the wall respectively.

All of them had rosy red backsides following the vigorous application of Mrs Thompson's wooden paddle. They'd then been displayed with their skirts pulled up or their trousers pulled down and their underwear around their ankles. The seven of them, four women and three men also had their hands on their head.

From her undignified position over Mrs Thompson's knee, she could just make out the shoes of the two people waiting behind her in line to be punished.

"So, Miss Arnold. What do you have to say for yourself?" Asked the middle-aged woman as she slowly pulled Helen's skirt up above her waist.

"I'm sorry, Mrs Thompson, and it won't happen again," Helen hated the sound of her own pitifully apologetic voice but she knew that was the only acceptable response.

"That's as maybe, dear. But being late for church is a sin. You know that don't you?"

Helen felt the woman's hand gently pat and stroke her backside through her thin knickers. She blushed profusely as she felt the unwelcome invasion. Was being a few minutes late for a church service actually a sin, she wondered.

"Yes, of course. And I'm sorry," she replied erring on the side of safety.

She felt hands on the waistband of her bright blue knickers and then them being slipped over her thighs and banded at her knees.

"Sorry isn't good enough, young lady. You deserve a paddling, and that's just what you're going to get."

Helen felt a pressure on the backs of her thighs which she knew was the hefty, middle-aged woman reaching over her to retrieve the paddle from a nearby desk. She held her breath, she'd never been paddled before, and from the noise it made and the reaction it produced she had a definite feeling that it hurt very much.

Whaaap!

Oh God! She was right, it certainly did hurt. It hurt so much in fact that the breath was driven from her lungs. Even before she could draw another one,

Whaaap!

The paddle struck her for a second time in exactly the same place, on the crown of her right buttock. This time however, she had a chance to scream.

"Owwwwwow!"

Whaaap!

Then two more strokes in quick succession,

"Aaaaargh...please!"

Whaaap!

Then two more.

"I want you to remember this when you're tempted to be late again, Miss Arnold. You will remember this won't you? "Asked Mrs Thomson, stroking Helen's glowing backside with her paddle.

"I'd hate to have to do this all over again next week."

I'd bet you'd love to do it again, you old bitch, thought Helen, mutinously. She felt the tap of the wood against her inflamed buttocks. She knew her punishment was only half over, and she knew what the next question was going to be.

"I'll be on time next week, Mrs Thompson, really I will."

Helen hated begging like this, but she understood that was what was required. The intensity of the insistent tapping on her bottom increased.

"And if you're late again, dear. What will happen then?"

"I'll get fifteen strokes."

"Yes you will, dear. Fifteen strokes with your pretty dress pulled up and your knickers pulled down to your knees."

Helen sobbed a little, the combination of the pain in her backside and Mrs Thompson's humiliating words were starting to have an effect.

"Five more, dear. Do try and take them like a big girl. Do you think you can do that?"

Helen sniffed before replying.

"Yes, Mrs Thompson."

Whaaap!

All five were delivered at lightning speed with the vicar's wife using all the considerable strength of her right arm. Helen threw her head back and howled. Her feet kicked as she struggled, but Mrs Thomson was far too strong and experienced for her. She simply took a firm grip on Helen's waist until she calmed down, and then despatched her to her position of shame facing the wall.

"Ah, Mrs Andrews, I believe you're next," she said, patting her thighs expectantly.