The Special Section


Special Section and the events in this story are fictitious, although the war and the services and places mentioned were very real.

Although exaggerated, the discipline mention at Dartmouth, including a COs 30, administered to the bare bottom of female recruits did actually happen; as did the punishment of wrens on some naval establishments in some of the ways mentioned in this story.

The Bismarck was indeed a real German warship that made an attempt to force the Royal Naval blockade to attack British shipping before being sunk by elements of Force H and the British Home Fleet.

No disrespect is intended to any of the services who valiant served in the struggle, including the women of the WRNS. This story is intended as an entertainment only.

For clarity of some of the military titles used in this story, the WRNS (wrens) ranks and their male equivalents are set out below.

Ordinary Wren         Ordinary Seaman
Wren             Able Seaman
Leading Wren         Leading Seaman
Petty Officer Wren     Petty Officer
Chief Wren         Chief Petty Officer
Third Officer         Sub-Lieutenant
Second Officer         Lieutenant
First Officer         Lieutenant-Commander
Chief Officer         Commander
Superintendent         Captain

The rain fell in sheets and visibility was down to almost nothing. Graham Courtney knew only too well how hard it would be to land a Lysander in this weather on such a small field.

“Bugger the rain,” he growled.

“Sir?” Leading Wren Pru Meacham knew he wasn’t talking to her but after three months as Commander Courtney’s driver she knew better than to take any chances.

“I said bugger this rain.” Courtney waved in irritation at splattering of raindrops on the car’s windscreen.

“Yes sir,” Pru agreed. Bugger it, she thought, but she would be for the high jump for saying it aloud in her CO’s presence.

She had her own reasons for cursing the weather. The longer it took for the plane to arrive the longer before she could get away on her all too short leave.

“Don’t think Jerry got him do you?” The words were out of Pru’s mouth before she could catch them.

Courtney scowled at her and rolled the window down to scan the sky in defiance of the rain that immediately assailed him. Defeatist talk was another thing you didn’t use in front of the commander, but she could tell from his face that he must be thinking just that. He might have reprimanded her, or worse, if at that moment the unmistakable sound of the Bristol Mercury engine hadn’t announced itself.

“Jerry be damned.” Courtney opened the car door and got out. “Stay here Meacham.”

“Sir.” As she looked at the relentless rain, Pru was more than happy to do as she was told.

The Lysander chugged to halt inches from the near hedge, turning to half face the way it came as it did so. Pru had known better than to ask why an RAF plane needed to land in an English field and not at an airfield, but that did not stop her wondering. Being a driver in Special Section sure beat the hell out of the typing pool Courtney had recruited her from, even if the discipline was a little tighter.

Tighter was the word and she shifted a little on her seat. Her bottom certainly felt tight, not to mention sore since yesterday’s run in with the commander for being late on duty. Still at least he hadn’t cancelled her leave, which he was fully entitled to do and that made him alright in her book.

Pru glanced again at the plane, which by now had come to a complete stop to let a single passenger out. The figure, as far as she could make out, was shorter than the commander by a head. Also the passenger was dressed in a figure-hugging civilian flight suit. Even in the gloom of the rain it didn’t take long for Pru to realise that the new arrival was a woman.

Courtney took something from the visitor and pocketed it and then they both conferred. It was impossible to hear what was said, what with the rain and the sudden revving of the Mercury engine as the plane made to leave, but something about the body language told Pru it was serious stuff. Then Courtney and the woman made a dash for the car.

“Meacham let’s get back to London,” Courtney said as he got back in.

“Yes Sir. Ma’am,” Pru nodded at the leather-clad aviatrix who ignored her.

“Meacham, just drive,” Courtney said curtly, “never mind her, you haven’t seen her.”

“Haven’t seen who sir?” Pru couldn’t help sounding cheeky and she knew it, but after fixing her with a glare, Courtney’s face cracked a little and she joined him in a smile that caused her nose to crinkle up.

All the same Pru couldn’t help checking her passenger out. She was young and beautiful and at most 25. Her sad blue eyes hinted that she had already seen much. Her hair was almost white-blonde, but cut short in a bob so that her elegant swan-like neck could be seen. Then as Pru watched, the woman extracted a packet of cigarettes and a silver lighter from her pocket then lit up. That was when Pru noticed that the smokes were a German brand. Oh lore, she thought, now I really wish I hadn’t seen her.


First Officer Marion Stuart ran her eye down yet another disciplinary report and sighed. To think I toughed it out at Dartmouth for this, she thought bitterly, donkey worker-in-chief at a landlocked backwater.

In 1938, even before the war had started, she had rushed to join the newly re-formed WRNS. Her barrister career had been going nowhere anyway and she had always loved ships. She had passed out third as a wren officer at the naval college and after a breakneck year in Whitehall in the naval recruitment office, had been promoted up from third to second officer and transferred to intelligence on account of her legal brain and the fact that she spoke fluent German.

Then in 1941 some fool had forgotten to translate a memo from the original German that had been sent to the Intelligence Forwarding Section; her section. That wouldn’t normally have mattered but the memo concerned had pertained to a certain German battleship and the fact that it was leaving port. The ship in question was called the Bismarck.

As the only German-speaking officer on duty that morning she had been hauled up before the commodore for a dressing down.

“Now, now dear it wasn’t your fault,” the patronising fool had told her, too damn right it wasn’t, “it’s just that you’re not cut out for intelligence work. Not many women are.”

She could have spat in his face.

“Tell you what, put in for a transfer and I’ll see that you get a promotion and packed off somewhere more suited to your talents.”

His idea of promotion had been a posting as a First Officer and second-in-command of an all women establishment just outside Staines. The sole purpose of which, as near as she could work out, was to keep all the wren drop outs in one place where they could do no harm. The only real work that got done was sorting out odds and ends of missing and incomplete kit and boxing it up for forwarding.

They were also responsible for collection and repair of Admiralty typewriters. A task that was singularly improbable due to the fact that the only repair facility was one old man in nearby Staines who managed to repair and return three machines a week at most.

She sighed and studied yet another of the endless reports on her desk.

“If this rain don’t stop soon ma’am I’ll never get my smalls dry.” Petty Officer Kitty Cairns was just about the only other woman on the base that wasn’t a washout. Then glancing at the disciplinary report in her officer hands she added, “Anyone done anything interesting?”

“Not that I can see,” Marion sighed as she opened her compact to check her immaculate make-up. Not a chestnut hair was out of place and remained piled high on her head where she had put it that morning on rising from her bed. It would hardly dare to be anywhere else. Then she turned back to the list of miscreants. “There aren’t even any new faces up on a charge.”

“Faces is it?” Kitty chuckled.

“Yes, well you know what I mean,” Marion said dryly and snorted.

“You want me to do the honours?”

“Not today. I could stand to do something other than read all of this darn paperwork.”

“Shall I call the first one in?”

“You better had.”


Pru sat on the desk in the main office swinging her legs.

“Haven’t you got anything better to do?” Third Officer Hamilton asked, peering at the idle wren over the top of her spectacles.

Bunty Hamilton was nominally in charge when the commander was out, but even though she was an officer, in the informal atmosphere of Special Section none of the girls ever took any notice of her.

“I have to see the boss.” Pru pulled a face and began chewing her bottom lip. “Late back off leave,” she added by way of explanation.

“Shouldn’t you be…?” Bunty glanced at the wall by the door.

Pru shrugged and hoped that Bunty wouldn’t choose today to pull rank.

“Your funeral,” Bunty sighed. “I’ll try and make myself scarce when he turns up.”

“Oh thanks Bunty… I mean ma’am, you are such a brick.”

“Well just you remember to bugger off when he… well you get the idea.”

Pru smirked. It had been quite an eye-opener to find out that Third Officer Hamilton was not immune from a spanking when she got on the wrong side of Courtney. But then in the three months that she had been at Special Section she was learning that the usual rules did not apply. Not that Pru had been a stranger to corporal punishment since joining the service. The chief wren at her training camp had been a terror with ‘old knotty.’ She just hadn’t expected officers to be on the receiving end as well.

Pru remembered the first time she had reported to the office to see Bunty over the commander’s knee. Courtney had been completely un-phased by her discovery, but Third Officer Hamilton had spluttered angrily at the arrival of a witness.

She had looked so silly with her glasses hanging of her nose and a face that was even redder than her bare bottom, which was quite a feat, while Courtney blasted her backside with an old tennis pump.

“Get her out of here,” Bunty had wailed.

“Now Hamilton, remember who is giving the orders here,” Courtney had chuckled as he had redoubled his considerable efforts on her behind.

Afterwards Pru had challenged the extremely embarrassed Bunty. “You get spanked like that? But you’re an officer. Is he allowed to do that?”

“I think you’ll find her can do anything her wants.” Bunty had not be able to meet Pru’s eyes. “It’s not as if it is the first time since joining the navy. It was the order of the day at Dartmouth.”

When her turn came Pru had decided that if an officer could take it then so could she. In any event, her job was still streets better than the grind of the typing pool. If there was one thing Pru hated worse than the bloody war, it was typing.

She was still lost in remembering when Courtney breezed in. “Meacham, why aren’t you out with the car?”

He brusquely swept past her and began searching the draws on his side of the desk.

“You wanted to see me Sir.” Pru stood up quickly and came to attention with half her heart.

“Ah yes…” Courtney seemed to weigh this up. “Tomorrow; and I had better find you in position. I’ll deal with you then. Now get the car.”

“Tomorrow Sir? What time?”

Courtney glared at her across the desk.

“Aye Sir.” Pru hurried away only to narrowly miss crashing in to the woman she had collected just before her leave.

Dressed in civilian clothes with a medium grey pencil skirt with matching jacket, the woman looked even more beautifully than before.

“Ma’am.” Pru acknowledged her and hurried out.

“Hamilton have we had any luck in getting another German speaker yet? Preferably one with some kind of brain.”

“We had a chap lined up but he was snagged by SOE. I have to go back the Admiralty again. I am sure…”

“I am sure you won’t. Bloody Whitehall; sidestep that lot and source anyone who has languages who has so much had a sniff of intelligence work.”

“Yes Sir.”

“After our little business trip how about a spot of dinner?” Courtney softened.

“Oh Sir that would be…” Bunty gushed and then blushed when she saw that the commander was addressing the cool blonde slinking against the door post and not her.

“That would be good.” Only when she spoke it sounded more like ‘dat wud be goot.’

Oh gosh a bloody kraut, Bunty was shocked. This job gets queerer by the day.


“Maxwell, how many boxes are there in the armoury?”

“I don’t know ma’am.” Ordinary Wren Shelia Maxwell was just 19 and had thought it would be fun to get as far away from Bradford as she possibly could. Now she was being asked stupid questions by the stuck up second-in-command just because she had sneaked a quick fag. She looked at Kitty Cairns for a clue how to answer only to be met with a stern unblinking gaze.

“Well?” Marion snapped.

“Quite a lot I should think Ma’am.” Maxwell blinked hard, conscious of the officer’s face being just inches from her own.

“Quite a lot.” Marion stood back and sighed, pretending to fiddle with something on her desk. “How many boxes of small arms ammo do we have?”

“One, Ma’am.” Maxwell was happy to get an easy question for a change.

“One ma’am,” Marion repeated and sighed again. “So you were in charge of the armoury, and heaven knows we only have one box of ammo and four rifles, and you decided to have a smoke.”

Maxwell winced. This wasn’t looking good.

“Tell me Maxwell out of all these ‘quite a lot of boxes’ in the armoury, which one did you choose to drop your smouldering cigarette stub into?”

“I don’t know Ma’am.”

“Maxwell,” Marion bellowed.

“The one with the bullets in…” Maxwell’s voice tailed off and ended in another wince.

“The one with the bullets in.” Marion nodded slowly in agreement. “Tell me Maxwell do you think you should be smoking on duty?”

“No Ma’am, I…”

Marion wagged a casual finger at the girl to silence her.

“Should you be smoking in the… armoury?” The last word was shouted.

“No Ma’am.” Maxwell winced yet again and screwed her face up.

“No ma’am.” Marion did a slow turn of the office going behind the bolt-upright Maxwell as she did so and by the time she had turned back to face her, she was holding the cane. “Tell me Maxwell do you want to go before the CO or can we resolve this here?”

“I’d rather you handle it Ma’am,” Maxwell gulped. Going before the CO meant 30 strokes or even the glasshouse.

“Alright Maxwell let’s have them down and over you go.”

Shelia Maxwell gingerly slid her hands under her skirts and dragged her bloomers nervously into view at her knees. Then she stepped forward and bent across the desk.

Marion wasted no time and hoisted the back of Maxwell’s skirt and her slip into the small of her back to reveal the girls tight smooth bare bottom.

“I shall give you 24.”

“Ooh,” Maxwell gasped. She was still letting the sentence sink in when she heard the distant whoosh of something. The line of pain beat the crack of the impact to assail her senses and she grunted.

Marion glanced at Kitty who shrugged and they exchanged smiles. Then Marion caned in hard again.

“Ah,” the girl announced her hands fluttering on the desk top.

The cane sliced in down slow even strokes, extracting a grunt or a groan at each biting contact with the girl’s bottom. Each stroke fell lower than the one before, until there was a solid bar of vivid red extending from just below the cleft of the girl’s buttocks and right down to where her bottom met her thighs.

By the time the sentence had been carried out the girl was breathing heavily and was struggling not to cry.

“Alright, adjust your dress and get out,” Marion said with a tone of exasperation.

Maxwell got slowly to her feet and cast a long forlorn look at Kitty with her red-rimmed and tear-filled eyes, before carefully pulling her service bloomers up her legs.

“Who’s next?” Marion asked when Maxwell had gone.

“Ordinary Wren Mayberry, Ma’am.”


The meeting with SIS had gone rather well. Colonel Pemberton had been impressed with Courtney’s scheme to subvert the German war material distribution network. It was simple really. Jerry did not have a lot of respect for women, although was not averse to using them when it suited them.

Women like his recent visitor, Martha von Hindenburg, who was in contact with civilian women pilots that were used to deliver planes from German factories to the airfields in Occupied Europe. These women were often from some of the occupied countries themselves, with no love for the Nazis. The beauty of it was that they didn’t even need to know they were working for the British. All that was required was that one of Special Section’s agents discreetly collect the women’s deliver rosters and forward them to London.

In one easy swoop they had factory locations, airfields, aircraft outputs and Luftwaffe general strength and dispositions.

Martha von Hindenburg was a distant relation of Paul von Hindenburg the former president of the Weimar Republic. Her father had been killed in ‘an accident’ after making a speech criticising his cousin for appointing Hitler Chancellor.

Martha had been immune from the political fall-out that had followed on account of being one of Germany’s pre-war national heroines. Having flown across the Arctic Circle she had become Germany’s answer to Amy Johnson or Amelia Earhart and one of Hitler’s favourites. This had led to Martha being a trusted mascot of the regime with unquestioned access to all Luftwaffe installations.

“Tell me, which aircraft do you consider superior, the Spitfire or the Messerschmitt 109?”

“During your Battle of Britain the Hurricane shot down more planes than either,” she teased, rolling the bowl of the cognac glass against her chin seductively.  “But I think I prefer the De Havilland Mosquito. A brilliant aircraft and so versatile… it is an accomplished night fighter and just about the best precision bomber in the world today; such a darling little aircraft.”

The word darling sounded so sensual on her German lips, which seemed to kiss the air as she said it.

After their Whitehall meeting they had slipped away to a little place in the Strand that Courtney knew so well and where he could still get a steak and a half decent bottle of claret.

“Tell me Commander, do you really want to talk about aeroplanes?” She licked her lips and stared at him with promise-filled eyes.

Courtney contemplated the girl with his hard brown eyes and wondered what game she was playing. He was certain now that there was more to this woman than she was sharing. He called it his seventh sense.

“Tell me about your office and your… disciplinary procedures.” The last two words she said huskily under her breath.

So that was it, he thought, relaxing a little.

“What do you want to know?”

“How strict are you?” She giggled and put her empty glass down on the table and leaned forward.

“Shall we go back to the Ministry flat you enjoy and I could show you.” He drained the last of his cognac and let a smile play on his lips.

“That my dear Commander is a date.”


The flat was large enough considering it was only temporary accommodation provided by the Ministry. It had once been part of a larger house that stood apart from its neighbours in a better part of Holland Park.

Martha asked him to pour them a drink as she crossed the room to turn on the table lamp.

“The blackout,” he gasped.

She looked at him puzzled before remembering that she hadn’t drawn the blinds.

“There will be no raid tonight,” she said, her heavy accent having grown stronger the more she had had to drink.

“Oh you have that on good authority from German High Command do you?” Courtney was not in a joking mood.

“Get that light out,” someone outside screamed and Courtney moved quickly to douse the light before going to the window to check the street.

“We are supposed to be discreet,” he scolded, “if the ARP Warden comes up here on account of you, I’ll tan your backside for you.”

“I am such a bad girl,” she giggled. “I thought you were going to do that anyway.”

He didn’t reply but instead turned to draw the blinds and then covered them with the heavy curtains.

“I’ll light a fire,” she purred moving to the grate and striking a match to the already prepared makings.

He sat back with a scotch to watch her efforts, admiring the curve of her bottom as it thrust back at him as she knelt in front of the nascent fire. It didn’t take her too long to get it going, which puzzled him.

“You do that like an expert,” he said casually, taking a sip of scotch.

“I used to do it at home all the time.” She had taken a large sheet of The Times and used it to block the open fireplace to create a draft that caused a sudden roar of flame that could be seen even through the paper.

“In the family castle you mean. What did you do? Arm-wrestle the maids for the privilege.” He studied her back carefully, his eye running down the slope of her back to her firmly separated buttocks that were clearly defined through the thin layer of her evening wear.

She froze for just a moment and then turned and smiled.

“I was always such a tom-boy.”

The paper caught and flames consumed the headline proclaiming the latest German advances on the Russian front. He didn’t much care for the story anyway.

He might have questioned her further about her life at the Hindenburg castle, but she started to crawl towards him on her hands and knees with a ravenous look in her eyes.

“I’m sorry about the blackout, it was careless of me. It might have helped the Germans.” She snuggled her head against his leg like a cat.

“The Germans?”

“The Nazis I mean,” she licked his trouser leg. “You have good knees and very firm thighs.”

“All the better to turn you across them,” he put his whisky glass on the table beside the chair.

“Is that what you do to the girls in your office?”

“Sometimes,” he agreed, loosening his jacket.

“Do you spank them on their bare bottoms? I bet you do.”

“Come here.”

She resumed her crawling only this time she made it all the way across his lap.

“I bet you wouldn’t dare,” she whispered.

Courtney gently took hold of the lower hem of the skirt of her dress and began to ease it up until it was piled into the small of her back to reveal her silk slip.

Martha didn’t react, but her breathing had begun to quicken and she clutched nervously at the seat cushion by her head. By the time her slip had joined her skirts she was all-but panting.

“I usually start straight on the bare,” he said patting her dainty knickers.

She desperately wanted to say something smart and confident, but suddenly she was bereft of herself and clenched her bottom a little. He squeezed each cheek through the silken layer and considered that this bottom was more used to sitting on a pilot’s seat in a different kind of peril.

“Have you ever been spanked before?” He hooked his thumb into the elastic and began to slide her dainties down off the smooth round hills of flesh.

“Oh ya, my Papa, my governess, my…” She didn’t finish but gasped as she felt his hand caressing her bare bottom.

“…your lovers?” He finished for her.

“Yah,” she breathed.

His hand made sharp contact and she hissed at its impact.

“I don’t give play spankings and I know one young lady who won’t want to sit down tomorrow.”

She slipped her left arm around his waist and hugged into him as he spanked her again. The stream of German that followed was beyond his ken, although he spoke it well enough, but if she was asking for him to go easy then it was in vain.

The spanking was long hard and relentless. He spanked on until she was moist at both ends and her bottom looked like two tomatoes. Not that he had seen one of those in a while.

“Are you going to be a good girl?” He asked not pausing his arm.

“Yah gud,” she groaned.

“Won’t save you.” He laughed and renewed his efforts, spanking her until she began to struggle against him.

The spanking lasted for as long as he had ever spanked a girl and much beyond. Then to his surprise she began to rock on his knees and shout out in anguish. She was actually spending, he realised.

“You have tamed me,” she said after a while, her breathing still very laboured.

She got up and went into the bathroom, using it noisily. So much for my turn, he thought sardonically. Then she returned holding a bath brush.

“You will need this later,” she breathed handing it to him.

Then even as he took it, she went on her knees and began to undo his flies.

“You like, no?”

“I like, yes.”


Pru arrived over an hour before she was usually due to start work. The outer office was thankfully empty, although Third Officer Hamilton was already at her desk.

“You here for the high jump?” Bunty smiled sympathetically over the rims of her glasses.

Pru nodded shyly.

“Buck up, it won’t be any worse than last time,” Bunt chuckled.

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Pru sat on the desk and kicked up her legs.

“Hum-huh,” Bunty coughed and looked significantly at the wall by the corner.

Pru pulled a face and stood up. Her hands began to work the buttons on her tunic.

“Don’t forget the hat this time.” Bunty didn’t look up but hit the return carriage on the typewriter to send back across to the start.

Pru hooked her thumb under the strap and removed her hat and placed on the desk with her tunic. Then she began to unzip her skirt.

“Can’t I…?” Pru plucked at her regulation bloomers.

“Better not.” Bunty pulled a face.

Pru took one last forlorn look at the officer and then hooked her thumbs in her pants and drew them down to her ankles in one motion. “He won’t be here for ages and ages,” she complained as she stepped out of them.

Bunty shrugged and glanced at the girl who was by now naked below the waist and dressed only in her blouse, bra and stockings and suspenders. Then she wolf-whistled in mock appreciation, sending Pru’s hands to cover her exposed sex so that she hunched over a little in the middle of the room.

Bunty gave her sharp look and then directed her gaze to the corner.

“Yes Ma’am,” Pru said dejectedly and ambled over to face the wall and turning her bare bottom to the room. “Still beats the typing pool.” Who was she trying to convince?


Courtney breezed in 15 minutes late with a whistle and threw his hat in a flat spin across the room to land hooked on the coat-stand.

“Any news?”

“No sir,” Bunty said, not looking up from her work.

Then Courtney’s gaze fell upon Pru and he thought of his previous evening. His driver’s bottom compared quite favourably to the German, but it would be duty this time.

“Meacham… don’t turn around,” Courtney barked, “I’ll need you in just over an hour. I need to make a phone call and then we can get this business over with.”

“Yes sir.” Pru’s voice was muffled by the wall.

The phone call was whispered and Bunty noticed that it was scrambled. Nothing unusual, but Courtney didn’t usually care if he were overheard.

“Now young lady come here.” Courtney moved to sit in a chair on the other side of the desk and already had the old tennis shoe in his hand.

Bunty looked up and made to leave.

“Don’t be so squeamish. I need you to finish your reports.”

“But sir… yes sir.” She sat back down again.

Pru walked humbly across the room with her hands still guarding her sex.

“Over my knee.”

“Yes sir,” Pru squeaked.

Bunty could not concentrate on her work as the steady dull thwack of the slipper pounded Pru’s bottom extracting gasps and wails for a good 10 minutes. She looked up occasionally to see an ever redder behind taking a first class welting.

“There is a bloody war on, you know, we are not messing around,” Courtney had once said to her. Bunty supposed he had a point.

The spanking finally over, Pru got unsteadily to her feet and clamped her hands on her bottom careless of showing Courtney her front.


“Sir.” It was a grunt and Pru nodded.

“Alright you silly girl, get dressed and get out.”

“Yes sir.” Pru managed a smile and turned to gather up her bloomers affording the office one last flash of her red backside.

Courtney and Bunty exchanged a glance; smiling as they shrugged.


First Officer Stuart stared at the envelope for the 10th time that morning. It was definitely from the Admiralty. Then she reread the short missive inside.

“This has to be a joke,” Marion Stuart said to Kitty Cairns.

“No Ma’am, it really does look like you are leaving us.” Kitty said with a smile.

“But… I was forbidden to put in for a transfer, I haven’t… how… how on Earth…?”

“I have three more backsides waiting outside.”

“Well you know what you can do with them don’t you?” Marion beamed. “I have a train to catch.”

“I have a pretty good idea Ma’am.” Kitty picked up the cane and tapped it menacingly against her palm.

Marion shook her head and smiled. “Have fun.”

The ride to Staines station to get the 3.30 to Waterloo was a short one. Although in the event the train was late and then cancelled altogether.

“There is a war on,” the station clerk said irritably, not bothering to stop and hear another complaint.

More reason that it should work on time, Marion thought bitterly. Sometimes she wondered if they even deserved to win the war and sighed, her mind wandering back to her time at Dartmouth.

“Stuart, late on duty again,” Cadet Captain Minchin yelled.

“Sorry sir I was…”

“Stuart,” he snapped. “Shut up. I don’t want excuses.”

“No sir, sorry sir,” the younger Marion had said. She hadn’t been used to naval discipline in those days. Long City lunches and having a Chief Clerk to spoon feed her cases had been her lot. She didn’t miss it.

“Sorry sir, I’ll make you bloody sorry. Take a tick for tardiness and another for the state of that cap badge.”

Marion blanched.

“But that’s…” Her eyes bulged in dismay.

“Three,” he completed her sentence for her with an evil grin.

Cadet Billington risked a glance sideways and stifled a smirk.

“Eyes front or you’ll get a tick as well.”

Mary Billington’s eyes snapped forward and the grin vanished.

Three ticks, Marion groaned inwardly. She prayed that the rumours and threats were an exaggeration. They weren’t. Three ticks meant summary punishment at the cadet captain’s hands. The CO was the only appeal and that did not bear thinking about.

Summary cadet punishment at Dartmouth meant skirts up, bloomers down and six of the best across the bare bottom. The fact that she was a 28-year-old woman and the cadet captain was a man, a younger man, did not matter.

“Legs together,” Minchin said casually.

Marion blushed until she thought her ears would melt for knowing what he had seen.

That had been her first six. It had been embarrassing and it had hurt. The fact that he had been kind afterwards and had offered her a hanky for her tears had been almost as humiliating as taking a bare-bottomed caning from a man. Jerry was going to be quaking in his boots; tears for God’s sake.

After that she learnt to be tougher. She had needed to be. She gathered a tick a week on average. At caning for three ticks meant that she was barely left unmarked for her whole stint at Dartmouth.

Then there was the CPO in charge of cadets. He never gave less than 12 and he hated ‘stuck up posh bints’ who thought they were better than everyone else.

“But I don’t,” she had wailed pathetically the second time she had been up for 12 for being caught smoking in the toilets.

“Answering back are we?” He was loving it. “Take another six.”

By then she could take six from Minchin without tears, but the CPO was a demon and he demanded that submission.

Then there had been the bayonet drill. She shuddered. The drill had been interrupted by a spot inspection. A hasty shoulder arms with the bayonet still fixed had ended in a weapon sliding dangerously across the parade ground and stopping pointy end in the CO’s staff car tyre.

Thirty on the bare from the CO in front of his aide and secretary had been the very worst. There had been days at Dartmouth when she had thought that she would never sit down again.

Finally the train arrived at Staines railway station. Half the side plate of the engine was missing and one of the carriages was still smouldering. Damn Jerrys; she felt ashamed for her attitude about the cancelled train. There must have been an air raid on Reading.

“All aboard,” the guard shouted.

All aboard for a new posting, Marion thought. Special Section, whatever you may be, here we come.


Courtney hadn’t expected to hear back from SIS about his enquiry so soon. He scanned the note three times before carefully rolling it up and putting a match to it.

He eyed Bunty carefully and then asked: “What do you know about the Stuart woman?”

Bunty picked up a file off her desk and peered at it for a moment. “Lawyer with excellent German, over a year’s experience in intelligence work, joined the navy in 1938, she is 31 and single; a looker too I would say.”

“No flags?”

“There was something, I told you… ah yes she was on duty when a communiqué went astray; something about the Bismarck, a classic scapegoat scenario, no other blemishes on her record Sir.”

“Pull all the files for me and put another flag on her.” Courtney was rubbing his jaw, a sure sign that he was up to something. Bunty wondered why all the last minute concerns about a new recruit; all the checks had already been done with no obvious issues arising.

“A flag? What nature of flag?”

“Lowest priority. Just say that Special Section has an interest… no, no hang on. Call Peterson and have him put a flag up; something very discreet.”

“Special Branch?” Bunty frowned.

Courtney gave her a hard sideways look.

“Sir, Yes Sir, on it Sir,” Bunty said hastily.


Marion stood in Trafalgar Square looking down the Strand towards her old stomping ground at the Temple. She didn’t miss it she decided. However, she knew now that she had missed Whitehall; she crossed the road and turned down its wide street. Within a quarter of a mile of where she now stood were the organs of the Empire locked in mortal combat with the greatest peril the world had ever known. This was where the action was.

An admiral passed her and she saluted quickly, but he wasn’t even looking, so she hurried on. Horse Guards and the Admiralty were on her right; not to mention number 10, although she had heard that Winnie was rarely there. And then there on her left was the War Office.

The sentries came to attention as she entered the building and she returned a casual salute. The entrance was impressive but she had seen it before, so she marched up to the reception desk where an army warrant officer sat and handed him her papers. She already knew that you did not blurt anything out in a public area.

After a pause to read them he handed them back. “Oh that lot. Not this building Ma’am,” he took a careful look around and lowered his voice, “out the door turn right and second on the left. When you come to the wrong place say you have come about the Christmas party.”

Marion baulked and then turned on her heel and went as she was directed. It wasn’t until she arrived at the pokey little tailor shop that she realised what the WO had meant about the ‘wrong place;’ this couldn’t possibly be connected to the War Office.

“I have come about the Christmas party,” she said foolishly.

“Of course you have dear,” the old woman behind the sewing table said without looking up, “you’re expected, go right up.”

The women in the outer office were an eclectic bunch and not one of them looked up as she entered, even though several of them were wrens.

“Doesn’t anyone ever salute an officer in this place?” Marion drew herself up to her full height.

“Not usually, no,” said a wren wearing no tunic. And she was smoking.

“Put that out. Who is in charge here?” Marion was incensed; she thought she had left this sort slapdashery behind in Staines.

“I think you will find that is me,” a male voice drawled from somewhere behind her. “Come in Stuart.”


He was a handsome man in his 40s with a few silver streaks in his hair and the flashes of grey at his temples had gone almost completely white.

Marion stood at attention in front of his desk, she was acutely aware that a Leading Wren was leaning on the desk behind her reading a magazine and a Third Officer was off in a dream with a loosened tie.

“Stand easy, we are a little informal around here.” The commander didn’t look up from his file.

“So I see sir,” Marion replied curtly.

He looked up and regarded her with his sparkling blue eyes and smiled. “You will soon get used to our little ways.”

“Will I Sir?” It sounded close to insubordinate even to her own ears, Marion thought, but she couldn’t help being appalled at the laxity of the office.

“Bunty, who do you prefer, Clark Gable or Ronald Coleman?” the Leading Wren said from somewhere behind.

The officer, apparently Bunty replied, “do shut up, some of us are trying to work.”

“Pardon me for breathing, I’m sure,” the wren retorted.

“You do not address an officer in that manner girl, what’s your name?” It was out of Marion’s mouth before she could stop it.

“Meacham Ma’am,” Pru instantly came to attention, letting the magazine flutter to the floor.

Everyone in the office had stopped talking and was staring at Marion.

Courtney coughed. “I admire your enthusiasm, but perhaps you could settle in before you share your zealotry with our humble little world.”

“Yes Sir, sorry sir,” but she was anything but.

“My, my, we have a new cat in town. Meow.” The woman who had spoken had a German accent was beautiful and blonde. She slinked into the office to perch on the edge of the commander’s desk and openly ran her eye up and down Marion with an appraising eye.

“Martha, this is First Officer Stuart, our new girl.” Courtney watched the look that passed between the two women and could almost hear the hackles rising on the instant enemies.

Martha extended a hand as if to shake Marion’s, but instead she leaned forward and began pawing at Courtney. For some unaccountable reason Marion suddenly felt acutely jealous. It was ridiculous, she already loathed the man.


Courtney slowly massaged Martha’s red sore bottom while she purred.

“What was that for? Not that it matters,” Martha groaned as she stretched out on the bed. “Looking out for your new girl? She looks like she can take care of herself.”

Courtney had got Martha’s attention with a long hard spanking over his knee within a minute of getting her back to the flat. Now he was revelling in her strawberry red flesh, letting his hands caress the goose-pimpled skin and slide deeply into her tight young crevice.

“You were a total brat,” he chuckled reaching out and extracting a fresh groan of pleasure. “Anyway don’t worry about her; she won’t be with us long.”

“Oh?” Martha’s interest was piqued, “any particular reason?”

“Let’s just say that her German may be a little bit too good.” Courtney let the words sink in and noticed that Martha seemed to visibly relax.


“You are the worse excuse for a wren that I have ever seen.” Marion was pacing up and down in front of Pru punctuating each reprimand with a bark. “And believe me that is saying a lot.”

“No Ma’am, I mean yes Ma’am, I mean…”

“Meacham, shut up.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“I don’t know why Commander Courtney tolerates you, but I am here to tell you that things are going to change around here. This is supposed to be a naval station, not some private club,” Marion continued.

“Isn’t that rather up to Commander Courtney?” Bunty interjected.

“Hamilton, shut up. I’ll deal with you later.”

Bunty raised both eyebrows at this and turned back to her work.

“Now shall I put you on CO’s report or will you accept my award.”

Pru felt sick. She knew that this job was too good to last and sooner or later the Admiralty would send a proper officer to sort things out. A CO’s report didn’t sound good. It might even mean a transfer back to the bloody typing pool.

“I’ll take your award Ma’am.”

“Alright bend over and touch your toes,” Marion said walking over to the coat stand where she had hung a newly obtained cane.


“You heard me. And get those knickers down.”

Bunty wondered if she should say something, but it hadn’t been so long since she had been at Dartmouth and her own bottom twitched a little. Pru threw her a look of panic, but all Bunty could do was shrug.

By the time Marion turned back with the cane in her hand Pru was bending over with her bloomers visible under the hem of her skirt.

Bunty gave Marion a look that seemed to say ‘you are not really going to do this,’ but the First Officer ignored her and took a step forward to seize Pru’s hemline. It took only a moment to bare the girl.

Pru gasped at the exposure, railing against the uncomfortable and undignified position in which she found herself.

“I believe I can meter out anything up to two dozen,” Marion said imperiously, “any questions?”

“No Ma’am,” Pru said thickly, her voice muffled on account of her nose being only inches from the floor.

“You will take 12,” Marion announced with barely concealed satisfaction.

“Yes Ma’am.” Pru was beginning to hate this job.

The first stroke cut in hard and Pru launched herself upright.

“Get down girl or I’ll double it.”

Bunty had stopped typing and unconsciously straightened her tie.

Pru did as she was told and pressed her bottom backwards a little to show off a single red ridge bisecting the white cheeks of her behind.

Marion sliced the next stroke in under the first and waited for it to sink in.

Pru thought that molten iron had been striped across her bottom and gasped angrily. Still Marion waited until she knew that the line of pain had begun to really saw into the hapless wren. Then she added to her discomfort.

Pru let out a long slow hiss of pain through her teeth.

“That is only three, I do hope you aren’t going to make a fuss,” Marion observed dryly.

“No Ma’am,” Pru said wetly and sniffed.

Marion placed the next six slowly and hard ever-lower until she had described a tight band of nine lines across the lower slopes of Pru’s bottom.

Pru had managed to stay in position, but was crying gently so that her shoulders shook a little.

Marion aimed the last three strokes for the general mass of red welts to make sure it took.

“What in heaven’s name…?” Courtney asked as she came in at the last stroke.

“Just a little naval discipline Sir, alright girl, stand up.”

“Yes Ma’am.” Pru didn’t need telling twice.

“I hand out the discipline around here and I don’t remember authorising any canings,” Courtney growled.

“I am the ranking officer here when you are out and the regulations specifically…”

“The regulations is it? Who do you think you think you are? Captain Hornblower?”

“Sir I must insist…” Marion began.

“Insist is it? Insist? I am the only one who does any insisting around here.” Courtney was livid.

“Please sir under regulation… I mean to say I have to do my job. If you have any questions about my work then I respectfully request that you write it up so I can…”

“Stuart…” Courtney dashed his arm down dismissively, “do shut up. What’s done is done, but in future, refer any disciplinary matters to me. That is an order.”

“Yes Sir,” Stuart said bitterly.


It was three days after Pru’s caning and she was still sullen around Marion, not that it bothered the First Officer one jot. She was still seething over being dressed down in front of a junior officer and a wren. Especially when she knew she was right; the office discipline was the most lax she had ever encountered.

“Are you supposed to be here?” Marion didn’t deign to look up.

Pru, who had thought Marion might have gone to lunch, winced. “Yes Ma’am, that is…”

“Depart.” Marion pointed at the door, still without looking up.

Pru didn’t need telling twice and hurried away.

“Do we really have to put up with that girl?” Marion glanced across at Bunty who was still sifting German papers for further review.

“Not my concern Ma’am.” Then eyeing the ever-growing pile of documents set aside for the First Officer’s attention she added, “are you sure you need to see all of these? Most of them are little better than glorified laundry lists. Hadn’t you let me prioritise some? After all…”

“Third Officer Hamilton, did you or did you not hear me say I wanted to see everything?”

“Ma’am,” Bunty acknowledged.

Marion was already wary of the completely lax attitude around the office and she was not about to have another Bismarck incident on her watch. Even so she had to take an extra breath when Bunty deposited another pile of paperwork on her desk, more than doubling what was there already. There were still documents from the day before she hadn’t read yet.

“After this war is over, if I never see another word of German it will be too soon,” Marion sighed.

Bunty looked up and smirked. Maybe First Officer Stuart was human after all, she thought.

Commander Courtney entered at a rate of knots and with a nod of his head indicated that Bunty should make herself scarce. The Third Officer glanced at an oblivious Marion and then hastened away, noticing that as she did so that Martha was pointedly hanging around the currently deserted outer office. Martha smiled pleasantly at the Third Officer as she went out, before sitting on a desk top and lighting up.

“Stuart,” Courtney said icily.

“Sir?” Marion looked up.

“I have a memo from the Admiralty here concerning a change of codes in the German section.” Courtney held out a piece of paper.

“Oh yes sir.”

“Marked for the senior analyst Special Section, that being you.”

“Oh sir, thank you.” Marion reached out to take it, only to be frustrated as he held it back.

“Not been having some… problems?” Courtney said carefully. “You know with communications traffic?”

“Well I did think it had gone a bit quiet, but I have so much…”

“The date, what is the date on this memo?”

Marion tried to crane her neck to see.

“It might be easier if you look at your copy.”

Marion frowned and then she saw he was pointing at a memo near the top of her in-tray; an identical memo. Marion reached out and took hold of it like it might bite, a sinking feeling beginning low down in her stomach.

“It’s dated… oh two days ago.” Marion blushed.

“Have you ever heard of delegation?”


“You are incompetent Stuart. What are you?”

“Please Sir I…”

“Stuart.” It was a shout. Then more quietly: “What are you?”

“Incompetent Sir.” The words stuck in her throat. “But Sir I was only…”

Courtney wagged his finger at her and crumpled the memo up into a ball.

“Now do you want me to handle this officially or unofficially?”

Marion blushed. “How do you mean Sir?”

“I mean, if Bunty had bogged it up like that she would be across my knee before you could say ‘sound spanking.’”

Marion blushed even harder and began to stutter. “S-sir… you can’t, I mean to say…”

“So you want it official.”

“Sir whatever I have done I will answer for, but I demand that you afford me the privilege…”

“Official then. I am afraid this will go on your record. Stand up.”

Marion got uneasily to her feet. How she detested this man. Well at least she would be spared the humiliation of a spanking; the nerve of the man.

“I want you to bend over and drop your draws. You know the drill you had Meacham in a similar position the other day.”

“Sir I’m an officer,” Marion’s eyes went wide.

“You have been caned before. It is in your file. You know full well what a CO’s thirty is.”

Marion baulked. “Please Sir that was Dartmouth, I was…”

“First Officer Stuart, since you came here you have been a disruptive influence on my smooth running, albeit irregular, section. You, if you will remember, insisted on privilege and discipline and doing it by the book. So be it. Now bend over.”

Marion swallowed. There was a movement in the outer office and through the open door she could see Martha smirking.

“Please Sir I must…”

“Stuart, you have been given an order.”

Marion swallowed back a sob and cursed the tears that welled up in her eyes and did as she was told.

Courtney watched her struggle with her tight tailored skirt and smiled sardonically.

“You had better take that off and then you can bend across the desk. This is going to hurt.”

Marion wanted the floor to give way or the Luftwaffe to drop a big ugly bomb on Whitehall. Better still let it fall on the blonde bitch who was laughing at her. Then she remembered that the 45 minute lunch break was almost halfway through and soon the others would be back. She cursed under her breath as she took her bare-bottomed station facing across her desk, a position that afforded Martha a grandstand view of her prominent naked backside.

The worse thing was that Marion knew that she could never take 30 without crying. That bitch will love that.

“I really ought to have you stay like that until the gang’s all here,” Courtney observed.

Martha giggled at this causing Marion to cringe. The prospect of such humiliation made her start to panic. Then she heard a swish of the cane cutting the air; a sound that she had heard so many times before both as a giver and a receiver.


“Yes Sir,” Marion swallowed and suddenly it dawned on her that he really could see her naked bottom and all that entailed.

The cane cut like a dress sword across both crowns and she grunted in anger. It was far, far more painful than she remembered and then it got worse.

For a confirmed spanker, Courtney knew how to cane. He used the same slow technique that Marion had used on Pru.

The next stroke was a long time coming. So long that Marion feared that at that rate she would still be exposed to public gaze when the other ranks came back. She almost prayed for him to get on with it. Then he did and she grabbed the desktop in regret.

Stroke after stroke followed, all at the same careful rate, all searing her bottom for maximum effect before another lanced her soul.

There was no count, except the one in Courtney’s head. For all Marion knew she had been caned forever and as her breathing became ragged she began to pray silently for it to end.

“Please,” she could take no more and began to splutter towards surrender. I won’t cry, I won’t she begged the universe.

“And the last,” Courtney said with a flourish landing the last stroke home.

It took an age for Marion to gain her feet. Even then she could not find her breath.

“Thank you Sir,” she said at last, hastily pulling her bloomers over her stockings and suspenders.

“I am so glad you appreciate me being ‘official.’”

Martha began to laugh hysterically at this and even Courtney sent a frown in her direction.


Marion was furious. It had been four days and she still couldn’t sit down, although the worse thing was not being able to look Courtney or Martha in the eyes.

Also she realised that something was up. Courtney had got far too cosy with the German bitch and even Bunty had noticed.

“I don’t know what’s going on Ma’am,” Bunty confided, “He isn’t even using Pru much either. And yesterday I heard him and Martha talking about a possible traitor in the Section.”

“Now that is ridiculous, they were probably just discussing theoretical protocols.” Marion said impatiently.

“I don’t know Ma’am. Yesterday Courtney implemented an amber alert.”

“What for heaven’s sake, is that?”

“I… I’m not allowed to tell you.”

“What?” Marion was visibly shaken. “Why?”

“Your clearance hasn’t come through yet, Ma’am.”

“Not come through?” Marion shook her head slowly trying to comprehend. “That is highly irregular.”

Bunty shrugged. You’re telling me, she thought.

A week later Marion was beginning to feel like a pariah; all but the most mundane memos had stopped crossing her desk and Bunty still couldn’t tell her why.

She had sat there all day feeling sorry for herself before she realised that none of the support staff in the outer office had come in that day.

“They are all on leave,” Bunty said absently, her attention absorbed in her report as usual.

“All of them?” Marion was beginning to smell a great big rat.

“Three day pass.” Bunty shrugged.

Then Pru came in and sat dejectedly on the desk without remembering that Marion usually bollocked her for it.

“He sent me away. He said he was meeting Miss von Hindenburg.”

Marion got up and began rifling through the papers on Courtney’s desk.

“Hey you can’t do that,” Bunty said.

“Apparently I can,” Marion growled. “Have either of you got a pen knife?”

“I have,” Pru piped up, opening her breast pocket.

Marion took it and began to pick the lock on Courtney’s top desk draw.

“Look what are you doing?” Bunty was getting decidedly scared now. This was getting out of hand.

The draw came open easily and Marion snatched up the files inside and began to shuffle through them.

“Hey.” Bunty exclaimed as she made impotent gestures at her senior officer.

“There are files on Martha and… good God, me.” Marion’s heart stopped. She tore through the file like a starving woman. “What’s this? Marion Stuart suspect in Nazi agent ring? What the…?”

Bunty swallowed and backed nervously away. Her eye fell on the telephone and then she remembered that in all probability the three of them were alone in the building. Marion looked up and saw Bunty’s face.

“Come on now.” Marion slammed the desk in frustration. “Do you really think this is true?”

There was a long silence.

“Bunty, for God’s sake, what is going on? Where did Courtney go?”

“Lim’s,” Pru said quietly.

“Where?” Marion pressed.

“It’s a Chinese laundry in Commercial Road in the dock area. He is meeting some contacts of Martha’s I think.”

“Jesus. Call someone… SIS security, no make that Special Branch,” Marion ordered.

“What?” Bunty gaped.

“Don’t you see? I have been set up by Martha, she’s a double agent.”

“Oh golly gosh,” Bunty gasped reaching for the phone.

“Meacham come with me.” Marion grabbed her hat and made for the door with an excited Pru in tow.


Courtney hung back in the shadows and watched Martha slip out of the side entrance. She had asked him to wait in the car while she made the initial contact, but the Commander really wasn’t used to taking orders.

“Now where are you going my lovely?” He dropped his soggy unlit cigarette to the ground and set off to follow the beautiful aviatrix at a discreet distance.

She was supposed to be leading him to an old ally of hers for talks, but as a prelude she wanted to explain the situation first. Least that’s what she had said.

The whole thing had been a high-risk strategy from the outset, but after days being followed by SIS she had not put a foot wrong.

“Maybe she is clean,” the Colonel had suggested the day before.

“And maybe she is not even who she says she is. I’ll be damned if she is a real aristo,” Courtney had replied. It wasn’t just the way she had made up the fire. He had been on to her before that he realised. But since then she had made small slip after slip. “Anyway I set the Stuart woman up and left some files where Martha could find them, suggesting that we suspected that little miss prim and proper was the spy.”

“In the hope of drawing her out.” The Colonel nodded. “Clever.”

So far it seemed to be working. Martha led him to a large terrace house near Commercial Road, but instead of using the front door she slipped down the steps into the area below the street.

Courtney might have followed her down, assuming as he did that she was using the servants’ entrance, but someone lit a match that revealed two men in the shadows. The area at the bottom of the steps was the meeting place.

Courtney changed direction and slipped between two cars to see if he could hear anything. He could.

Martha spoke to the larger man in German.

“It is alright I tell you, they believe that First Officer Stuart is the agent. She already had some sort of cloud over her and apparently she was a member of the Nazi party when she was at Leipzig University.” It had been a small planted lie, but obviously it had worked. In reality Stuart was a Cambridge girl.

“They have bought into your plan?” The man spoke quickly his harsh tone insistent.

“Ya vol.” Martha sounded unenthusiastic.

“You are sure?”

“Yes.” Martha said emphatically and in English.

“That is good. Hurry back to him and take Karl here with you. He will play the contact. He is another Czech with reasons like yours for helping us…” The man left the words hanging. “You will introduce him as Czech. We cannot have too many so-called German traitors in London or even the British will become suspicious.”

Something else was said that Courtney didn’t catch and then the man said he had to go.

The dragnet was cast wide to avoid being detected and the commander doubted there was any help nearby that would come on its own accord. He glanced at the phone box on the corner. One call to SIS headquarters and the radio car would be here in moments to bag them all.


It was getting dark by the time Marion got to the Laundry; just in time to see Courtney throw down an unlit cigarette and walk purposely across the road pulling his civilian raincoat collar up as he did so. He was too far away to hear her so she told Pru to stay with the car and tell the police which way to go when they turned up.

“The police?” Pru exclaimed.

“Special Branch, if Bunty called them. God I hope she did.”

There was no time to worry about that now. So she hurried after Courtney.

Her boss walked briskly somewhere ahead and something told her not to shout, but try as she might she struggled to close with him.

Marion had almost caught up with him when she saw him stop and stoop between two cars. Then she was assailed by the familiar sinking feeling. Something was not right. Some instinct told her she had messed up; again.

Instead of running blindly into things, she hung back.

After several minutes she saw Courtney creep away and then stroll across the street.

“Commander,” Marion called out and ran to him. “Are you alright?”

“Stuart? What in god’s name are you doing here?” Courtney looked rapidly around at the wren officer, conspicuous in her uniform even in the dark.

“Well, well, if it isn’t little goody two shoes; isn’t that how you say it?”

Courtney whipped round to see Martha watching them. “Damn.”

A shot whistled past his head.

Courtney dragged Marion down under a nearby parked van and fumbled for his service revolver. As near as he could determine, the shot had come from behind Martha, sending the wayward aviatrix scampering for cover.

A male voice ranted something in angry German.

“He’s telling someone to kill us, he’s making a break for it,” Marion supplied.

“My German isn’t that bad Stuart,” Courtney said bitterly aiming his pistol. The only target was a cowering Martha, so he swung round to see if he could get a line on the fleeing Nazi spymaster.

“Don’t shoot,” the other man called out. Then another shot rocked the street and someone screamed. Courtney considered chasing the rapidly fleeing footsteps, but he could see that Stuart was too visibly shaken to be of help and he didn’t know how many of the opposition there actually were.

Then there was a screech of breaks as a car came to sudden halt at the end of the street. This was soon followed by two sets of clattering police bells and two more cars came from the other direction.

“What the… police?” Courtney was amazed that they had responded so soon.

“I called Special Branch,” Stuart said, still wide-eyed with terror.

“Good girl. At least you got something right.”

The street was suddenly full of plain clothes and uniformed police officers, the detectives clearly brandishing guns.

“Are you alright Sir?” Inspector Peterson, Courtney’s Special Branch colleague, came bounding up.

“I’m fine. Did you get them?”

“Two of them; the girl and a very nasty customer. The other one is dead. His own boss did for him.” Peterson said grimly.

“I’ll tell you everything,” Martha was saying and then clamped her hands to her face when she saw the body lying on the pavement.

“What the hell is going on? I thought you had been duped,” Marion said as she recovered some of her composure.

“It’s Martha and… you it seems who was duped. What are you doing here? You nearly messed the whole thing up and got us both killed into the bargain.” Courtney scolded.

Marion went visibly white under the street lamp and let her jaw hang open as if striving to explain. Then she closed her mouth and sheepishly bit her lower lip.


The next morning Marion stood to attention in front of Courtney’s desk feeling like she was up before the headmaster. Worse; it was like being back at Dartmouth again. She was acutely aware that Bunty and Pru were standing dressed only in their shirts and stocking sets facing the wall by the door in bare-bottom drill. They both looked particularly incongruous as they were still wearing their ties.

Courtney had read them both the riot act less than half an hour before for not obeying his orders and breaking protocol to the extent that they had endangered an on-going mission.

“Sir it was all my fault,” Marion had explained.

“I’ll get to you in a minute,” Courtney had barked. “They knew full well that you had no authority, even if they meant well.”

Now it was her turn. Marion looked down while Courtney busied himself with paperwork, she hadn’t moved a muscle for several minutes while she waited for his attention. Although she couldn’t help but notice that the cane and the tennis shoe were both on the desk.

The Commander had already explained that Martha had indeed been an imposter and was in fact a Czech aviator with a passing resemblance to Martha von Hindenburg. Like so many in occupied territory, she had been coerced into helping the Nazi’s by threats to her family; although Marion couldn’t help thinking that the bitch had been keen enough, but she kept that to herself.

“So she is a double agent Sir,” Pru had said, despite her impending punishment she was totally caught up in the real life spy story.

“A treble agent now,” Courtney said smugly. “So everything is all neatly resolved, except that is, for you three reprobates.”

“Now Stuart,” Courtney brought Marion back to the present. “What have you to say for yourself?”

“Nothing Sir. No excuse.” Marion had thought about making a complaint about being used, but on reflection had decided that her part in this was unsupportable and far outweighed his small deception. This was after all intelligence where deception was the name of the game.

“Tell me Stuart, do you see a future for yourself in this organisation or do you want to go back to Staines?”

“Yes Sir, I mean no Sir… please Sir, I mean…”

“I can get you a half-decent posting to Portsmouth or even Gibraltar where the action is; if you prefer,” he said almost kindly.

“Permission to speak Sir.”

Courtney inclined his head in the affirmative.

“I would like to stay here Sir, if I may.”

“Very well, heaven knows it was difficult enough to find you,” Courtney made a stroke of his pen in the file in front of him. “That brings us to the next question.”


“Do you want to stand on ceremony and make your disciplinary redress official or do you want to be a team player?” It was a leading question and he looked significantly at the two wrens displayed in the corner as he said it. “I realise that I lost my temper last time and humiliated you in front of Martha. If you still want an official punishment, tomorrow I will afford you the courtesy of a caning in private.”

Marion swallowed. This was all so irregular. Then she thought about the road that had led her here. Just when had she become such a hard-arsed bitch? It was time to make friends, she knew.

“I’ll accept your award in any way… well you decide.” She had realised that she had been about to get all officious again.

“Very well Stuart,” Courtney sighed. “Please arrange yourself next to your colleagues, I think you know the drill.”

“Yes Sir.” Marion blushed and eyed the corner with a gulp. Her goes nothing, she thought.


It had taken Courtney over an hour to finish his reports and make last minute phone calls to his superiors, SIS, and then the Special Branch duty office to make sure that all record of the operation was lost.

SIS and SOE were battling out who had jurisdiction over the alleged Martha von Hindenburg. That suited him fine; when the dust settled he might just step in and pick up the pieces. He would enjoy getting hands on his little Czech friend again.

He sat back and looked at the three wrens standing naked half naked facing the wall. He hadn’t had a lot of opportunity before, but now he had time he could see that Marion’s bottom was magnificent even compared to Martha’s. And anyway he had always preferred brunettes.

As if sensing she was being watched, Marion flexed her bottom muscles and began to fidget; a habit that he had trained out of his other two girls. He smiled and picked up the tennis pump.


“Sir, yes Sir,” Pru addressed the wall.

“Come here.”

“Yes Sir.”

Pru walked nervously towards him with meekly down cast eyes. Before reaching him she hesitated and glanced back at the two officers still submissively facing the wall. She earnestly hoped that she wouldn’t be dismissed before the Commander spanked them both.

By now Courtney was sitting in a straight-backed chair and took Pru’s arm and tipped her over his lap. Her hands fluttered about her before deciding on grabbing the lower cross-brace of the chair.

Courtney tapped her exposed bottom with the slipper and watched her firm flesh ripple slightly. Pru gave a gentle sigh. He remembered that his last driver had been a big dark-haired Lancashire lass who had squealed in anticipation at the least touch of his hand or slipper when being spanked. Pru was made of sterner stuff.

The thwack of the rubber sole made Marion jerk with a start from her place in the corner, although Pru barely reacted. Courtney studied the red patch as it spread on his driver’s bottom before spanking her again. This time she gasped.

The Commander spanked Pru steadily for 15 minutes until she was crying gently, although she did not make the least gesture of resistance.

“I really ought to cane you, I must have obedience,” he sighed.

“Yes Sir,” Pru agreed. She was completely submissive now, she was agreeing to both with all her heart.

“Alright go back to the corner.”

“Yes Sir,” Pru sniffed, glad that she wasn’t to be excluded from her little family.

Courtney watched her go until she was back alongside the two officers, her bottom a rash of red compared to the smooth whiteness of her black-stockinged seniors.

Bunty scratched her left buttock absently.

Pru put her hands into the small of her back as she had been trained, but she couldn’t help letting her fingers and thumbs tickle at the exposed small of her back by way of proxy for rubbing, which was forbidden.

“Hamilton, you’re next.”

“Oh golly, yes Sir.” Bunty launched herself away from the wall and trotted across the room to Courtney’s lap without the least regard for the dark triangle peeking from below her shirt-front. “I say, this is jolly embarrassing.”

“Is it?”

“Rather, Sir.”


“Oh… yes Sir.”

Pru could not help but steal the odd sideways glance as the tennis pump plied its noisy trade on Third Officer Hamilton’s bare bottom.

“Ow, golly… ouch, gosh,” Bunty squeaked as she was spanked.

She kept this up for several minutes until she had to save her energy for her loud ragged breathing.

Courtney observed, not for the first time, what a treasure Bunty was as her bottom turned beacon red and uncomplainingly she allowed cute little tears to roll down her jolly hockey-sticks cheeks and nose.

Courtney realised that Bunty had probably been the least professional in all this and with all justice he should have caned her. Perhaps I will at her next appraisal, he thought.

“Alright girl, get back with the others.”

Marion sighed loudly and began to rock from foot to foot.

Courtney waited until Bunty had retaken her position before calling Marion out.

“Yes Sir.” Marion whispered, but didn’t move for several seconds.

When she finally did, she walked confidently across the room, pausing to take in Bunty and Pru’s exposed red bottoms.

“I am going to spank you so, so hard my girl,” Courtney whispered.

“Yes Sir,” Marion said meekly.

Marion felt an utter fool being taken across her CO’s knee like a child, a feeling that intensified as the spanking began. But all too soon she had other problems.

Somehow she had imagined that a spanking would be more undignified than painful, but Courtney was about to teach her differently. After only a few minutes she was breathing like a bilge pump striving to save a sinking ship and then just when she thought it couldn’t get any worse the blaze in her bottom really began to take hold and she started to cry out loud.

“I’m sorry,” she wept.

“I know,” Courtney soothed, not sparing her bottom one ounce of his strength.

Her sobbing came more as a release than a trial and she felt part of her old self slipping away.

“Huh-a-huh-aha.” Her broken sobs became loud wails and she felt the shame of her surrender came rushing in as she realised that her juniors were listening.

Sensing that she was near the end of her emotional endurance, Courtney picked up the pace for a few more short hard spanks and then let the slipper rest on her boiling red backside.

“Hush,” he whispered and she nodded.

He let her get to her feet, dancing a little as she clutched at her throbbing hot bottom, and then she moved back to her place in the corner without being told.

Courtney could hear the gentle whimpering of the girls as he helped himself to a scotch from his stash in the filing cabinet and he took leisurely sips as he admired the punished girl-flesh of the women in the corner.

“Alright, Stuart stay behind, you other girls get away home and I’ll see you the day after tomorrow.”

“Yes Sir,” Bunty said shyly.

Pru just gathered up her things and made a dash for the loos.

Stuart was blushing furiously as she stayed face to the wall. She sensed that she could probably surrender her vigil, but was unable to face either Courtney or the other girls.

“Stuart… Marion…” Courtney said quietly.

“Yes Sir,” Marion replied in a small voice.

“You can get dressed.”

“Aren’t you going to cane me?”

“Do you think I should?”

“I almost got us killed. I should have more than the others got.” Marion wondered if it was just her way of asserting some seniority. She certainly didn’t really want to be caned.

“I think instead of the cane, I’m going to take you to lunch. I can cane you another time.”

Marion looked up and blushed. “I don’t suppose you know anywhere that I can eat standing up?”

“I might manage that,” Courtney broke into laughter and after a moment Marion joined in.


14 Responses to “The Special Section”

  1. 1 Margaret

    I don’t usually comment on blogs such as this, although I do find the whole subject absolutely fascinating, I am getting on a bit these days.

    I had an aunt who served in the wrens through the war and just after, so thank you for the respectful tone of your post.

    She was at Dartmouth and the stories she told chime closely with this story and your post about caning in wartime, which I should in all conscience contribute to.

    I served in the Royal Navy from the end of 1960s until just before it all changed in the early 1990s. In my early days there were certainly some old hands around from 40s and 50s and I can testify that many aspects of your wonderful story are far from an exaggeration. Especially when it came to small close units or remotes posts where there senior time servers and transient juniors.

    At my first posting, the Chief Wren even had two canes on full view in her office. I never saw them used though.

    Although I never married, I had a boyfriend for several years during the 1970s (also a navy man) who used to spank and sometimes cane me. Other than that my only experience is at the hands of my mother in my teens, who frequently took an old garden cane to my bare behind. A memory I cherish now, but despised at the time.

    Perhaps I will contribute more on this sometime. Thanks again for your story.

    Miss Margaret [name deleted]

  2. 2 DJ

    Thank you very much Margaret for your kind and interesting response. I deleted your surname for discretion’s sake.

    I am sure many here would love to hear about your aunt’s adventures. Perhpas I could email you about them.

    Thanks again.
    DJ Black

  3. 3 paul1510

    DJ, very enjoyable tale.
    I can confirm, from personal experience, that in the ’30’s and ’40’s corporal punishment was very common, in homes and institutes.
    As a young recruit in the Army in ’52, I heard tales of young WRAC recruits being caned, they didn’t seem that unusual, but they may have been apocryphal.

    • 4 DJ

      Thanks Paul,

      My understanding is that the Navy was a special circumstance vis caning women – because of the existence of regulations for boys (ie women counted as boys under some regs – which is not very flattering) and it was usually illegal to use corprall punishment on men.

      However I have heard too that it did go on in the WRACs (I suspect informally) as well as the WRAF, the most famous case in this instance being the Aden Munity (when the women were caned under civilan law).

      The Daily Telegraph first broke the caning of wrens story some years back and anecdotes have leaked out since then – maybe you should tell us more about the WRACs so we can break that stroy 😉

      I wonder if this sort of thing went on in the US armed forces.

      I have heard stories about the Indian Army.


  4. Phenomenal mini epic, DJ. Impressive use and execution of the setting, and a nice spy tale to build the whole thing around. Very well done, and worth the wait.

  5. 6 Poppy

    This is a fabulous story and I am sorry I have no Wren anecdotes.
    I loved Pru, Bunty, Marion and even the evil Martha (who sounded terribly sexy to me).
    I think you created a very entcing world … except the war thing … and the caning … and the slipper. But being one of those girls does appear to be a rather tempting thought.
    Now I know what an award is I shall take care never to ask for one.

  6. 7 scarlet

    Wonderful story, DJ. I enjoyed the trip back in time. There’s something comforting about a world that went crazy, but in its smaller form has clear expectations and clear consequences.

    • 8 DJ

      Hi Scarlet,

      as I reported in my post on Canings in wartime – the girls had other things to worry about than a spanking.


  7. 9 kaki

    I enjoyed this story very much, and knowing that discipline like this was really happening made it more realistic. I like the setting, it was a different being wartime.

    Poppy, I am with you, next time there are awards offered I am going to make sure I know what it entalis before trying to earn one. Of course I think I could earn these rather easily. 😉

    • 10 scarlet

      Very easily. In fact, you might have earned one already. Is there a list or something where you could check?

  8. 11 Recidavist

    Absolutely brilliant, an excellent testament to the health of our blogging community to have quality stuff like this written, definitely one of the best around

    • 12 DJ

      many thanks

      praise indeed 🙂

      you sound like you have a blog ?


  9. 13 Ayla

    I particularly like WWII spy stories, although usually find them on the cable television’s classic movie channel lately. Thanks. This was a good read and a nice way to pull together all the historical pieces you’ve written on the subject. Congratulations again on a very creative imagination. Whatever settings in time and place you chose, even in science fiction, your stories feel as if they might be true.Or perhaps more truthfully, that we would like to imagine that they could be true.

  10. 14 James Evans

    Great story

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