Raw: Strangers


Severus from Raw

Lieutenant Casey Franks stood almost five feet ten inches, too tall for most women on Raw, a fact that had almost cost her this assignment. However, Casey possessed one attribute that most of her colleagues did not; a single-minded dedication to the Matriarch’s cause.

But right now Casey had another problem; looking about she could see no way up the cliffs. The previous night she had come ashore on the only exposed bit of beach. Now she stood facing forbidding high cliffs with her back to the sea. Sighing heavily she dropped to her knees and looked hopelessly up as the waves crashed heavily against the shore with a clang that you can only get from hard rock.

Her training officer had confided in her that she confidently expected most of the agents on Raw to fail; a fate that Casey was determined to avoid at all costs. She had no idea how many agents the Matriarch had dropped on Raw, although she knew for certain that there were at least two more as two of her colleagues had been brought with aboard the same ship.

It would all come to nothing, she thought, if she could not get off the beach before she was discovered.

Casey clamped both hands behind her neck, her shoulder-length white-blonde hair hanging like rats-tails from her head as she scanned the high unclimbable cliff face. She was still wearing her ship’s body suit which clung to her statuesque figure like a second skin. If she were caught wearing it, there would be no doubt about her origin.

After a moment’s thought she tugged at the small fasteners and dragged the suit form her body. Once naked but for her sock-shoes, she balled up the damning clothing and hurled it into the sea.

There was nothing for it; she would have to swim around the shore until she found a way up. She sighed and for a moment felt like giving way to tears. The looming malevolence of Severus topping the horizon only served to make her feel like a stranger in this world and for the first time in her life she felt truly alone.

Then with one last look around for any stray evidence, she snatched up her belt, with a pouch of money and papers and strapped it incongruously around her naked waist. It was a small gesture, but she twisted the broad band around until the pouch obscured her naked sex, before lunging headlong back into the waves.


Ensign Amanda Court had managed to put the stealth plane down on the edge of the cliff top. This was all the more impressive as she had never once in the long months of her training managed anything quite so efficient. In fact it was safe to say that Amanda was probably the worst officer in the Matriarch.

None of that mattered now. Once she managed to get the plane over the cliff and safely sunk, she would be home free. If she managed it, she thought bitterly. She had been pushing at the light aircraft for 10 minutes and the darn thing had hardly budged.

On landing she had been able to recover what she hoped would pass for local clothing and had quickly stripped off all the trappings of her old life. These now lay carelessly in the half-open cockpit of the plane that she now so desperately tried to tip over the cliff.

At five foot four the slightly built cropped-haired blonde was not the strongest of woman and she was just about to conclude that her task was hopeless when all at once the carbon fibre fuselage gave a little and then slid away.

As she watched, the stealth plane first tottered and then tumbled over the rocky edge to its doom.

“Goodbye to the Matriarch and good riddance,” she called out triumphantly.

The only reason Amanda had joined the suicide circus of the agency in the first place was so that she could escape. She had heard strange things about this world, but the one thing she had heard that she liked, was that of all the planets the Matriarch had come into contact with, after Praxi, Raw was the one that had the highest rate of defections to.

She watched as her craft sunk slowly beneath the waves and then instead of triumph, trepidation set in. Now what do I do, she thought. I’ve got to get out from under until this whole crazy business blows over and I can make a new life for myself.

Above her and out across the sea Severus rose slowly like a second sun; a beacon of hope, she thought romantically. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.


Rachel set out the documents for the meeting with particular care that morning. Although she was learning, she was still capable of making more than the odd mistake. At the previous meeting she had mixed up some of the papers and two people had got a look at some documents they shouldn’t have, while the general who should have seen everything had received the wrong figures altogether.

She shuddered in memory at the sick empty feeling she had had when she had realised her mistake, but the worse thing was seeing the look on Abraham’s face. He had apologised of course, even though it had all been her fault.

“I am so sorry,” she had groaned under her breath. It had been all she could do not to cry there and then. “I’ll explain,” she had offered.

“You will do no such thing. No one is interested in the mewling of a bondsman. The responsibility is mine,” Abraham had snapped at her.

After the meeting she had been summoned to Abraham’s study where he had bawled her out. All the while she hadn’t been able to take her eyes from the hazer on his desk.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t send you for a harsh,” he had barked at her.

Rachel had stood drained and deflated before the man she loved more than any other. She had nothing to say. Everything he had said was right. She deserved any punishment he could conceive for her. In her mind the kitchen or even the stables loomed.

Abraham sighed heavily and turned away from her. “How many times must I tell you? There is a war on, we cannot afford these mistakes.” Then he added kindly, “On the whole your work is good. Some of your insights about the Matriarch are invaluable, but…” He balled up his fists and turned back to face with a look of frustration, “…you have to take more care.”

He had made her bend across his desk with the back of her skirt tucked up fastened in place. Then he had belaboured her bare bottom for the longest time with the hazer until both her buttocks had been capped with burgundy welts and she was pouring her tears carelessly onto the desktop.

“Take the first vacant station on the penitent step at the outer door and remain there until the evening bell,” he had commanded. It was no more than she deserved. Then he had added, “You will remain tucked for the rest of the week.”

For today’s meeting there were fewer attendees and everyone was supposed to get the same documents, but that didn’t stop Rachel triple checking them all again. So when Abraham entered the room with a face like thunder she was convinced she had messed up again.

“The meeting has been postponed,” he said wearily, “Make sure all those documents go back into the safe.”

“What’s happened?” Rachel was still apprehensive that she had failed again in some way.

“Our security forces have captured a woman on one of the outer islands. She was found dangerously close to one of our military bases. She is an offworlder and almost definitely from the Matriarch.

“I see,” Rachel said thoughtfully and then as the full horror sunk she added, “Oh my God there could be others.”

“Exactly,” Abraham said in a distracted voice as he slumped into a chair.


This was too ridiculous, Gillian thought. It was bad enough that she had to go to this silly Academy, but the girl they had put in charge of her was her own age. That made her current predicament all the more embarrassing.

Somewhere a door slammed and a breeze rushed through. Gaia, don’t let anyone see me like this, she prayed. Gillian tugged at her short blouse, trying to make it stretch over her exposed bottom as she stood facing the wall outside her own room.

It had all started out so well and at first she had been relieved. Ever since she had accepted Abraham’s authority and had come to realise that she was destined to spend at least some time at an Academy, she had been afraid that she would be put under the authority of a much younger girl. But Amy had been charming.

Amy was tallish and athletic with a cascade of wild red hair that hung as close to her shoulder as she dared let it. The welcome Gillian had received from her had been reassuring. Her so-called Big Sister was casual and friendly as she explained everything and Gillian had come to hope that given their equal ages, Amy’s authority over her would be merely a token one.

That had been before that mornings ribbon incident.

One of the rules of the Kirby Island Academy was that all new girls were required to wear a large red ribbon in their hair. Gillian had thought this not only childish, but since her own chestnut hair had been cut into a neat bob, another requirement of the rules, a hair adornment seemed hardly necessary. Accordingly Gillian had left it off.

The first class of the day, only her third day at Kirby, was on Raw history; an advanced class for which Gillian qualified on account of her previous studies under her father. The teacher, an earnest young woman in her early 30s, seemed to know her subject and had addressed her class as adults. She even introduced herself as Karen Holt and turned a blind eye to girls who addressed her as Karen.

Then she had asked Gillian, “Where is your headband?”

“My what?” Gillian had been confused at first and then glancing around the class saw that most of the girls were wearing red headbands. “Oh that, well I… I thought that only senior girls wore them.”

“Senior girls,” Karen sounded puzzled, “All girls except those in their first term. Why don’t you know that?”

“This is only my third day so I suppose…” Gillian replied pleasantly.

“Then where is your ribbon?” Karen Holt sounded stern.

“I thought it was a bit silly, so I…”

Karen held up a hand to silence her and then reached down for a small bell which she rang.

“Go and find your Big Sister and bring her back her at once,” Karen ordered.

“Surely that could wait,” Gillian started to say, politely enough, she thought.

But Karen interrupted her, “At once,” she barked.

It had been embarrassing having to go the office in mid lesson to find out where Amy was at class, although, the teacher had released her mentor to her readily enough.

“What the hell have you done,” Amy had scolded Gillian once they were alone, “And where is your ribbon?”

“Eh… I think that’s what Karen Holt wants to talk to you about. Isn’t that insane?”

Amy had cast a look in her direction that would have curdled milk and suddenly Gillian had been overcome by deep sense of foreboding. Thinking about it, hadn’t Amy said something about making sure she didn’t forget to wear her ribbon at all times? She winced. That was it. Amy had been quite insistent at the time.

Amy had not been happy about being bawled out about Gillian’s mistakes in front of a class that was not even her own. The true seriousness of which did not become apparent until Karen had growled, “You will take 15 strokes, report to me after class and if there is any repeat of this… omission,” the teacher had paused to glare at Gillian at this point, “then next time it will be double.”

After class Gillian had been met by a livid Amy who had dragged her to her room and stripped her down to her shift and stockings. Then she had handed her the foolish red ribbon and stood over her while she attached it to her hair.

“Stand there until I get back,” Amy had snapped at her charge in a tone that claimed no resistance. “Thanks to you, I have an appointment with a hazer.”

“But I can’t, I’m naked,” Gillian had wailed.

Amy had responded by locking Gillian’s door and hissing in her ear, “If you aren’t here facing that wall when I get back…then I’ll… then you’ll, you will be wearing this and only this all week.”

That had been over half an hour before and despite her great reluctance Gillian had thought of Abraham and his two wards, who between them had impressed on her the advantages of knuckling under at Kirby.

Before she had departed, Abraham had shown her a chafe, a hazer and a very nasty looking harsh set out in a line on his desk. Then pointing to the first, second and third in turn, he had said, “When it comes to your general deportment and behaviour report, this is a C, this a D and E or, and I assure you of this, this is an F.” His finger had hovered menacingly over the harsh at the last words.

In between casual horror stories, Penny had gushed that it was nothing to worry about to such an extent that she wondered if her fellow ward might have an iron bottom. Sandy had been more pragmatic in her advice, ending with, “whatever else you do, don’t cross your Big Sister.”

A heavy clunk somewhere was followed by footsteps.

“I see you are not a total cluts,” Amy said as she walked up.

Gillian looked around and saw that Amy had been tucked. Her bared bottom carried an angry rash from the heavy hazer and the mottled red was suffused with purple blotches.

Gillian pulled a sympathetic face and winced. “Is that on account of me? I am so sorry. You must feel like an utter fool walking around with your bare bottom displayed. Not to mention embarrassed.”

“No kidding,” Amy said with a heavy sigh, “But you know what. You are going to find out all about that because you will be tucked for every bit as long as I am. Two days in all.”

Gillian gaped and started to protest. But Amy had turned away and was unlocking the door. “Now my Little Sister, you have a long afternoon ahead with a chafe.”

Gillian gulped and remembered an afternoon spent with Grandmother Lyre not so long ago.


Amanda drew some stares as she entered the small town. Looking around she realised that her hair was a little too short even for a bondsman and none of the women she saw were wearing trousers.

The town itself, although hardly a city, was fairly large. Large enough, Amanda would have thought, so that she could lose herself while she came up with a plan. Even so, she decided to keep off the main drag and keep to the backstreets.

It was here that she had her first shock. Her training had been as thorough as the Matriarch could make it, but they knew comparatively little about Raw as the only diplomatic mission at Helm had been highly restricted and in any case several of its members had defected at the outset of the war. She had also heard on the grapevine that one of the few expeditions aside from the Embassy had resulted in failure and the entire team had gone native. In part, it was due to these rumours that Amanda had decided to desert once she was planet side.

Consequently she found she was ill-prepared for the reality of Raw society. She had already learned that her hair length was unusual now she was to come face to face with another facet of Raw that she had heard of but had barely given it credit.

Most of the houses were stand-alone affairs built in concentric circles around a central courtyard. She had also noticed that the outside of these buildings usually had an area of zigzagging wall that faced the street.

It was not until she was well up one of the backstreets that she realised their purpose.

There by the door of one house was a girl standing in the alcove-corner formed by one of these zigzags. It took a moment for Amanda to take it in, but she could clearly see that the hem of the girl’s skirt was buttoned to her waist causing it to be lifted off her bared bottom. Most shocking of all was that the girl had clearly been spanked and at some length.

“My God,” she gasped. So it was true. She had been told of reports that on Raw corporal punishment was widespread, but until now she had had no idea to the extent of that truth.

“Someone had done a good job there,” a voice behind her said.

Amanda whirled around to confront the rather rugged looking individual sharing her view. He was tall, but although he was well-dressed, his clothes did not sit well with him as if he were more suited to manual labour.

“What has she done?” Amanda gasped.

The man shrugged. “Does it matter? I am sure that she deserved it.”

Amanda realised she was blushing and the plight of this girl interested much more than it should. “What… I mean how…?”

“That’s a strange accent you have there. Where are you from?”

Amanda suddenly felt caged. What was wrong with her accent? If anyone was speaking strangely it was this man. His use of U sounded far too round, almost as if he was overusing it, but his Rs were almost swallowed altogether except at the start of the word.

“I am a stranger around here. I am not here long; I’m looking for a ship to… eh… Helm,” she said hastily.

He nodded. “My name is Samuel,” he said, pronouncing it sam-Yoo-el. “Where are you from?”

Amanda averted her eyes and shrugged. “Here and there,” she said. “My name is Amanda Court.”

“A sailor eh?” His eyes narrowed and he thrust his rather square jaw out a little as he did whenever he was thinking hard. Court was an odd name and why would a bondsman volunteer it anyway? Still, it wasn’t his business. Not yet anyway.

“The port is that way. You can’t really miss it. Just keep going down and follow your nose,” Samuel continued.

Amanda relaxed and managed a smile as she began to move away.

She had not gone very far when the harbour came into view at the end of the street. This was going to be easy, she thought. In the Matriarch she would have been challenged for her papers by now; especially as she seemed to stand out so much around here. But not here it seemed; she was beginning to like Raw.


Amanda’s run of good luck ended abruptly at the gangplank of the second ship she tried.

“How do I know you are not running away?” The boson of the ship asked her. “Do you have any ships papers or current or previous indentures? I mean you are a sailor aren’t you?”

“I don’t mind signing on, but really I just want to get to… where are you going by the way?” Amanda said with a fixed grin.

The seaman looked at her hard, taking note of her strange dress and hair.

“Is there a problem here?” A gruff voice asked.

“Yes thank you constable,” the boson replied. “I have a girl here looking for passage, but she doesn’t know where to. She’s dressed like a sailor but she’s no mariner I’ll be bound. I thought she might be a…”

Suddenly the old salt was reluctant to drop anyone in it with the watch and his voice tailed off.

“Yes I see,” said the constable. “Tell me… Miss. Who are your people?”

Amanda suddenly felt like a caged rat and decided to bolt. Fresh and fit from basic training she might have made it too but somewhere she took a wrong turn and ran into a dead end up an alley between two warehouses.

“Alright, come along with me,” the constable sounded angry now as he came up behind her.

“You have got no right. I am… I’m an offworlder and I demand asylum,” Amanda said in desperation.

Instead of the sky falling in the constable screwed up his face and then it cracked and he let out great guffaws of laughter. “That’s rich,” he bawled, “I can see that some little bonds maid is in need of a damn good spanking.”

“No really, I am Ensign Amanda Court, formerly of the Matriarch and I demand asylum.”


It took Casey Franks a while to swim along the shore to find a beach. It took so long that she almost gave up hope. So when she finally hit the sand she was exhausted.

It was all she could do to crawl out of the sea as the waves washed over her naked body. Even then she felt the suffocating claustrophobia of seawater cloying at her face as if trying at the last to drag her lifelessly away.

Finally she reached wet sand or partially lapped by finger deep water. The dark soft sand went darker and hard for several inches extended from each point of contact of her fingers and knees as she crawled. The prints fading away as she lifted each hand even before the next shallow wave could wash over it.

She crawled on for a minute more until she reached the edge of dusty dry sand and then she collapsed to doze with the warm sun caressing her body.

In her mind she heard the voices of childhood and something like a dog and she was transported back to a life before the war, before the military even. Rolling over she arched her back so that only her shoulders and bare bottom pressed into the sand and she opened eyes to take in the impossibly blue sky.

Then she saw it, the hard circle of Severus that brought her unmistakably to an alien world; Raw. Looking down at her naked form she saw that the pouch on her belt had slewed around to her hip, leaving her naked sex exposed to the sun and for a moment the sensation distracted her again. Such decadence, she sneered at herself, I have much to do and the motherland is calling.

The nude Amazon climbed unsteadily to her feet and adjusted her belt before looking around. Her shoulder length blonde hair was still plastered to her head and the sand already drying on her body making her itch.

The beach on which she stood was shallow to the cliffs, but there was a tumble of scree to one side and Casey could see where others had made the ascent. Although on further inspection she wondered if those that had made the climb might just have been goats.

Her sock-shoes had a sturdy enough sole and she was fit. Even so it took her most of an hour to attain the grassy cliff top and see anything beyond. In this instance, that anything just consisted of open fields and some trees about 300 meters distant that formed a wall to any further progress. Her heart sank; picking her way through the woods naked was not going to be fun. However, if this were the Island of Helm then it would be worth it. She opened her pouch and checked her papers, her cover story was a good one and she, unlike some of her colleagues had a sound contact on Raw.


It had taken all morning and two officials before Amanda finally felt she had been taken seriously. The captain of the watch was completely out of his depth and after failing to raise the militia headquarters or any of his superiors, he had settled on taking Amanda to see someone called the hetman.

As far she could tell, the hetman was some sort of leading citizen who acted as chief administrator and magistrate on the island. Finally some progress, she thought as she was marched from the constabulary headquarters by the captain and two constables. She scanned the grander buildings above the town for some clue as to where they were going. However, after only 15 minutes they arrived at a house near the waterfront and the captain rang a bell.

The rather impressive door was opened by a small dark bondswoman who glowered at the visitors as she seemed to consider them for a moment. To Amanda she appeared to be in her mid-20s although the captain saw a woman who might have been 40 and in her third term of service; someone who would put this house before any pressing need of his.

“May we see the hetman please?” The captain did not seem overly concerned with her manner, nor was he in any particular hurry.

“As you will,” the bondswoman said disdainfully, “He is in. Come this way.”

Once through the doors, Amanda could see that the house was larger and even better appointed than it had first appeared. The entrance hall was large with two lines of zigzag corners of the type that she had seen earlier, where the spanked girl had been put in her place. On the floor, perfectly matching the ‘corners’ was a diagonal pattern of red and white chequered tiles, the red of which perfectly matched the exposed brick of the walls.

At the end of the broad passage was a large potted plant to the right of an inner set of doors and as they passed it, Amanda was treated to the scent of spicy lemons coming off its foliage.

The room beyond the entrance hall was square and all round the it were set columns of red marble that supported a balcony above that overlooked the lower room on all sides, all set beneath a curved red and white ceiling that was at double height form where they now stood.

The bondswoman indicated that they should wait and then she hurried off through a door on the other side of the room.

The captain knew that the hetman had a reputation for being informal, but even so, he expected to be kept waiting. However, in little more than the time it took for the servant to find anyone from within, they heard the sound of footsteps on the hard marble floor coming nearer.

For the first time since declaring herself Amanda felt afraid and she swallowed hard, her eyes fixed on the direction of the sound. She was so keyed up by the time the large man strolled into the room, that although she realised he was familiar to her, it took a few seconds to place him.

“We meet again and so soon,” Samuel said with a genuine smile.

“You,” Amanda accused.

“You will address the hetman as sir,” the captain growled.


Casey was still naked apart from her sock-shoes and pouch belt as she crept along the side of a hedge to the road. It had taken her hours to find a way off the beach and now she was exhausted tired a cold.

At least she now knew for sure she was on the same island as Helm and judging from the great buildings looming on the horizon, it was probable that she was not so very far away.

The other thing she had going for her were papers assigning her as a new bondsman to a citizen of Helm. However, without clothes or a modicum of luggage, then she was going to draw attention to herself.

Looking about, she saw a house in the trees just off the road. In a small garden to the rear of the building a young girl was carrying a bundle of clothes in a basket.

Casey stepped into the shadow of a low hanging tree, biting her tongue as a bramble-like branch whipped at her legs scratching her. There she squatted down to watch.

The girl placed her burden down between two trees and then from the basket she retrieved a piece of rope. She secured one end to a branch and then set about stringing the line between the two trees.

Casey gaped in shock. Did these people have no driers? Their warships and soldiers were pushing the Matriarch back on all fronts and yet their laundry arrangements were hundreds of years old.

That was not all, as the girl reached up to peg the first of her wet washing to the line, the hem of her short skirt rode up to reveal her bare bottom. Casey gasped out loud at the obvious signs of a recent spanking. These men were barbaric.

Casey had never had any doubt about the virtue of gynocracy, but now she saw the evidence with her own eyes that the Matriarch were right to intervene militarily to liberate their sisters. Even if some of those sisters were too ignorant to support them.

The lieutenant was not so naïve as to believe that the girl would help her willingly, so she watched until she had finished her work and returned to the house. Then she carefully crept forward screened by the washing and selected what she hoped was appropriate clothing for bondswoman.

It took several attempts before she found something that fitted and even then the skirt was obscenely short on account of Casey’s height.

A sound from within the house caused her to cut her loses and donning the ridiculously small dress, she fled into the road.

Once clear and out of sight, she tried belting her pouch around her waist, but that only served to pull the already short hem to ride up off her bare bottom completely. So instead she opted to wear it as a shoulder strap with the pouch hanging at her hip like a purse. In this way she hoped to pass for a bondsman off to start a new life with a new employer.


“So let me get this right,” Samuel said with an easy smile, “You have been dropped by the Matriarch as what, a spy, a saboteur… I mean what exactly was your mission?”

Amanda frowned, now that it came time to explain, it all seemed rather half-baked.

“I was to integrate myself into Raw society to observe and await further orders,” she said. “I was told my contact would find me.”

“I see,” Samuel replied with a tone that suggested that he didn’t at all.

Amanda looked around at the walled garden Samuel had brought to for her ‘interrogation.’ Compared to where she grew up it was like paradise. She took a deep breath and smelled some unnamed flower. Once she had sorted out the bureaucracy, she would get a house like this, she thought.

“Tell me, how exactly were you supposed to integrate yourself? I mean you had already aroused suspicion and if you hadn’t have declared yourself you would have been discovered anyway,” Samuel put her.

“I don’t know, I think they thought I might get a job and lay low for a while. Maybe I would have found out when I reported that I was safely down,” Amanda said with a shrug, still paying more attention to the garden.

“But you didn’t? Report in when you landed, I mean,” Samuel turned on her with a hard stare.

Amanda yawned, she was bored with all the questions, what did it matter anyway. “Yes,” she said, “I told you, I trashed the communicator with the rest of my gear.”

Samuel weighed up her words. It didn’t make any sense; none of it. If this girl was with the Matriarch, then why was she here? The Matriarch knew enough about Raw to realise that this foolish girl would have been caught in days, if not hours. She appeared to be wholly ignorant about his society and knew even less about why she was here.

“It will take many days for our security people to reach here from Helm, maybe weeks,” he lied. “Why don’t you stay here for the time being as my guest?”

“Security people?” Amanda was suddenly scared.

“Yes of course, they will want to know everything you know about the Matriarch and its intentions. That is if you are serious about your defection?” Samuel said smoothly.

“Oh I am,” Amanda gushed, “But seriously, I don’t know anything.”

I can believe that, Samuel thought, but instead he said, “Well, I am sure every little helps.”


The holo-vid screen floated above Samuel’s desk like a ghost and the black on grey security logo came into focus.

“You Le Grand,” a rather impertinent young man asked before he had even come into view. Then after a moment he appeared in front of the logo and dropped slouching at a desk that Samuel assumed was in Helm.

“Samuel Le Grand, yes, hetman here in Anchor,” Samuel corrected him, “Doesn’t the military have any manners these days?”

The man blinked and appeared to consult some notes. “Oh… I’m sorry… Sir, I hadn’t realised I would be speaking to the hetman himself I assumed…”

The young officer stiffed to attention where he sat and recovered himself. “I am Proctor Clark Sir; I have been assigned to your case.”

“My case? I have an enemy agent on my island and you…” Samuel suddenly had the sense that he might be in someone’s in-tray.

“I am sorry Sir, it is just that we have a… situation here. On Raw in general I mean. It appears that there have been dozens of Matriarch agents dropped in the last week all over the planet.” Proctor Clark waited for that to sink in.

“I see,” Samuel said carefully, his thinking frown plastered to his face and his jaw jutted forward.

“I wish we did,” Clark sighed. “Most of them have been caught within hours of landing and all of them appear to know nothing about Raw at all. It is almost like they were supposed to get caught or at least no one cared if they were.”

“Like our Ensign Amanda Court here?”

“Exactly,” Clark groaned. “The thing is, several of them have given themselves up demanding asylum. Our thinking is that they are either sleeper agents or more likely genuine. In either case they will pose no immediate threat and we don’t anticipate any long game of there’s bearing fruit.”

“Decoys,” Samuel spat.

“That is what we believe,” Clark let out a long slow breath.

“What do you want me to do?” Samuel frowned again.

“Anchor is hardly strategic, no offence, and we have decided to give the asylum-seekers a lower priority,” Clark explained.

“Makes sense,” Samuel agreed.

“Take her at her word, deal with her locally,” Clark suggested. “One hint that she is not what she claims and we’ll pick her up, but until then…”

The Proctor patted down the air and shrugged.

“Softly, softly, catch a monkey,” Samuel quoted.

“Exactly Sir.”


The housekeeper was a rather severe looking woman and even by Raw standards she looked old. She was tiny and as she approached the waiting bondswoman she drew her cloak about her as if fending off the cold.

In truth her reaction was one of quiet fear. The young woman who had called on the house of her mistress was a strange one. For one thing she was too tall. She was a head taller than most women on Raw and she had strong straight legs that seemed to go on forever. It was no wonder that her short dress did not fit her. If it had been any shorter the housekeeper would have been able to see what she had eaten for lunch; a crude turn of phrase her mother had used.

The young woman eyed the housekeeper suspiciously as if she were the superior and shifted her weight from one leg to the other.

“I am a new servant here,” Casey said boldly.

“A servant who carries herself and speaks like an optimate,” the housekeeper threw back at Casey with scorn. “Mind your manners girl.”

Casey did not quail, but averted her eyes. It had been drilled into her during training how she should act and how to look out for social distinctions on Raw, but she was exhausted and her mind was blank.

Instead she reached into her pouch and extracted the papers from within.

Without waiting for them to be handed to her the housekeeper snatched them away. With barely a glance at the crumpled sheaves of paper she took a fresh look at the new bondswoman before her.

“I am Marne,” the old woman said coldly, “I am the chatelaine here. You have been expected. Welcome to the House of Wake”

Casey was led through a heavy wooden door an into a long dark passage that appeared to be lit by skylights high above, but with the sun now low in the sky, these openings were now in shadow and only the dimmest grey light seeped into the hall.

“I shall light the lamps presently, but for now you must see our mistress,” Marne explained as she set off at a surprisingly rapid pace.

“Then it is a woman who rules this house?” Casey said in surprise; her long easy strides keeping pace with the scurrying chatelaine.

“Quite so,” Marne croaked, her rapid steps taking their toll, “And why not?”

Casey did not reply, but began to weigh these words. If a woman could sometimes rule a house in a man’s world, then it seems likely that she would have reason to hate her position. It started to make sense. Why else turn traitor, Casey mused. Even as the thought formed she found that she could only feel disdain for this woman whoever she was. Her ally may indeed be on the side of justice, but treason left a sour taste in her mouth. It was contrary to her acute sense of military honour.

The lieutenant was led into some sort of library. It was large and better lit than the hallway, but it smelt of musty old books and stale spice. There were few chairs in the room and only one table, suggesting that this was a place to store books rather than read them. The high west facing windows let in the last rays of the afternoon sun, which cast a malevolent orange glow over the room.

Marne said nothing before turning on her heel and leaving Casey alone in the room.

The silence was oppressive and in her weariness Casey began to wish she had never accepted this mission. But the thought was a momentary one; Lieutenant Franks was not really one for introspection.

Instead she dropped into a leather padded chair set against the wall where it could catch the last of the days light and prepared herself to wait. Looking up she could see a million dust particles dancing like stars in the light and she thought of the endless space she had travelled through to get here.

A long, long was here and a long way back, she thought, become morose again. She let her gaze follow the beam of light to the floor where it picked out the worn red pattern carpet. There was still a line of light on the floor, but it was retreating like the Matriarch fleet. I have a mission, I must fulfil it, she swore to herself.

“You are Casey, the Matriarch soldier,” the voice shook Casey awake.

When had I fallen asleep, she thought, thoroughly startled. Looking hastily about her she could see that the patch of light on the carpet had only retreated a few inches. Then she found the source of the voice.

A young woman, perhaps 30 by Matriarch standards anyway, stood before her. She wore a long elegant green silk dress which clung to her impressive figure in all the right places. Her hair was woven into a single braid of dark brown, which she wore over one shoulder so that it hung to her waist.

“I am Mildred Wake,” the woman spoke again. “You really should have been waiting on your feet to greet me, not sat dozing in a chair.”

“I am sorry, I meant no disrespect,” Casey said hastily.

“You miss my point,” Mildred snapped, “You are supposed to be a bondsman, not a spy.”

Casey nodded and tried to rise.

“Never mind, we must talk,” Mildred bid Casey stay with her hand. “As you have no doubt realised, I am your contact.”

“Yes Ma’am.”


Casey blinked hard at the objects on the table. This was so much worse with a man in the room.

The man in question was Gerald Hamer, who was introduced as Mildred Wake’s bodyguard. But Casey could see that there was more between them than that. For one thing there was a great deal of physical contact between them and twice since he had entered the room she had picked fluff from his sleeve.

“Your orders are to obey me, are they not?” Mildred said silkily and slinking across the room like a cat.

Casey took her sharp breath through her nose. In actual fact they were to cooperate for the good of the mission and to defer to her contact in all matters pertaining to her cover. However, the lieutenant gauged that it wasn’t what Mildred wanted to hear right now so she said, “Yes Ma’am.”

“Yes Ma’am, oh I like that.” Mildred shuddered with pleasure and exchanged a knowing look with Gerald.

Casey licked her lips and turned her attention back to the objects. The small leather paddle she knew to be a chafe, which was an implement of family and marital correction here on Raw. The heavier wooden paddle was a hazer, for more serious punishment. Barbaric things, Casey snorted. The last had the appearance of something between an old style multi-tailed whip and a bundle of rods from the Middle Ages back on Earth.

“You see, your cover requires that you have a rather more humble demeanour, don’t you see?” Mildred continued. “You are altogether far too proud.”

“I will work on it,” Casey said, but uncertainty was creeping into her voice.

“Oh you will,” Mildred said firmly, “Won’t she Gerry?”

“Oh I think so,” Gerald agreed.

“You see we must keep up appearances,” Mildred soothed. She had approached Casey now and was picking at the shoulder of her rough dress as if straightening it. “You are a bondsman. You were late and then you were rather… disrespectful towards my chatelaine. Not to mention the fact that I found you asleep when I came in.”

“I am sorry but this is still new to me and…” Casey began wearily. She was tired and she wished this woman would come to the point.

“Excuses?” Mildred asked sharply.

“No Ma’am.” Casey snapped back to attention.

“Do you think you would pass for a bondswoman for one minute out there?” Mildred’s voice had a bitter edge to it. “Do you imagine that I am taking this risk for a third-rater?”

Casey thought about pointing out that she had got this far, but she realised the woman had a point. So far she had been lucky.

“I assure you I am completely committed to this mission Ma’am,” Casey said in a determined voice.

“Good,” Mildred said, steeping back. “Tomorrow after you have slept you will take the chafe to Marne and apologise. You will humbly ask her to give you the sound spanking you deserve. You see she is not in on our little secret and I would rather keep it that way.”

Casey baulked and the heat rose in her cheeks to threaten her ears, but she held her peace.

“No arguments, good,” Mildred sighed. “Right now I am going to test you and your… ‘complete commitment’ to this mission.”

Casey threw Mildred a hard stare.

“Don’t eyeball me girl,” Mildred snapped. “That will cost you.”

Mildred nodded to Gerald and stepped away.

“Alright girl, bend forward over that table,” Gerald ordered Casey.

Casey glowered at him; she was not accustomed to taking orders from a man. But Mildred is in charge here she told herself. So after a moment’s hesitation Casey stepped forward and bent low across the table next to the implements. As she did so she was aware that the hem of her short dress had risen off her bottom and the man could see her.

“Push your bottom back a little and lift it please,” Gerald grunted.

The blood again flooded her face, but Casey did as she was told.

Gerald moved behind the girl and examined her statuesque Amazonian behind. Mildred wanted this girl humbled he knew, sometimes he wondered about her. She had spent all her life banging on about women getting respect and since first contact about how the Matriarch were on the true path. And yet when she finally gets to meet a truly independent woman, as she would have it, all she wants to do is humble her.

Oh to be sure, he thought, the girl was walking about like an optimate elected to the senate and would have been picked up in minutes in town if security was looking for agents. But Mildred was enjoying this. But then, he thought as he looked upon the deep cleft of a bottom that held something of its firm definition even when bent over, so was he.

The bodyguard picked up the hazer and hefted it in his hand. What he wouldn’t do to be able to give Mildred a workout with this. He shook himself and focussed on the matter in hand.

The first swat rocked the Matriarch woman forward and she grunted. That had to hurt, Gerald thought as he lined up for another shot. We will get some tears with this first I think, before we move on to the harsh. A tough bill for this super woman, but then she was a soldier, he snorted derisively.

For Casey this was far worse than she could have imagined. At first she had hated the humiliation of it. But six swats in and her bottom felt like it had been seared with bands of fire and she was hissing breath through her teeth and nose.

“If while you are here you eyeball me or any of your supposed betters again, you will be getting rather more of this,” Mildred said from somewhere far away.

Bitch, Casey thought. “Yes Ma’am,” she groaned

Gerald threw an irritated look at Mildred. Sometimes she doesn’t know when to shut up, he thought bitterly. I am not your boy and I am handling this. In frustration he brought the hazer down hard on to Casey’s exposed bottom.

She yelled and began clawing at the table top in front her. She was panting hard now and small grunts escaped her throat. Her bottom carried a harsh red band composing of small tight goosepimples which had hard red dots among them.

“How are you doing?” Gerald asked almost kindly.

Casey, unable to speak, nodded.

“Good girl. Just wait until you feel the harsh, it is much, much worse, I do assure you,” he explained.

“Yes Sir.” Casey’s voice was heavy with moisture and it was not lost on her that this was the first ever sincere use of the S-word. She hated Mildred now, but strangely she could not feel the same for Gerald.

For five minutes more the hazer did its searing work, by which time, although given over to open tears, Casey remained unbroken.

“That’s it. You are taking this like a pro,” Gerald said, the admiration genuine.

“Alright, take the harsh to her now. Let her pampered bottom get a taste of true Raw culture,” Mildred said bitterly.

Gerald sighed and put down the hazer.

“We are done here, she’s done in,” he said.

Mildred looked set to rage at him, but he shook his head and said, “She gets it now and she had another spanking to come in the morning, remember.”

Mildred glowered for a moment, but she knew from years of experience when not to push it with him.

“Alright, have Marne put her to bed,” Mildred said dismissively as she left the room.


Amanda tried to tug down the hem of the impossibly short dress. It was ludicrous, she thought bitterly. She had tried complaining to a woman called the chatelaine who seemed to act as some sort housekeeper come servant manager, but she just said that the servants’ dresses were even shorter and she should count herself lucky.

Lucky indeed, Amanda thought angrily, the damn dress was half way up her knees, why can’t I wear pants?

When she had fled to Raw, this was not what she had in mind at all. When does it all get to be a bit freer, she wondered? When does the party begin? She looked around her rather Spartan room and compared it to the mental image of the house she had dreamt of in her daydreams.

She sighed heavily and sat down in the window seat. Raw was beautiful enough, she could not believe her eyes when Severus rose above the horizon and the town had character. Compared to the Matriarch, which was cold functional and drab, this was an amazing place. She just wished that… what, that they would give her everything on a plate? It was the closest she came to successful introspection before reverting to type.

“Oh this is too much,” she cried out bitterly. “I’m not staying here.”

She had been told not to go out without permission, but that was just plain silly. She was 22-years-old, what harm could it do?

If positions had been reversed and a Raw agent had dropped into the Matriarch, she was certain there would be armed guards and a high security facility of some kind. Here there was one rather inattentive maid and one outer door to get passed.

Her original plan of making for a ship might have been a bit hasty, but maybe in time with a bit of decent reconnaissance, she might yet make it work. There must be somewhere on this planet where she could fit in without being someone’s ‘guest.’

It took 10 minutes to reach the street without being seen and then she broke into a run and headed towards the harbour. I’ll just work out how many ships leave each day and where they go to, she told herself, but the truth was she was afraid. She had an inkling of why so many had defected to Raw, even if she wouldn’t face it. As long as she remained with Samuel she would be on a leash.


Amanda had found a quiet place to sit to watch the ships some hours before and still she felt no need to move on. The harbour was a pleasant place. High above gulls sang in a competitive chorus while they circled the bay and everywhere there were people bustling on the cobbled streets. It was a like a luxury vacation spot that she would never have been able to afford in the Matriarch; the sort of place reserved for the elite. Yet here it was part of everyday life. If only she could find some way to belong.

Since she had been watching, three ships had departed; two to islands that she hadn’t heard of and a third on its way to Helm. There were also some fishing boats, but she gathered that they would be out for two or three days at most before returning here.

The other thing that had struck her was that all the ships and boats were sailing vessels. It was like being in an old movie-vid of old Earth. As a teen she had often watched illegal movie-vids about pirates and men in blue suits with funny hats doing heroic things.

She had loved the adventure of such stories and despite being told they had been banned because they glorified violent wrongdoing and gave a distorted view of history, she had rather suspected that it was because it showed a world where men were in dominant roles.

A gull swept low near her and its screeching call shook her from her reminiscences. Suddenly she felt cold and she realised that the shadows had lengthened. She could move into the sun again, but that would only delay the inevitable; night was falling.

“Hey you,” someone called and she turned to see one of the watch. “Are you supposed to be out here?”

She was about to spin him a yarn when she realised that he was the same constable who had caught her earlier. Unfortunately he recognised her at that self-same moment.

“You again,” he accused. “I think you had better come with me.”

For a moment Amanda considered running, but the truth was, she had nowhere to run. So after one last forlorn look out to sea, she allowed herself to be taken.

She was led to a large block house set back from the corner of the market and the main high street. It was a strange building; perfectly square with its only windows set high up under the short pointed roof. On each of the four sides were large gates that led into a covered courtyard at the heart of the building.

In the centre of the courtyard was a padded trestle and it didn’t take much imagination for Amanda to realise what it was used for and she quailed a little. More worryingly, there were pillories set all around the centre of the courtyard facing outwards. Between the lines of pillories and the courtyard wall was a wide promenade area where people could walk in from the streets and see not only any activity in the courtyard but the faces and exposed bottoms of anyone put in the pillory.

Mercifully that evening all the pillories were empty and there were no onlookers.

“Until I can work out just where you are meant to be, I am going to put you in a cell,” the constable said nodding his head upwards.

Amanda followed his gaze and saw that high up there were small windows overlooking the courtyard. “What is this place?” she said, although she thought she already knew.

“It’s the women’s stockade and punishment blockhouse,” the constable replied as he led the way to the foot of some stairs going up, “The court is over the way in the market square, any that won’t or can’t pay the fines are brought here for up to three days.”

He paused and turned to look at her. She was ashen white and trembling.

“Don’t worry; you’ll only be here while I sort out what is going on. Overnight at most. Runaway did you?” He smiled then and double blinked his eyes in encouraging.

Amanda nodded slowly and wondered what the punishment for running away might be.

They were about to proceed when there was a clatter of a bucket and Amanda looked around to see a woman on her knees a little way around the promenade area. She was dressed in a painfully short sackcloth smock and very little else. On account of the fact that she was bent over on her knees, the smock had ridden-up behind into the small of her back leaving her bottom completely bare.

The woman was scrubbing hard at the stone floor, but it was not this that held Amanda’s attention. Her bottom looked razor-graze raw and was criss-crossed all over with deep red and purple welts.

“Haven’t you finished there Melanie? It’s late and we’re closing up,” the constable called out.

“Coming boss,” a small girlish voice called back.

“Melanie is our only inmate at the moment; drunk and disorderly. She is an apprentice seamstress but her employer wouldn’t pay the fine. I expect she’ll catch it again when we send her back tomorrow,” the constable explained.

Amanda was aghast, her jaw on her chest. “All of this for one girl?”

“Midweek you see. Tonight is the night when all the girls go out on the town, tomorrow being a day off for most. You’ll see. Full house tomorrow,” the constable chuckled.

For a moment Amanda felt like running, but as if her reading her mind the constable hung back and smiled at her again.

“Nothing for you to worry about,” he said encouragingly. “The most I can give you is a taste of the chafe and only if you give me any trouble. You have to be sentenced by the court and as far as I know you haven’t done anything. Well unless you count trying to bring down Raw civilisation.”

The constable’s eyes crinkled up as he spoke and he broke into friendly laughter.

“How does it… I mean what happens exactly? Here I mean?” Amanda had trouble getting the question out. She was terrified and excited all at once.

“Oh the justice system you mean or just this bit of it?” The constable waved her on up the stairs.

Amanda blinked back at him with a wide-eyed stare.

“The magistrate over the way deals with lower court offences; big crimes have to be handled at one of the seven high courts, like the one at Helm. Mostly it hands out fines. But it can award up to 28 days hard labour. This is just an intermediate punishment facility. Women are usually dependent on their families and employers paying the fines and often they don’t. A good thrashing and alternating three days between the pillory and scrubbing the floors takes care of that.” The constable stopped and indicated that Amanda should go right.

They were at the top of the stairs now and in a corridor that ran around the top of the blockhouse. Along the sides were small windows, those she had seen from the street she guessed, and facing them were lots of doors.

“A good view of the town from here,” the constable said. “Not so good from inside the cell though. You can only see the courtyard and the fate of others.”

Or your own pending fate, Amanda added silently.

“Why are the gates open? I mean that girl could have run away,” Amanda asked to distract herself.

The constable paused as if confronting a new idea.

“Never had anyone run before; nowhere to run to. Bad luck for anyone who did,” he snorted. “The gates are open to let in members of the public. Justice must be seen to be done after all and the humiliation is part of the punishment.”

The promenade, Amanda realised with horror. People came in and walked around the courtyard watching the whippings and the women in the pillory, back and front. She shuddered. Still at the back of it all there was something like a thrill.

“Ah this one will do for you,” the constable said pausing at a door. “In you go and I’ll see to Melanie before I send word to the hetman about you.”

Amanda stopped at the door and swallowed. The cell was horrible. Oh it was clean enough, but it consisted of a narrow hard bench to the right and a small toilet and water spigot to the left.

“Bare essentials I am afraid,” the constable said sympathetically, “in you go.”

It might have been only for the night, but when the door closed behind Amanda had never felt so wretched in all her life and she began to cry.


Casey eased herself upright and moved painfully over to the mirror in her room. She had no idea how long she had been asleep, but it was still dark outside, so she fumbled for a light on the shelf by the bed.

Her sore aching bottom had kept her awake for some time the night before and it was this discomfort that had awoken her now.

The low dim light threw up big shadows on the wall, casting a grey shade of her outline folded over her from where the wall met the ceiling. The image seemed to sum up her position. Was she a puffed-up shade or the pall of a shadow to be cast across this primitive planet? The rasping ache in her bottom took her attention away as she turned this and that before the glass. The mottled grazing on her lower curves was worse than anything and she felt a grim satisfaction at the test she had passed to get them.

Her hostess had no doubt been driven mad by her own personal demons, but she had given Casey a valuable lesson. She had to endure much if she was to succeed in her mission. Then she remembered Marne and the further punishment she had to request.

She felt anger then, but only for a moment. It was another test. She would endure. What could the chatelaine do that Gerald could not? Still it irked her that in a few hours she would have to humbly ask to be spanked like a… A test to pass, she reasserted to herself, I will focus on the mission.

The throbbing in her bottom seem to warn her that it might not be so easy, but apart from a little water to ease the burn, there was nothing she could do about that.


Amanda was awoken some hours later by boisterous shouts and a commotion out in the halls. She hadn’t got too much sleep so far and now she was wide awake and listening.

“Settle down girls,” a woman called out at one point.

She was met with drunken catcalling and more general yelling. Somewhere, someone even started giggling.

“She said, ‘settle down,’” a man bellowed and for a moment there was a slight drop in the noise.

Amanda went to her small window and looked down on to the courtyard. There were four or five large men and at least three women shepherding a rag-taggle of drunken girls across the yard to the stairs up to the cells.

For some reason Amanda thought it was funny and felt all the better for not being alone. Then she remembered Melanie and clapped her hand to her mouth. Will all these girls be…? She didn’t finish that thought and scurried back to bed.

The noise and clatter lasted for two hours or more before it began to die down. Then after a time she could hear someone crying. By then the light had begun to turn grey and Amanda knew that dawn was coming.


Amanda woke with a start. She opened her eyes just in time to see her cell close and she realised that that someone had dropped a tray with breakfast on the floor just inside.

She presumed that by now Samuel would have been told where she was and had decided to leave her where she was. Maybe he thought she was still working for the Matriarch. For some reason that thought bothered her more than anything else.

After a hasty wash and use of the facilities, she checked the contents of the tray. As well as bread and milk, there were two hard boiled eggs and an apple. The bread was fresh and of good quality, but she wondered if the eggs and fruit were standard fare here or just for her benefit. She hoped that she would never find out.

She had barely finished her meal when there was a commotion outside again. This time the disturbance was more subdued and was quickly stilled. By the time reached the window it was mostly over.

Looking down she could see three or four constables gathered in the yard and a number of bystanders under the eaves on the promenade beyond the circle of pillories.

A rather shame-faced woman in her early 20s stood between two of the constables with her head bowed. She was dressed only in a sack cloth smock as like one Melanie had been wearing and every few moments she glanced up at the trestle in the middle of the yard and then quickly away again.

There was an expectant air among the onlookers and Amanda wondered if they were friends of the girl or just here to gawp.

Then a man in a long black frock coat appeared. He wore a steel band around his head like a king from a story book and under his arm he carried a long thin set of rods.

“Put her over,” he ordered.

Then he handed one of the constables his rods and began to unbutton his coat.

Amanda watched as the girl was led to the trestle and helped to kneel on a padded platform set on one side. Then one of the constables whispered something to her and she shook her head.

“Put her over I said,” the man with the headband snapped in a great booming voice.

“Come on now,” someone said. It was the constable from the night before and although he spoke softly, his firm voice carried up to where Amanda was watching.

The girl looked forlornly around her as if for some reprieve and then she seemed to stiffen with resolve and leant forward. Shuffling her lower belly on the padded trestle top she straightened her thighs and then flopped over to grab something on the far side that Amanda couldn’t quite see. As she did so the last of her modest was dragged up her back exposing her bare bottom to everyone assembled and there was a murmur in the crowd.

The man with the headband, his coat now removed, extended his arm to accept the rod from the constable who had taken it and stepped forward.

“Pray silence please,” he called out in a commanding voice. “I am the Lictor of Anchor and we are assembled to execute the due process of the law.”

It seemed to be a ritual phrase and Amanda held her breath.

“Clair Bow, you have been sentenced to 36 strokes for public drunkenness, unruly behaviour and resisting arrest. After the sentence is carried out you will be remanded for three days and during the hours of daylight held in the pillory for four hours and then four hours labour, turn and turn about.” The lictor continued.

No one spoke and Amanda presumed that everything had been said in the courtroom. No doubt, Clair was one of the girls arrested the night before and was now facing justice.

There was no more delay and Lictor moved behind the girl’s up thrust bottom and lined up his arm. There was something of a crackle as the lengths of the rod clacked together as he drew back his arm and then after a long moment of suspended time came a sharp zip.

Amanda didn’t see the rods fall but the bark of their impact echoed around the courtyard and was quickly joined by a harsh wail.

“One,” someone intoned. It was a woman’s voice and Amanda supposed it was the female constable she had seen.

The second stroke came quickly and again the girl cried out. By now her bottom carried a vivid red graze and she was shaking her bottom from side to side as if to throw off the sting.

The strokes fell at the rate of one every five seconds so that after a long minute the first 12 had fallen.

The girl was sobbing now and there was a ripple in the crowd. The lictor broke off and made a slow circular turn of the yard. Then after a minute or so he resumed with as much force as before.

He obviously knew his job, because now the girl took on so even more than before and began intermittent incoherent pleading.

At 24 strokes there was another long pause, before the last 12 were handed out.

Afterwards the girl was helped down and as she took slow careful steps she was led to a pillory and placed in it kneeling so that her bottom was displayed. Amanda couldn’t help thinking that the fact that her face was now less than a meter from her audience was worst of all. After such a shameful display there was nowhere to hide.

After Clair there was a thief to be dealt with. She was a previous offender and although she had only run off without paying in the tavern the night before, she was sentenced to 42 strokes.

By then there were several girls and women lined up to await punishment and Amanda guessed that the magistrate must have had a very busy morning.


It took all morning to thrash all the waiting girls and by the time it was over most of the pillories were full of red welted bottoms and the first few girls were released to be set to mopping floors and scrubbing.

The audience, which was not so very large to begin with, begun to drift away as the morning continued, but from time to tome some new onlookers arrived so that there was always a dozen or so people strolling around the promenade so that Clare and the thief had to walk and crawl among them as they scrubbed and cleaned the blockhouse.

Amanda had been so enthralled by the unfolding events that she had not realised how hungry she was. It had been hours since breakfast and she wondered when or even if she would be released.

Even so, the rattle at the door startled her and she turned away from the window expecting to see a tray bearer with some lunch, but when she looked up it was Samuel standing there with his arms folded.

“Ah there you are,” he said.

“You took your time,” she accused him sullenly.

He narrowed his eyes and glanced at the window. “Been enjoying the show,” he said slowly.

Amanda blushed. “It’s barbaric,” she said.

“It is how we handle hijinks, petty theft and minor riots,” Samuel replied with a shrug. “We find that it leads to fewer instances of more serious offences.”

Amanda glanced back at the window and wondered if the silent prisons and camps of her own world were really any better.

“As for being late,” Samuel continued, “as hetman I am the magistrate here. I have been rather busy this morning.”

“Oh,” Amanda’s mouth formed a perfect little O, which turned into a bee stung pout as she hastily sat down on her bunk.

“Yes. I only have one more errant girl to deal with,” he said archly.

Amanda’s buttocks clenched and she blushed. “It’s not my fault they locked me up in here,” she said quietly.

“I told you not to leave my house. You are still under arrest you know,” Samuel sighed.

Amanda nodded silently. She had been well treated all things considered, now she had played into the hands of the security people.

“I wasn’t spying or… I wasn’t doing anything…” Amanda pleaded.

“You were found at the docks,” Samuel told her, “Planning to escape were you?”

Amanda pulled a face. She couldn’t very well deny it.

“I see,” Samuel sighed, “Have you any idea how much trouble you have caused? You are limbo at the moment. If you are processed as a spy they can execute you.”

Amanda gaped.

“Probably not,” he said quickly. “But you could easily face penal slavery or even exile to Severus.”

“I just…” Amanda felt lost.

Samuel whispered something to someone outside the door and he was handed a bundle. He tossed it onto the bunk and then threw a heavy bag of coins on top. Amanda could see at once that they were her own clothes and another dress more suited to Raw culture.

“You are more trouble than you are worth, but I can’t hand you over knowing what you face. I know a silly child when I see one. I’ll give you three choices. You can run. Take a ship and get off my island and see how far you get. You could take indentures as a sailor; who knows they might never find you. The ocean is vast.” Samuel paused to watch Amanda’s face, before continuing. “You can stay here, work as you can until the money runs out and then decide what to do. I wish you luck with that. You will be back here in earnest before the month is out, if I am a judge.”

“Or?” Amanda was aware he had said three choices.

“Or, you can come into my household. Learn a trade; learn how to live on Raw. By then the war will be over and you will be free. There are a hundred worlds out there.”

Amanda felt her head fizz. The silence that fell as Samuel waited for an answer hushed painfully in her ears until the world seemed to pulse around her in time to the beat of her heart. The thought of running across a vast ocean pursued by Raw security did not bear thinking about. She just wasn’t that resourceful. The same went for living alone on Anchor.

“I’ll come back to your house,” she said softly, “I’ll try…”

Samuel nodded and pushed his jaw out a little towards her.

“Let’s go, I’m starving,” he said pushing open the door.


It had taken a lot to set aside her dignity and go to Marne and ask for a spanking. When the chatelaine had nodded her acceptance, for a brief moment Casey had been proud of her deception. A perfect military subterfuge she had thought. But then Marne had taken her casually by ear with one hand and taken up the short leather paddle known as a chafe with the other. Then in the most undignified way imaginable, Lieutenant Casey Franks had been led away from the privacy of Marne’s room and out into a common area where one or two other servants were going about their chores, including two men.

“Look okay I’m sorry,” Casey had protested, the words catching her unaware as her ‘military subterfuge’ slipped.

“I am sure you are,” Marne chuckled as she took Casey across her knee and flipped up the short hem of her dress.

The spanking had been hard and vigorous and it had taken the Matriarch spy all her will to keep silent given the grievous state of her already sore bottom. Then she had remembered that she was not supposed to be tough, but penitent and had managed a few sincere yelps and even a tear or two.

The latter had drawn some laughter from the other servants, a shame that had almost been enough to make her cry in earnest.

Afterwards she had been put in the corner of a penitent step at the front door where the meanest of passers-by could gawp at her and exasperated her humiliation.

“Did you have to be quite so… thorough?” She asked Mildred when they were in her study alone again.

“Have you not learned your lesson then? Shall I call Gerry to give you another?” Mildred scolded sharply.

Casey’s mouth fell open and she almost swore at this mad woman. Instead she managed to rasp through her teeth, “No ma’am.”

“Good,” Mildred said with an imperious smile.

“I have finally managed to get some orders for you,” Mildred continued. “You are to get to Stand.”


“It is an island with a military base; it is west of here,” Mildred explained. “There is no way I can get you a pass, but I have some indenture transfer papers here, transferring you to…”

“Yes, yes,” Casey said impatiently, eager to get away from Mildred’s clutches. Adding quickly, “Please ma’am; will these documents get me onto the island?”

Mildred smiled and rang a small bell on the library table. “Oh yes,” she said enigmatically.


Samuel didn’t speak to Amanda for the entire journey back from the blockhouse to his home. All the way the way back Amanda sat in the corner of the landau as far away from the hetman as she could.

It was not that she was afraid of him exactly, but on some level she knew that things had changed forever and her new life on Raw was about to begin in earnest.

The carriage pulled up outside Samuel’s house and he stepped from his side before it had even come to a full stop and began to briskly stride towards the main door. He didn’t look back at his new charge; that was not his custom. From now on, Amanda would have to learn what was expected of her without constant instruction.

Amanda watched him go, his back fast retreating from her before being swallowed by the heavy frame of the great entrance. The bondswoman driving the landau eyed her over one shoulder as if expecting her to flee.

Then Amanda sighed and shuffled forward on her seat to wrestle with the door. Like everything on this world it was strange and it took her a moment to work the mechanism.

“Oh well, here goes nothing,” Amanda said as she stepped down.

“What was that Miss?” The bondswoman asked.

Amanda shook her head and shrugged. “Nothing,” she said and started after Samuel.

Suddenly she felt that she was late for something and she had a hunch that lateness would no longer be well received by her host so she hurried at a pace as close to a run as she dared without compromising her dignity. As she passed through the doors onto the red chequered floor she could see that Samuel was up ahead entering the first anteroom where she had waited with the captain on her visit. Resisting the urge to call out for him to wait she spurted on.

Amanda lost him at the second open area where the steps that led to Samuel’s study lead and paused for a moment. Did he go up? The stairs were forbidding and put her in mind of school for some reason.

“The master is waiting for you through there.” Amanda whirled around to face the woman who had spoken.

She was small and severe looking. Her dark hair was tightly tied back behind her head in a small hard bun. She would have been about 30 by Matriarch standards, which meant she could easily be nearer 60 here on Raw. From a previous encounter, Amanda already knew her to be the chatelaine here; M-something, Maiden was it, Amanda struggled to remember. No, Mason, she decided.

“Mason… eh, thank you.” Amanda didn’t like the way Mason’s eyes seemed to bore into her.

“You will address me as Mistress Mason,” Mason said sharply, “Or Ma’am.”

“Oh… yeah, no probs,” Amanda said uncertainly.

Mason glared.

“Thanks… eh… Ma’am.”

Amanda hoped that the woman would go away but she watched until the latest member of the household moved in the direction she had been sent and then began to follow.

Samuel was sat waiting on a white stone bench in a small courtyard atrium deeper into the house.

“There you are,” Amanda gushed, “I got a bit lost for a moment.”

“She was dawdling Sir,” Mason explained.

“I was…” Amanda began in a decidedly indignant tone.

“Be quiet girl. You will speak when you are spoken to,” Mason snapped.

Amanda flushed angrily and turned back to face Samuel, expecting a kind word.

“I have asked Mason to stay and bear witness,” Samuel intoned as if he were addressing a court. “You have agreed to be bound to my house. Is that not correct?”

Amanda started to speak, but the words tripped over a thousand questions that came to her mind.

“Answer girl,” Mason chided.

“You said I could stay here and work for you, under your protection wasn’t it?” Amanda spluttered. The phrase ‘bound to my house’ bothered her.

Samuel nodded slowly but didn’t speak.

“Yes,” Amanda replied, “I mean, I agree.”

“The official papers will be drawn up and the bonds fee set against the citizen’s bond,” Samuel explained, “But your verbal agreement in the presence of a witness will suffice for now.”

Amanda cast a glance at Mason. She was a witness, that’s why she was here; Amanda felt better about her presence. Then she turned back to Samuel again.

“Bonds fee, citizen’s bond, what are they?” She asked.

“I will pay your bond; in effect buy your citizenship. In return you agree to give me at least seven years’ service. I will then have a duty to provide for you in every regard. After seven years you will be free to make your own way or continue in service to me or another. In that event, you will receive the bonds fee to set against your future.”

“What will this service entail exactly?” Amanda said frowning. It sounded very medieval to her, but also fair in its own way.

“I have many interests here on Anchor, to some extent your role will depend on you. To begin with you will do household work, which will give you the chance to learn about Raw culture and its opportunities. If after a year or two you demonstrate a sufficient aptitude… well then we will see,” Samuel said and thrust out his jaw.

“Household work?” Amanda pulled a face. “Oh well, I guess we’ve got a deal.”

“Good,” Samuel breathed out slowly. “Then before my dinner, we have one more matter to attend to.”

Amanda cocked one eyebrow in puzzlement and glanced again at Mason. There was something about her manner and imperious look that suggested she knew what was coming.

“You were told not to leave the house yesterday,” Samuel began, “Mistress Mason had half the household out looking for you before word came that you were at the blockhouse.”

“I’m sorry, I…” Amanda averted her eyes.

“Silence girl,” Samuel barked causing Amanda to jerk back in surprised with a double-eyed blink.

“As I was saying,” Samuel continued, “That is the kind of rank disobedience that will come to an end. You will do what you are told, when you are told and how you are told; or there will be consequences. Is that understood?”

Amanda blanched and opened her mouth to speak.

“Is that understood?” Samuel repeated slowly with emphasis.

“Yes.” Amanda wanted ask what he meant, especially about consequences, but she sensed this was not the time to ask.

“You answer, yes Sir or yes Samuel,” Mason said from behind her. “Or in very formal situations, you will courtesy and say hetman or…”

“Thank you Mason, but let’s not overburden the girl with complexities of etiquette at this point,” Samuel cut in. “Time enough to learn of all that.”

Then to Amanda he said, “Do you understand your position?”

“Yes I think so,” Amanda said uncertainly. “I mean Samuel.”

“I am not sure that you do,” Samuel said with a sigh. “Come here.”

Amanda took half a step forward.

“Here,” Samuel said sharply, pointing at a spot one meter in front of where he sat.

Amanda walked briskly forward and stood to attention military style. At least her former training had been good for something.

“You are not to leave this house on any account until further notice,” Samuel said in a low hard voice. “Is that understood?”

“Yes… yes Samuel,” Amanda answered.

“This is the least of what will happen if you do,” Samuel said taking her arm.

In a thrice she was pulled towards him and tipped over his lap. Amanda was still confused about what was happening when she felt the hem of her skirt flipped up.

“What the…?” Amanda began to struggle a little.

“These are not required for bondswomen,” Samuel said gruffly.

Seeing her underwear, he felt a little awkward and embarrassed. He had never had to more than turn a girl before. Samuel glanced at Mason, who rolled her eyes up to heaven at the offending articles.

Amanda squirmed on Samuel’s lap even more embarrassed than Samuel, the suspicion of her fate fast developing in her mind. Then she felt a hand on the seat of her polyester undershorts and the sudden prick of the breeze as the last defence went south to tangle around her ankles.

Her squeal of surprise was incoherent and she began to struggle in earnest.

“No you don’t,” Samuel growled, “None of that.”

His hand cracked sharply against her small pale bottom leaving a red mark, which he added to with a short volley of spanks.

“Oh please no…” Amanda squeaked kicking her legs as much as she was able.

The sudden sting was more than she was sued to and rapidly went some way to distracting her from her embarrassment. “Enough, please I’m sorry,” she wailed.

“Enough? We have barely started,” Samuel said; his voice sharp with a dark promise.

Samuel spanked hard and fast for three or four minutes more as Amanda protested and struggled against his lap. By which time her small bubble bottom was a hard dark pink, a stark contrast to her white thighs.

“I’m sorry Sir, I’m sorry,” Amanda gasped; her breathing very laboured now.

“Sorry are you?” Samuel asked sternly. “I hope so, for I find a spanking is more effective on a contrite bottom.”

Then he nodded to Mason who moved forward and holding a chafe that had been concealed in her skirts. She handed the time-worn leather paddle to the man and stepped back again to her place.

Amanda’s eyes were wild like a pony’s as she looked back at what was in Samuel’s hand. “No please, I’m sorry, really I am.”

The chafe landed with a hard heavy splat that drew a yell from the prone Amanda.

“Feel that do you?” Samuel said wearily.

“Oh please,” Amanda gasped with a decided wet edge to her voice.

Then the chafe struck again as Samuel’s arm fell with heavily with a relentless rhythm.

“No,” Amanda said in a long drawn out groan that ended in a splutter of tears.

By now her bottom was deep red and with a dusting of white stress marks tending to small welts.

“We are getting there I think,” Samuel grunted without taking the least break in the fall of his arm.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry,” Amanda sobbed.

“I know, I know,” Samuel soothed as he continued to spank.

He spanked on for close to 10 more minutes before he allowed the chafe to come to a rest in the small of Amanda’s back above her spank blasted bottom.

“Do you remember what you are to do?” He said solemnly.

Amanda didn’t answer but just continued to lie sobbing across his lap.

“No?” Samuel said with a shrug and started to spank her again.

“Please Sir,” Amanda wailed, and then struggling to remember she spluttered “I’m to, I’m to, I’m to…”

“Yes…?” Samuel prompted her and pausing his spanks.

“Stay in Sir,” Amanda said hastily.


Amanda’s eyes darted in her head as she strove to remember.

“I see,” Samuel said wearily shifting as if to resume the spanking.

“I’ll do what I’m told, when I’m told and how I am told…” Amanda sobbed, quickly adding a “Sir.”

“Good enough for now I suppose,” Samuel said with a sigh. “She is to remain tucked for three days. For now you can dispose of her how you will.”

“Very well Sir,” Mason said with curt dip of her knees before stepping forward to take the girl with one arm and the chafe with the other.

“Come on girl, you’ll live,” Mason chided leading the limp-cringed girl away.

Amanda kept her head bowed as she swallowed down great hiccoughing sobs and clawed at the insistent burn in her bottom.

“Let me explain to you about tucking and turning,” Mason said breezily once they were away from Samuel. “You have just been turned and now you will remain tucked for three days.”

Mason put the chafe under one arm as she arranged the back of Amanda’s skirt; folding up and fastening it with buttons set into the small of the girl’s back.

Amanda was horrified, but didn’t resist as she stood meekly sobbing.

“I know you will untuck this when you think no one is looking,” Mason chuckled, “I know I did when I was a girl. But have no fear; I’ll introduce you to the hazer quick enough when you do.”

“What, why…?” Amanda was lost in her defeat.

“I’ll get no work from you today, I’ll be bound, so I am taking you somewhere prominent so you can stand a penitent vigil for a few hours,” Mason explained.

“I’m sorry, I’ll be good,” Amanda sniffed bringing her sobbing under control, although blaze in her bottom threatened to overwhelm her again at any moment.

“I know girl, I know, or at least you will try,” Mason said kindly and then holding up the chafe she added, “See this?”

Amanda could barely look at it, but she had not yet forgotten her promise to do as she was told. The object was almost black and quite shiny on its striking surface. It looked old.

“I don’t know how long this has graced this house,” Mason chuckled, “I felt it across my bare bottom when I was a girl and I know the chatelaine of my youth had felt it on hers before me. It is something of an heirloom you might say.”

Amanda almost smiled at the thought of Mason being spanked.

“In my day it was traditional to use it at least once every week,” Mason continued. “Us girls used to walk on eggshells I can tell you. If no one earned it fairly, then an excuse was used to spank the youngest just for tradition’s sake you understand.”

Amanda gulped.

“I was the youngest here for almost three years,” Mason said significantly.

Amanda looked at the floor. Mason had made her point.

Mason led Amanda to open area where one or two other servants were milling about. Against one wall were a set of penitent steps in the form of a zigzag of corners as Amanda had seen at the entrance to the house.

“You will go and stand in the corner until you are sent for,” Mason ordered.

“Yes Ma’am,” Amanda said miserably, her face blazing almost as red as her bottom.


Casey stood naked a large circular stone room while the whole world, or so it seemed, wandered past her. The small thumbnail-sized tattoo still burned on her right buttock and her hair had been shorn to within an inch of her head. She was still furious.

The whole episode was turning into a humiliating nightmare.

When Mildred had belatedly explained that she had been sold into slavery, technically at her own request the woman had been quick to point out, they had already on route to the thrall house.

“You can’t be serious,” Casey had blurted, annoyed that she had let her feelings show. “Is there no other way?”

“Where you are going there are no civilians. You can hardly enlist in the military can you? As it is, in the usual run of things, all servants are closely vetted. However, as a… gift to my cousin who is heroically fighting, I think I can slip you by the usual channels.”

“Let me get this straight, I am going to be a gift to your cousin who is in the military and serving on Stand? Is he in on this?” Casey tried to keep her temper even.

“He is well placed and serves as a proctor at Stand star force base. And no he is most definitely not in on this. You will have to be careful,” Mildred said earnestly.

“What does being a slave…” Casey threw up her arms angrily barely able to speak, “…involve?”

“Anything, everything,” Mildred shrugged. “Oh you can’t be… hurt. I mean in any serious or harmful way, but given the nature or your… service to my cousin, I couldn’t very well put conditions upon your… condition.”

Casey glowered; the woman appeared to be enjoying this far too much.

That had been before she had been left at the thrall house at the port. Since then she had been thoroughly bathed and scrubbed, with not the least regard to her still grazed bottom and then tattooed. She didn’t even want to think about the enemas; two of them and then a third just because she complained.

The tattoo, it had been explained, was the family crest of her new owner and could not be removed without special equipment as it was formed with a nanite synth-ink. Even if she burned it off, it would return when the skin healed, the tattooist gleefully told her.

“Oh just so you know,” the tattooist had added before he had left, “Your personal details are encoded in the tattoo as well and can be scanned with a reader at up to three meters away. Although must people like to have a beauty like you bare and bend anyway.”

The last part had been accompanied with a leer.

I am strong, I will survive this, Casey swore to herself, think of the mission. Her resolve had faltered only when they put the cuffs and collar on her before leading her naked to the ship. Bastards, she thought, all of them.

18 Responses to “Raw: Strangers”

  1. Oh, my, you’ve been busy! Great continuation of the story, DJ.

  2. 2 Dick Long

    I want to join the colony that becomes Raw! Do we get an island and get started?

  3. 3 DJ

    Hi Scarlet – its taken three weeks off and on to write this – so thanks

    Dick – you wouold be most welcome – but it is a meritoracy and everyone starts at the bottom. good luck


  4. 4 Raffe

    Great story, love reading your blog. I do have a few question. What is the thinking process of the high ranking militray/political people in Matriarch sociaty? You have not wirtten about them. The other question i have is why Amenda did not enlist in militiary for her bond, afterall she is an officer?

    • 5 DJ

      Thanks Raffe,

      we may or may not find out what the Matriarch are/is thinking – perhaps Casey will shed some light as her mission becomes clearer.

      As for Amanda – in the first place she is not that keen on the military – her enlistment was just a means to an end. Even the Matriarch didn’t think so – since she is a patsy used as a decoy.

      In the second place she is under open arrest – she is after all an agent of the enemy. Letting her become a servant is one thing but it is hardly appropriate that she join the military.

      I hope this addresses your questions.


  5. DJ, I can see the tremendous amount of work you put into this story. You really hit the mark with it and did a great job developing characters that all feel different. I look forward to reading more of these. I’m prepared to wait, but hope it won’t be too long.

    • 8 DJ

      All I can say is that the next Raw story takes us back to Severus.

      The next big story is Magic I think and then we must continue Ad Astra.

      Raw is a big story and takes a long time to put together.

      Thanks 🙂


  6. 9 manhattan

    I really like the way you use diverse perspectives to tell your stories, as it gives the reader a detailed insight into the factions of the conflict. The “Rawenites” seem to be a very complex society, with a multitude of different interests and peer groups, and even the totalitarian Matriarchy is represented by numerous indiviuals, each with their own agenda and motivations. I always prefer “shades of grey”- to simple “black and white”-characters. And I enjoy the low-tech aspect of the life on Raw. It reminds me very much of Whedon’s “Firefly”-universe (with Edwardian/ Victorian elements, of course).

    Thank you very much for the chapter.

    • 10 DJ

      Thanks for entering into the spirit of it.

      For what it is worth – I think the shading you talk about is the only reason this might work. Otherwise it might come across as Goreaneque sword and sci-fi romp.

      glad you liked (are liking) it. 🙂

  7. 11 Dick Long

    Here is my vision of a back story. Please use it as you see fit maybe give some feed back. I love this story line. Like most can’t wait for more working on the story about the oner of an ornate chafe shop. Will send it to you when it’s finished but for now try this and give me more ideas. 

    RAW-the beginning 

    Alright girls today we are going to talk about the beginning of Raw. It started on Earth in the tear 2020 when a 40 year old man in Texas saw another man bend his 19 year old daughter over a picnic table bare her bottom and spank her for half hour with a ping pong paddle. Her butt was purple and starting to bruise as she was to stay on display for one hour. The 40 year old Richard Long walked up to her father introduced himself informed the father he was looking for a DD bride and would like his permission to take his daughter on a date when he released her. At the end of the hour her father introduced Rebecca James to Richard and informed her that her choices of suitors had been vary bad and that she was to date Richard. No arguments. Then he looked at Richard and said he was to strip her and spank her for one hour then corner her as long as he thought needed. Before he brought her back in the morning then they would talk. They went to dinner and a walk in the park then back to his place to be spanked. 

    As requested on hour with the ping pong paddle. Then he shocked her by holding her till she stopped crying. Then put her agents the wall ” nipples and nose don’t leave the wall” they talked for six hours with her chafing her nipples on the stone wall. She told him she loved him and he gave her 50 hard swats with a strap then put her in bed on her tummy legs spread wide till morning. When he took her to her father he asked to marry her. Her father said yes and that she was to remove her panties and never ware them in her feoncee  presents agin and Richard said just never agin as she took them off she was tucked so her father could see her bottom. He liked what Richard had done there as they talked the set the wedding day for a fortnight and she was to remain tucked till then. You think this is bad now in 2020 no girls were tucked at all. Now listen up this is where are wedding rituals come from. Her father said he was going to make sure she was good till her wedding and spanked her three times a day. On the last day Richard showed her a leather paddle like an ornate chafe and spanked her with it through out the rehearsal , off and on for the next six hours. Then made her lay on her back spread her legs. He pulled out a course wet stone and rubbed her clit with it for an hour to make her more sensitive the next day. He also put crushed ginger on it when he finished with the stone. On a scuffed clit this really burns. He now has your attsion when he tells he’s going to do this again after the wedding before he brakes your cherry.

    In the morning her father paddled her the longest hardest he ever had then strapped her. She was purple from her waist to her knees. She looked beautiful tucked in her white wedding dress with her sore butt on display. When the minister said so Richard used that pretty chafe on Rebecca’s bottom. During the reception All the guest would rap the tables till he used the chafe on her ten times. After the reception true to his word he spanked her, used the stone and ginger on her clit. Then broke her cherry.
    She had her fist baby girl ten months latter named Samantha . All was good she was spanked almost daily and loved it . Over the years she had four more daughters and a son. The girls were spanked munch like she was growing up and put in a corner as needed. 
    The paddle was like our hazer and he used it long and hard as she was really bad. But even in Texas the last spanking hold out this was to munch. As the No Spanking movement was to have taken over there as well the law ordered him to stop spanking all members of his family imedyantly. So him and ten other HOH’s bought an island 23 miles long in a horse shoe that formed a natural harbor, as they landed there the first time with tents and gear to camp till housing could be erected, John said to the group ” Man this land is RAW” and Richard said “So will the girls bottoms be” . The first law of Raw no citizens girls will ware any form of panty. 

    As Sam caused the most problems on the trip she was the first to be spanked on raw. She was turned by all the men and spanked the longest hardest she ever had been. The HOH’S of Raw thanked her for liberating them to a new land where they could make there owns laws to suit there family’s needs. How ever she spent the rest of her life tucked so they could see the bottom that changed their   lives for ever and as she was a real brat ever into old age she spent most of her 72 years with a red butt. She never married butt had a daughter who was raised and spanked on Raw at the age of 16 she was spanked long and hard but unlike her mother and grandmother she resisted the natural way of things and resented her spankings, so she ran away to her family land of Texas. She was elected the youngest Texas governor ever and fearlessly enforced the no spanking law. Was elected president on a no spanking, women’s power platform at the end of her second teram she lead the U.N. resolution to rejoin all former British colonies to their motherland with her as queen and maetrearic or England. Her descendants would start the exodus from earth to retain their freedoms and liberties. In time the people of Raw fled to the star as the unnatural ways ruined the planet and the persecution took their freedom to lead their families as they see fit and natural. 
                      Dick Long.

  8. 12 Ansh

    Beautifully written story, DJ. Are you going to continue the series?

  9. 15 emma

    i have read these stories many times and hope one day you will write another and continue them, i love all your stories but really like the sci fi ones.

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