Amanda’s tummy ached. It had been giving her trouble since the whole affair had begun and now she was beginning to get tired. It wasn’t quite the adventure she had signed on for, but now that she thought about it, she could not even remember what she had expected.

The 36-year-old sunset-haired business executive shot a glance down a side street half expecting to see a Victorian carriage or even one of them, but the alley was clear. It was one of the old undeveloped kinds that still had cobbles and was bordered on one side by a series of greying London brick railway arches of the type that normally housed lock-ups or backstreet mechanics.

Her short black jacket felt heavy now and the mix of adrenaline and rapid evasion had made her hot. The first set of doors in the arch had peeling purple paint and were set back somewhat so that she could step off the street and not be seen by anyone looking down it from the main road. This brief haven provided scant hope but at least she could catch her breath.

If only she knew all the rules, she thought, it was the uncertainty that was so stressful. As it was they could be almost anywhere at any time. She took another look down the alley back at the main road and wondered if she should make for the railway station.

Nothing much had been explained, Edward Carlisle had merely offered her the chance to go on or return to her old life in some kind of Faustian pact.

She remembered the first time she had seen him; a young Morgan Freeman with salt and pepper hair in a collarless Beatle-suit. It had been as if she had stumbled upon some chance sexual tryst and her best friend Jessica was draped half-naked across his knee getting a spanking; not a playful one either from the looks of it. He had given her an easy smile and winked as she had stepped into the room. While Jessica, not seeing her, had continued to kick and bawl under the heavy onslaught of his hand as her bare bottom turned steadily red.

“I-I I’m sorry, I’ll…” Amanda had backed up transfixed by embarrassment, “… go.”

But she hadn’t gone. She had stood there gaping while Jessica now seeing her wailed in distress, “Amanda, get out.”

“I have much to do here, so perhaps you had better do as asked,” Carlisle had said in a dark chocolate voice, the slamming of his hand on Jessica’s bottom not missing a beat.

It had been a wrench and despite both women’s mutual embarrassment, Amanda had backed away using only the smallest of steps as she watched the spanking.

“Go on now,” he had urged gently, “Before I put you across my knee too.”

Amanda had waited in the café opposite for almost three hours just watching the warehouse conversion that she shared with Jessica. Finally the dark elegant man had emerged into the street pausing to brush something from the shoulder of his unusual dark grey suit. For a moment Amanda could have sworn that he looked at her. No not at her, but into her almost. Just a small glance at the café on the other side of the road where she sat behind a curtain, but even from there she could see his easy smile and he had winked at her.

The present assailed her and a black car rounded the corner and crept past her as if it were going to stop. Amanda’s throat jammed at a half gulp for three beats until it had passed. She was still looking at its retreating tail lights when the clatter of hooves behind made her whirl around. The horse-drawn hearse was black and gold with two dour men in Victorian dress at the reins. The whip in the drivers hand made her shudder.

It was a prosaic enough sight in that part of London and she didn’t know if it was part of her world or the other. So she ran. Her world, which was her world now? More and more it was the cars and buses that seemed part of a dream, an anachronistic even. The coaches and horses, top hats and crinoline seemed all too real. Not that everyone was so overdressed. Amanda thought of the carriage she had seen that morning and what was pulling it. Amazingly no one but her even blinked, although she suspected that more outlandish characters on the street saw it too. They just didn’t care. Or… she didn’t follow that thought. She was running hard now, back the way she had come.

The train, she thought, she could get to the train and go to… panic, as she breathlessly ran she could not remember where he had said to meet her. An H hung on the tip of her tongue as she ran likely sounding place names through her head.

“Hushley, Hushington… Hushbourne, it was Hushbourne, that was it,” she muttered aloud.

*

As she rounded the next street the smell of coal smoke hung in the air and the streetlamps looked all wrong. The houses running down her right had the early evening glow of television at every window and here and there were satellite dishes. But there were no cars and the streets were all cobbled where there should be tarmac and white lines.

The people to the left of the street, the side she avoided, wore strange dress, like Victorians, but not quite… she tried not to stare. One couple walked arm-in-arm stepping quickly from one puddle of gaslight to the next. The man had the usual grey frockcoat, but on his hat were strange goggles with one monocular eyepiece hanging over his right eye.

The woman was even more oddly attired. From the tight-nipped waist upwards she wore a pastel green 19^th century tunic and bowler-like as a country woman of that time might wear for riding. But under the ensemble she wore obscenely tight pale-grey trousers that were almost like leggings. Not that is was the strangest thing she had seen that day.

Amanda hurried on.

At the next corner was the way to the railway station. Or at least it was in her world. This hunch was confirmed by the hoot of a horn. A hoot, Amanda wondered? Surely… but her thoughts were confirmed by the whistle of steam train.

The cobbled street ran right into the station so that carriages could load and unload. But Amanda could still see modern trains on the far platform.

“Oh hell, it is here too,” she cursed.

The outburst drew a glare from an elderly man in a more conventional frockcoat and top hat. But when Amanda offered him a broken smile of apology, he seemed to bluster and quickly hurried on. His parting glance had been at her attire and Amanda realised that as she became more and more of the other world she would look ever more out of place.

She looked down at her once smart blue jacket and skirt, but what to wear? If she straddled both worlds then she would look wrong whatever she wore.

“Can I help you miss?” said a voice.

The man wore an old-style railway uniform with a gold watch chain at his waistcoat and a small round cap on his head. She noted too that he had pork chop whiskers in grey and white and a face that suggested he drank too much.

“I eh, I want to get to Hushingbourne, I mean Hushbourne,” Amanda said breathlessly.

“Platform two, miss,” the man replied pointing casually to where the steam trains were gathered.

Amanda hesitated. Although she had already made her choice, rightly or wrong, she somehow felt that getting aboard a train to a place she was certain did not exist in her world was an irreparable step. She was still pondering this when she saw the man on the other side of the road.

He was as big as a house and looked like an old-time circus strongman who had been squeezed into a coarse tweed suit. His short black curls were parted exactly down the middle and he had moustache reminiscent of Lord Kitchener in all those First World War recruitment posters.

More than that he was looking right at her with hard calculating eyes she could see at 100 paces. One of them then, she gulped and felt her buttocks clench. One of the rules she did know was that the man could do anything to her that he could make her agree to. Allying his over-massive build with her recent past experience, she knew that that might cover a lot of ground.

As he stepped purposefully from the curb she turned and with as much dignified haste as she could muster she bolted for platform two.

*

The carriages at platform two were of dark wood and unpainted. It was impossible to see down to the front because of the smoke and steam. Nevertheless Amanda was pretty certain that amid the cacophony of the eclectic mix of styles where her world attempted to blend with the faux Victorian one she kept glimpsing, that the train was pulled by a steam engine.

She paused at the carriage door bearing the legend Third Class. She gaped at this for a moment and then looked hastily down the platform for any sign of a pursuit. Then she pulled open the old wooden door and clambered aboard.

The carriage smelled of varnish and distressed leather, with an undertone of something rancid. Inside there was a narrow corridor with compartment doors running at intervals, but the first one was empty and she could see only hard narrow wooden benches. Far from luxury travel, the accommodation looked like a mobile prison and she decided to jog up the passage in search of a second class compartment.

She thought back to her last meeting with Carlisle. He had been effusive with charm and his easy smile had been disarming.

“You are intrigued then?” he suggested.

“I…” Amanda had blushed.

“There are worlds within worlds and nothing is as it seems,” he said, holding up his hand as he continued, “In a moment a cab will arrive. If you get aboard it will take you to wherever you want to go and when you get there you will remember nothing. If not then I will assume that you wish to know more. No further than that, forgive me; if you do not avail yourself of this chance then my world will swallow you.”

“But…” Amanda’s mind had raced. She was too curious to just flee, but she needed to know more before she could just choose. What was she getting herself into?

“If you choose my world then… well then you are mine as Jessica is mine,” Carlisle assured her still smiling. “But others will seek to take you or at least dally with you as they will.”

She had tried to interrupt him, but he had silenced her with a commanding stare and expanded on his theme. Amanda had remembered Jessica and her spanking as she remembered it now and blushed. That was the least of what she would endure, he had assured her.

“You will see clues of your possible fate, mark them well,” he had told her.

“But none of this makes any sense,” she had whined. But somehow she knew more than he had said, as if she had always been a part of it and merely waiting her turn.

The taxi came and went leaving her on the pavement.

“When the time comes try and get to Hushbourne, ask Jessica,” Carlisle told her, “I suggest a train. I will explain everything there.”

“But what if I change my mind?” she wailed as he turned to go.

“Hushbourne, I will explain there, hurry now they will have your scent. They love fresh meat and if they take you, you will be theirs to do as they will.” Then he was gone.

That had been… what a day, two days before? She couldn’t remember. Somewhere behind her Samantha heard a carriage door of the train and thought of the large muscle man she had seen watching her and hurried on.

As she ran she remembered the naked girls she had seen hitched up to the carriage and the curious Victorian-style BDSM slaves on leashes so casually displayed in the streets. Her pulse raced as she wondered at her fate if she were caught. But strangely she was not as afraid as she might have been.

There had been another incident and she blushed. That had been a close call. Still she ran on even as she remembered.

First Class came upon her suddenly and she passed seamlessly into the carriage. This one was cleaner and the seats were arrayed in smooth red velvet all set in neat compartments to her right.

“What happened to Second Class?” she mused aloud, but she already felt safer and carried on.

She had still to secure a seat when the train pulled away with a lurch and she had to seize a hanging cord to steady herself.

“Okay,” she muttered as she eyed the empty six-seat cabin. All I have to do is sit tight until the train gets to Hushbourne.

*

The ticket inspector had fierce brown eyes and short wiry red hair set under his cap and continuing down his cheeks to meet under his nose in a heavy moustache. He was a large powerfully built man with a brusque no-nonsense manner and he fixed Amanda with a curious gaze as he tried to decipher her clothing.

“Tickets please,” he demanded.

“I… eh… I was going to buy one at Hushbourne,” she told him nervously.

He frowned.

“You wouldn’t be one of Edward Carlisle’s recruits would you?” he asked.

Amanda wondered what to say. He might be one of them. She remembered how since that morning they had appeared with alarming frequency to chase her down this street or that.

“I am meeting Mr Carlisle, yes,” she said, deciding to bluff it out.

The inspector nodded.

“Your ticket?” he demanded again.

Amanda spluttered and began patting at her clothing as if one might materialise in her pockets.

“I know, I know, in your haste you got aboard without one and hoped to acquire such at Hushbourne,” the man growled.

Amanda nodded.

“I am sorry, but that is just not good enough,” he said sharply. “It is a serious offence to board a train without a ticket and worse still you are in First Class in rather outlandish attire. I am sorry but I really should put you off at the next station and notify the authorities.”

Amanda swallowed and tried to think of an excuse.

“But then I suppose the hunters will get you,” he said thoughtfully, “And even if they don’t, you will face quite a time of it as a vagrant.”

“Look, I just want to get to…” Amanda began.

The inspector put up one officious arm to stop her and sighed heavily.

“I suppose under the circumstances I should be lenient,” he said wearily, “But you have to learn that in this world there are consequences for breaking the rules.”

“This world?” Amanda gaped.

“You are an out-worlder are you not?” he sighed.

“I… I don’t know, I hardly know what world I am in anymore,” Amanda admitted.

“Then permit me to enlighten you,” he said sternly.

Then he turned her about and pulled the compartment door shut and latched it.

“Fortunately for you I am acquainted with Edward Carlisle and his habit of trafficking souls back and more usually forth between worlds. My father was something of gatekeeper himself. But I will not tolerate fare dodgers or disrespect for the railway company,” the man told her as he sat down on the seat next to her.

In a moment he had pulled firmly across his lap and had begun to strip her of her skirt.

“Wh-what are you doing?” she squealed.

But her outburst was nothing to her protests once her yanked at her underwear and pulled it quite off her legs.

“Your attire is clownish and your under things an obscenity, as an officer of the Great Western and London Railway company I am going to confiscate them,” he snapped at her, “You will attract far less attention that way, well up to a point anyway.”

“But…” Amanda spluttered as she struggled across his lap.

“Now I intend to deal with the matter of fare evasion young woman,” the inspector said sharply.

His hand made sharp contact with Amanda’s bare bottom extracting a gasp.

“You can’t do this,” she wailed, but she remembered Jessica across Carlisle’s knee and… and that other time. She knew that part of her had expected this would figure in her life now.

“I can and I will,” he barked, “And if you were in my permanent charge I would take a belt to bare backside at the very least, and soundly.”

His hand struck her three more times making her gasp and kick her heels like a movie heroine in distress.

“You bastard,” she wailed.

“Moderate your tongue or you will feel my belt girl,” he said angrily, redoubling his efforts as he spanked her.

“Jesus, oh God, ahh,” she grunted and squirmed vigorously as he continued.

By now her bottom was deep pink and getting darker but the inspector had only begun.

“How dare you arrogantly assume that you can board a train when you feel like it? How dare you dress so recklessly? Don’t you know what they would do to you if they caught you? And the authorities? Have you any idea…? Any idea?” The man was furious now and set to spanking Amanda’s exposed bottom in earnest.

“Oh please,” she wailed and clawed at the seat, her breathing now laboured as the burn in her bottom became more than she could bear.

“Please nothing, I am going to give you the spanking you so richly deserve,” he told her as he blasted down on her bottom again and again.

“Oh Jesus, oh… oh,” she moaned.

“That’s enough, mind your tongue girl,” he bellowed.

Just then the door rattled and after catching for a moment burst open. The matronly woman in green seemed unfazed by the scene, but the young woman with her was bug-eyed and gaped in horror at the sight of Amanda’s red bare bottom.

“Send them out,” Amanda screeched.

“Let them watch I say, you bad mannered girl,” the inspector scolded her.

“That’s the way,” the woman applauded him, “See Antonia, that’s how young women should be handled. Come away now, the man is busy.”

The couple only made a half-hearted attempt to slide the door shut and left it ajar as they went. Not that it was on Amanda’s mind as she kicked and bawled with her bottom pointing at the gap to the corridor.

“Please, oh please,” she said miserably, now close to tears.

“There is no hurry, it is four stops to Hushbourne,” the inspector told her as her set his slaps to her lower less red curves.

There was some laughter in the corridor, quite masculine by the sound of it, and Amanda saw some movement in the corner of her eye.

“Oh God please, close the door, close door,” she shrieked.

“I warned you,” the inspector snapped.

In a moment he set her on her feet to dance and clutch at her behind while he stood up and removed his jacket.

“Kneel on that seat with your head down and your bottom sticking up,” he ordered.

Amanda noticed that he had drawn his belt through his trouser hooks and was folding it in two.

“The door, please, the door,” Amanda wailed as she doubled over to hide her exposed front.

“Do as you are told and I will consider it,” the inspector snapped, “Else we will move our business to the third class buffet car.”

Amanda took several gulping gasps and looked first at the seat and then at the semi-open door.

“Do you think I jest?” the man said sharply.

Amanda took another gulp and then hesitantly clambered onto the seat on all fours.

“Present your bottom more,” he said firmly.

She buried her head in arms, a gesture that elevated her bottom. Thankfully she heard the door firmly close behind her.

“No more foul language, no more argument, you know you deserve this,” the inspector said gently, “Don’t you?”

“Yes Sir,” Amanda agreed meekly, astonished at her submission.

The belt stroke was a lick of flame that stole her breath and she yelled. But it was the shock more than the burn and she stilled her cries for the next dozen heavy bites of leather before wet spluttering came in earnest.

The blister-bruising of the belt continued at a pace until the train slowed and pulled into the first station. By then Amanda was lost in copious tears and her bottom had purple red rash welted to pads marring both ample curves of her bottom.

“Right you,” the inspector barked, “Get down to third class and find the first empty compartment and kneel up on the seat with your hands on your head. And if you delay or I find you anywhere else, then I will begin over, do you hear me girl?”

Amanda gaped at him. He had already rolled up her clothes and had bundled them under his arm. She wore now only her blouse and hold-up stockings and was quite naked from her hips down.

“But…” she gaped.

“I suggest you don’t dawdle,” the inspector growled and then he was gone.

As it was Amanda waited until the train pulled out of the station before venturing into the corridor. Mercifully it was empty and fearing for her modesty she made a break down the passage back to third class.

Amanda encountered no one on her way to back down the train and gratefully ducked into the first empty compartment she found. This is insane, she thought as she hastily drew down the blinds at the door and the carriage window.

The seat looked hard and she eyed it in horror. The inspector was gone now; it was too much to just adopt a humiliating posture. Instead she eased herself into the seat in the hope if anyone did enter her state of undress would not be apparent. The hard bench sent her back to standing in a searing moment.

“Ow,” she wailed and she grabbed at her bottom and hoped about.

Right on cue she heard the cry of “tickets please, all tickets from Barnes.” Then she heard the next compartment doors slide open.

Oh, oh, she thought waling out an “oooh” as she spat angrily and stared at the seat.

By the time the door slid open again she was kneeling meekly in the seat glowering at the worn wooden slats just inches from her nose.

“Oh it’s you,” the inspector muttered, “See that you stay there until your stop.”

*

The inspector had checked on her once or twice, his tone as he addressed now more paternal and friendly.

“That’s the way, take your licks and it will soon come right,” he chuckled the last time.

She almost swore at him, but held her tongue.

But Amanda didn’t dare show the least defiance and by the time she heard someone call out “Hushbourne,” her knees ached from contact with the hard wooden seat. So gingerly she stood up and peeked through the blinds before opening the carriage door. By now it was full dark and Amanda hoped the night would hide her. A situation helped by the fact that no one else got out at Hushbourne. But all the same Amanda felt an utter fool standing on the platform naked from the waist down. The chill on her legs served to emphasise the throbbing heat in her exposed bottom as she contemplated how she would slip past the ticket office.

It was only then that she remembered that beyond this stop she had absolutely no idea where she was going. At a crouch she tottered nervously to the red brick building at the end of the platform, looking wildly about her with every step. It wasn’t until she reached it that she saw she could slip into the lane outside without being seen. Not that there was anyone to see her.

“See you made it then,” said a voice.

Amanda whirled around at stoop tugging her shirt down in front.

Jessica was dressed as a Victorian page boy, but with her hair piled up on her head like an Edwardian lady. She was sitting on top of a small one horse carriage grinning from ear to ear.

“Mr Carlisle sent me to pick you up,” she said.

“Jessica,” Amanda exclaimed excitedly and in great relief.

“I see you have been having adventures,” Jessica chuckled, “I thought they would get you for sure.”