A "Reformatory Tale" in epistolary form.




                LETTER OF MISUNDERSTANDING

                            by

                        Imreadonly


Part 1

TO: Sally Weston
FROM: William Gray, Governor, Stropbare Reformatory
Re: Lunch

My Dear Sally,

Thank you so much for joining me for lunch at my club on Wednesday. 
It was wonderful to meet a young woman who shares my interest in 
reformatory discipline and who enjoys the Blue Moon books as much 
as I do.

I was captivated by the way you interrogated Lord Linton and Sir 
Samuel Snowdown about why the club was still males-only; I thought 
they were going to have heart attacks.  It was delightfully cheeky 
of you. 

Considering your interest -- and my expertise -- in reformatory 
discipline, I was wondering if you might like to visit my office 
in the City sometime, for a look at my historic collection of 
reformatory straps, canes, and other implements of correction?

There are several local school emporia nearby, which could outfit 
you with a suitable regulation school kit prior to your visit.  
With you in proper attire, and me properly armed, I could analyse 
in detail your conduct at the club and teach you the importance of 
showing deference to your betters.

Eagerly awaiting your reply,

William Gray
Governor, Stropbare Reformatory

		******************************

TO: William Gray
From: Sally Weston
Re: Your kind offer

Mr. Gray,

It is I who owes you thanks for the delightful lunch, which I truly 
enjoyed.  I'm sorry Mr. Friar set his pants on fire with his cigar 
while he was arguing with me, and I feel terrible for laughing at 
him as he ripped them off.

And I really shouldn't have shouted, "Friar, Friar, pants on fire!" 
How mischievous of me.

As for your kind offer of a meeting in the City, I must decline.  
Although I find the offer intriguing in the extreme, the simple 
truth is that I am not a delinquent.  While I understand that the 
miscreants in your care at Stropbare Reformatory are routinely 
birched, paddled, strapped, and caned for fantastical "crimes" 
such as "impertinence" and "cheek," such a draconian sentence 
would be entirely inappropriate for me.

I am not a reformatory ruffian, but a young American heiress 
of some considerable means summering in England.  Caning the 
reformatory sluts in your care is justice.  Caning me would be 
assault.  So I must respectfully decline your highly attractive 
offer, beguiling though it might be.

I am not interested in a role-play, for, however realistic the 
scenario might seem, it would in fact be a play.

And can we not agree that, as an adult woman, I'm far too old to 
wear a school uniform?

I'm shocked at you, Governor Gray.  Aren't you getting a little old 
for such antics?  I have quite a tight little bottom, and I would 
not want you to injure yourself.  Ha!

However, I would be interested in a more authentic experience.  
Might it be possible for you to arrange a visit for me to the 
reformatory, where I might witness first hand the punishment 
of one or more of the delinquents in your charge?

Thank you again for your offer, and thank you in advance for 
your kind consideration of my counter-proposal.

Warmest Regards,

Sally

PS: I am petite, but I am not little, standing nearly 5'6", sir.

		******************************

TO: Sally Weston
From: William Gray, Governor, Stropbare Reformatory

Dear Sally,

I was disappointed in your refusal to meet with me in my office, 
for I assure you the experience that I had in mind for you would 
have been anything but play.

As for your impudent suggestion that I am too old to properly 
discipline you, I would strongly suggest that a dozen strokes 
with a senior cane, administered with your uniform skirt pinned 
up in back and your regulation knickers down around your ankles, 
might cause you to whistle a very different tune...and improve 
your attitude to boot, young lady.

You say that you are too old to make a convincing schoolgirl. 
Again, I must strongly disagree.  I concede that during lunch 
in the club you looked quite adult and sophisticated in your 
smart pants suit.  And were you wearing Chanel No. 5? 

I am a trifle perplexed about your height, however.  In the outer 
lobby of the club I noticed you standing next to Lord Jackman's 
daughter, Emily.  When I spoke with Emily she told me that she 
had recently made the school's basketball team, bragging that she 
stands at 161 cm (which is about 5'3").  She seemed to be at least 
as tall as you, and you were wearing high heels.

Perhaps Emily experienced an overnight growth spurt?

No matter.  Back to the point.  In my reformatory, stripped of your 
fine clothes, scrubbed of your makeup, stinking of the disinfectant
you would be deloused with, and standing naked and dripping wet 
with a dozen other girls as you awaited your internal contraband 
examination, I can assure you would not look -- or feel -- so 
special.  The removal of the hair from your nether regions, 
necessary as a sanitary precaution, the cutting of your hair into 
a proper and more sensible style, and the knowledge that you were 
now answerable to the cane, these would make your transformation 
complete, even before you donned your white socks, tie, jacket, 
uniform blazer, and cap.

I know you don't agree.  However, I think it is fair to point out 
that Stropbare's inmates range in age from 18 to 40, and I have 
made convincing schoolgirls out of every single one of them.  
With your youthful features and "petite" size, you would blend 
in quickly with the rest of the sorry miscreants in my charge.

You are unique, Sally, but so are all the other girls.  When I take 
the cane out of the cupboard, some of the girls whimper, some 
wince, some stare at their shoes, and still others babble excuses. 
Each girl is special in her own way, and I am very much looking 
forward to seeing your reaction when I flex the cane into a 
half-circle, and you see just how devilishly whippy a proper rod 
of correction can be.

As for your counter proposal, Stropbare is a working reformatory 
dedicated to the correction of delinquents, not Disneyland, and 
we don't give tours.

I am disappointed that you turned down the unique offer to meet in 
my office.  Nonetheless, since you are so very, very "special," I 
might be persuaded to talk to Judge Strikehard to see if I might 
arrange a visit.

There is a young woman of Italian extract in our custody, Angelica 
Brazini, who used to work at your estate as a maid, before you 
dismissed her for reasons that I am not privy to, but which I'm 
sure were entirely justified.  She has been sentenced to a sound 
birching for the crime of impertinence.

Knowing your interest in seeing a genuine reformatory punishment, 
I was tempted to speed your visit so that you might witness her 
punishment, which has been scheduled for the 12th.  However, your 
objection to canings for "imaginary crimes" such as impertinence, 
combined with my suspicion that Angelica may have been committed 
to my care for an unfortunate affair she had with her mistress's 
husband after she left your employ, make me think that you would 
object strongly to witnessing this unfortunate creature thrashed.

Respectfully,

William Gray

		******************************

TO: William Gray
From: Sally Weston
Re: Angelica Brazini's Just Desserts

Dear William,

I am afraid our last correspondence might best be classified as 
a letter of misunderstanding.

Angelica Brazini was dismissed from my employ for her habit of 
flirting outrageously with every one of my boyfriends.  I 
actually caught her flagrante delicto with my fiancé.  She was 
performing a most disgraceful act, a spectacle that required me 
to dismiss them both.

I am glad that someone had the good sense to commit her to your 
care, where the little whore can be dealt with properly.

Impertinence, when perpetrated by a reformatory delinquent such 
as Angelica, is not an "imaginary offense," but rather a serious 
transgression demanding a harsh and vigorous punishment.  Lay on 
the stripes smartly and make the little slut curl her toes.

As for whether or not her original transgression warranted her 
incarceration, must I admonish you that such considerations are 
entirely beside the point?  Your reformatory system has been 
specifically designed so that a slattern can be severely thrashed 
for offenses that would not even be considered misdemeanors if 
she had not already been legally certified to be a delinquent, at 
least not without endless appeals and tiresome legal wrangling.  
Once the gavel falls -- and the Certificate of Delinquency is 
issued -- the discussion must end, and the thrashing must begin.

I would very much like to see Angelica in the reformatory, as I'm 
sure the little scamp would look cute-as-a-button in her school 
uniform.  And I would very much enjoy seeing her bottom dance under 
the strap, paddle, or cane...preferably all three.  Might you be 
persuaded to speed your conversation with the judge and arrange my 
visit with all due haste?

Hopefully,

Sally

		******************************

TO: Sally Weston
From: William Gray, Governor, Stropbare Reformatory
Re: First things first

Dearest Sally,

Before I respond to your request, there is a matter we must settle 
between us.  You said that you would not make a convincing 
schoolgirl.  I strongly disagree.

Please visit #1407 Cherry Road and explain to them that you are 
a new girl assigned to begin a term of discipline at Stropbare 
Reformatory.  Explain that you are a woman of some means and 
that I instructed you to purchase your uniform and school kit 
in advance, at your own expense, so that you would not be a 
burden on the taxpayers or on the reformatory's already overly 
generous benefactors.

Ask him to take a photo of you with your iPhone or iPad or 
iWhatever-it-is-you-girls-use-these-days, and e-mail it to 
me.  The photographic evidence should settle our dispute in 
short order, should it not?  I also require a detailed written 
account of your fitting and your visit to the store.

He will also send me your measurements and thus settle the matter 
of who is taller: you or Emily.

Please send the photo as your reply,

William Gray, Governor, Stropbare Reformatory

		******************************

To: William Gray
From: Sally Weston
Re: A plea to reconsider

William,

Your last message left me shocked.  I cannot comprehend why it 
is necessary for me, an adult woman, to suffer the indignity of 
donning a school uniform and posing for a photograph in order to 
secure the invitation.  I feel ridiculous even considering it.

As for my measurements, I am 5'6", nearly, although there might 
be some confusion because of the conversion to metric.  Emily's 
sneakers might very well have contained lifts, for the girl is 
on the basketball team.  In any event, as an adult woman I don't 
think it's proper for you to compare my stature to a tomboy who 
keeps her hair in pigtails and is still wearing braces.

I do not wish to join Emily's basketball team, or to put on 
a school uniform. As I explained previously, I'm far too 
sophisticated for such attire.

Surely this is unnecessary?

Sally

		******************************

To: Sally Weston
From: William Gray, Governor, Stropbare Reformatory.
Re: Uniform REQUIREMENT

Sally:

As they once said, "Don't call me 'Shirley.'"  In fact, you should 
not even call me "William."  Young ladies such as you always refer 
to me as "Governor," or "Mr. Gray," or "sir" (as in, "Yes, sir.  
Right away, sir").

Yes, it is absolutely necessary.

I am not in the habit of repeating myself, young lady, but, since 
you obviously have the e-mail equivalent of wax in your ears, I 
will endeavour to make myself clear and shall repeat, with 
emphasis, the final line of my previous communiqué.

Please send your photo as your reply.  That and a detailed 
description of your visit will earn you the reformatory 
admittance you desire.

William Gray
Governor, Stropbare Reformatory

		******************************

To: William Gray
From: Sally Weston
Re: A most horrid experience!

Governor Gray,

As per your demand, I reported to the clothing store at #1407 
Cherry Road.

Upon my arrival the proprietor -- a horrible, fat old leech named 
Mr. Crimson -- greeted me.  When I told him who I was, he leered 
at me, saying that you had phoned him regarding my upcoming "stay" 
at Stropbare Reformatory.

Although I appreciate your assistance, might it have been more 
appropriate to simply let me handle the matter, so I could tell 
him I need a uniform for a party night at a pub, or a play, or 
nearly anything less scandalous than the purpose you described?

Mr. Crimson's conduct makes me think so.  I had to stand in front 
of the mirror, and he took my measurements, while his horrible, 
troll-like assistant watched.  During the measuring process, he 
touched me several times in a most inappropriate way.

When I objected to being fondled, he chuckled lewdly and told me 
that I must get "used to being handled by your betters, missy, 
for you will get far worse at Stropbare."

When the lengthy measuring was complete, he gave me the uniform, 
which I took into the dressing room.

I was surprised to see that the uniform included not only a skirt, 
blouse, blazer, and tie, but also shoes, socks, white cotton 
knickers, and a rather childish, button-up underwear vest, which 
flattened my chest considerably.  (I wear a B cup, technically an 
A, I suppose.)

I hesitated a bit to remove my own underwear and don the childish 
garb, as I could sense the presence of the shopkeeper just outside 
the slats, and I felt in some strange way that he was watching.  
However, the tight white school underpants were strangely alluring, 
perhaps because the plain, sturdy cotton design was so different 
from the expensive silk lingerie I normally wear.

I quickly stripped down and put on the panties, which despite the 
extensive measuring seemed quite snug and were cut so low (and I 
phrase this as delicately as I can) that the hedge was clearly 
visible over the top of the fence.

The vest was also too snug and left me flat as an ironing board.  
But I soon had bigger problems than my tiny buds.

I was straining to tie the top of my vest when the door burst open, 
and the shopkeeper grabbed me by the ear.

"The changing room is for young ladies, not hooligans who want to 
stuff the whole store into their purses."

I wasn't stealing anything, and, as for whether or not I belonged 
in the changing room, it seemed to me he should have come to his 
conclusion BEFORE I undressed.

I'm quite sure he burst in when he did so he could drag me out 
into the center of the store in my underwear, a task that he 
and his gnome of an assistant did with some relish.  I was thus 
forced to finish dressing in front of several of the store's 
customers, some of whom seemed sympathetic, although most just 
seemed amused.

Oddly enough, I actually recognized one of them, a Mrs. Cavendish, 
one of my neighbors, who looked away from me with clearly pained 
embarrassment.

I quickly donned my blouse and skirt.  I had some difficulties with 
the rep tie, but Mr. Crimson knotted it "smart and tight" as he put 
it (uncomfortable though I was with the feeling of his meat hooks 
around my throat).  He also took the opportunity to pull my hair 
back into a ponytail and bind it with a scrunchie.

When I looked in the mirror, I was shocked at the transformation.  
Where was I?  And who was this awkward, trembling, lip-biting, 
uniformed schoolgirl who was looking back at me in the mirror?

The years had melted away.  I was a teenager again.

I protested that the skirt was too short, the tie too tight, and 
the overall look, far, far too juvenile.  The response from the 
horrible toady of a henchmen was a slow, humiliating whistle and 
laughter from Mr. Crimson and several of the other male customers.  
I watched as the girl in the mirror flushed with embarrassment.

As if the skirt wasn't bad enough, there was the blazer and cap, 
with the school logo on it and the word "Delinquent" emblazoned 
underneath in that horrible Barron Bold font lettering you can 
read from across the room.

What a horrible, shameful word.  And how dreadful to have to wear 
it branded on both your jacket and your cap.

Mr. Crimson took pictures of me from several angles, but in truth I 
was so astonished by my new identity -- and the abrupt suddenness 
of my metamorphosis -- that I scarcely noticed, so mesmerized was 
I by my own reflection.

I was staring aghast at my image in the mirror, wondering what it 
might be like to be forced to wear such an outfit all the time, as 
opposed to merely having to model it in the store, when I heard the 
troll of an assistant call out, "She's locked her things in the 
changing room, sir."

And so it was.  My purse, identification, and clothes were locked 
in the changing room, leaving me penniless and standing in the 
store wearing the uniform of a reformatory delinquent.

I asked Mr. Crimson if he had another key, and he insisted that he 
did not, which seemed odd since he had quite obviously used a key 
to unlock the door and burst in while I was changing.  He further 
insisted that it had been "careless and stupid" of me to lock my 
things in the changing room, an offense which bordered on "criminal 
negligence."

"Trying to hide things in your purse, were you?  Shoplifting?  
Stealing!  I know how to deal with your thieving ways."

The charges were quite absurd, as I had been dragged out of the 
changing room and had not closed the door behind me, both my hands 
bring held by Mr. Crimson.  However, before I could make my case, 
the troll went over to one of the display racks and took down a 
fearsome looking cane, long and whippy, that appeared to be 
perfectly balanced and weighted.

My suspicion was confirmed when Mr. Crimson bent the cane into a 
half-circle and let it snap back.  It nearly snapped out of his 
hand, and everyone in the store was startled at its springiness, 
which made the horrid, beastly thing seem almost alive.

With malevolent delight, Mr. Crimson explained that the cane had 
been specially engineered and carefully hand-crafted by a South 
African prison warden with a particular fondness for disciplining 
the bottoms of errant young women.  It had just arrived and had 
never been used, a lapse he fully intended to correct today.

The cane was such a terrifying instrument of correction that I must 
have averted my gaze, for the next thing I knew Mr. Crimson was 
using the tip of the cane to lift my chin, so that our eyes once 
again met.  "I've had quite enough of your cheek, young lady," he 
said sternly.  "Your antics have just earned you a demonstration, 
free of charge, of the finest cane that has ever set a girl's 
bottom dancing."

I looked around the store, and spotted several of the customers 
smiling broadly.  Mrs. Cavendish seemed to be looking away, 
embarrassed at my predicament, but not brave enough to intercede 
on my behalf.

"Bend over, girl.  Skirt up, knickers down.  Don't tarry!"

Naturally I did the only thing a girl in my situation could do.

I bolted.

I ran hard and fast, knocking over who-knows-what, but somehow 
making it out of the store before Mr. Crimson and his troll could 
catch me.  In that moment I was pure adrenaline, and, petite as I 
am, ran like a champion, hurdling over changing benches, knocking 
aside displays, and blasting through the crash-bar that separated 
the store from my freedom.

I'm not sure how far I ran, but it must have been at least a mile, 
trimming corners, dodging down alleys, and trying not to get hit 
by cars as I dashed in and out of the street, looking every bit 
the little apple thief.  I didn't dare look back, lest I see Mr. 
Crimson and his troll gaining on me.

I slowed when I saw the bobby I was running toward look at me in 
astonishment.  I felt a surge of relief as I realized my ordeal 
was over.  I looked forward to explaining how I was assaulted at 
the store and seeking his assistance in securing my purse.

My hopes for rescue were dashed, however, as I saw his steely eyes 
focus on the word DELINQUENT, boldly emblazoned on my uniform, and 
saw his friendly smile twist into an accusatory glower.

My surprise turned to shock, then panic as the bobby grabbed me by 
one ear and the scruff of my neck.

Still gasping for air from my run, I tried to explain that I wasn't 
a delinquent, that I was merely wearing the uniform "for a party."

"A party, eh?" he sneered.  "If I don't miss my guess, missy, 
you'll be partying over the birching block this very evening, 
and I'm going to enjoy watching your bare arse doing the twist.  
They'll get your paperwork filed soon enough, but at Stropbare 
they punish first and ask questions later."

At this news, which I was quite sure was true, I felt an 
indescribable thrill.  For years I had enjoyed the Blue Moon 
and Richard Manton stories of reformatory discipline and had 
fantasized about what it might be like to be a reformatory 
delinquent facing bare bottom discipline.

I had dismissed the opportunity to visit you in London as a 
childish role-play, but this was no game.  I was a uniformed 
schoolgirl, in the custody of a bobby who had every intention 
of frog-marching me back to the reformatory for a sound birching.

It was unspeakably exciting, but also terrifying, for I had become 
my fantasy.  Thrilled as I was, I was also desperate to avoid such 
a shameful and ignominious punishment, and I reacted precisely as 
any delinquent would, because that is what I was.

I kicked the bobby hard in the shin and RAN.

As the officer cried out in pain I peeled off, ignoring the shrill 
shriek of his police whistle and breaking free of the few passersby 
who tried to stop me.

I will not give you the full details of my rather athletic escape, 
which involved much climbing over and under fences, and up and down 
ladders, but I ended up hiding in a dumpster, where I stayed for an 
hour (perhaps several hours), kept company by some very large rats, 
until I was sure the coast was clear.

By the time I finally walked home (not daring to hitch) it was well 
past midnight, and I was cold, hungry, and exhausted.  Several 
members of my staff seemed quite amused at the sight of me, but 
the look on my face convinced them that now was not the time for 
smirks.

I sent my solicitor and a detective from the Yard to collect my 
things, which, after a bit of argument with Mr. Crimson, were 
dutifully collected.  My solicitor warned Mr. Crimson that any 
attempt to pursue the absurd charges leveled against me would 
require him to subpoena the store's security cameras, as well 
as Mrs. Cavendish's testimony.  No doubt the result would be 
criminal charges against both him and the troll.

In the end, my solicitor paid for my uniform, which was something 
of an outrage given the considerable amount of cash that had 
vanished from my purse while it was in Mr. Crimson's care.

I assume Mr. Crimson has sent you the photographs of me in uniform. 
Presumably these photographs and my detailed account of the 
circumstances under which they were taken settle the matter.

I concede you were correct, sir: I do make a (disturbingly) 
convincing schoolgirl.

I hope that now that this matter is settled, you will arrange 
for me to witness Angelica's punishment, so that I may have an 
authentic reformatory discipline experience.  I very much want 
to see the little whore get what's coming to her.

Expectantly Yours,

Sally

		******************************



                LETTER OF MISUNDERSTANDING

                            by

                        Imreadonly



Part 2

To: Sally Weston
From: William Gray, Governor, Stropbare Reformatory.
Re: Your Delightful Adventure

Dear Sally,

Thank you, dear, for your delightful account of how the truly 
remarkable pictures Mr. Crimson sent me came to be.  I found 
myself hanging on every word and disappointed by your escape 
from the constable, even as I marveled at your pluck.

What a marvelous adventure.  Good show, my girl, and well done! 
You are quite a little scamp and every bit the tomboy Emily is.

The measurements Mr. Crimson sent me cleared up the matter of your 
height.  His tape measure records your height as 155 cm (5'1").  
Let me further clear up your confusion, since he says you are an 
"A cup, barely," which is why he gave you the vest.  Maybe you'll 
get a bra next year, but I have to say that if the schoolgirl in 
the photograph I'm looking at right now was standing next to Emily, 
it would be clear that you were the younger sister.

Yes, you'll be pleased to know that Mr. Crimson did indeed send me 
several photographs.  In my favorite, you are staring straight 
into the camera, pigeon-toed and wide-eyed, nervously chewing your 
lip, with your delinquent badges prominently displayed.

You do not make a convincing "schoolgirl."  Rather, you make 
a convincing DELINQUENT, which is another thing altogether.  
Delinquents have no legal rights, no property save that which 
is issued to them by the reformatory, and no recourse when the 
order is given for them to present their bottoms for discipline.

Yes, you are "petite" as you say, but there is more to it than 
that.  The girl I see in the photographs is a scrappy little 
hoyden, rebellious and undisciplined, with a defiant look in her 
eye.  She has short but lovely legs and a bottom that is clearly 
itching for a dose of the cane.  Fear not, for it is an itch I 
very much intend to scratch.

I am glad that you now realize how easy it would be to slide you 
into the role of a reformatory delinquent, a position that would 
place your bottom cheeks under the constant tattoo of the strap 
and the cane.

If you are interested in seeing Angelica punished, I might be able 
to arrange it, but after reviewing your wondrous adventure I have 
decided to institute an additional requirement.

Please call my secretary and schedule an appointment in my London 
office.  You will wear your delightful reformatory uniform, and I 
will give you a "firsthand demonstration" of the cane you so rudely 
fled from the other day.  Mr, Crimson had it sent to me, and it is 
awaiting your arrival in my office.  As per your description, it 
is a fearsome tool of correction, a real whistler, certain to 
sizzle the bottom of any girl unfortunate enough to make its 
acquaintance.

After reading your note -- and the tale of your narrow escape -- I 
am bound and determined that you will be the first young lady this 
extraordinary cane befriends.

Perhaps afterward I may take you by the reformatory, which is only 
a few blocks from the office in London, so you might freshen up.  
It would be easy enough to throw you into the showers with 50 or 
60 other girls.  Of course with your diminutive stature you might 
easily get lost in a sea of taller, better developed girls...but 
never fear, for the fierce stripes I will leave on your bottom will 
serve as a badge that will separate you from all but the naughtiest 
of our residents.

Please respond to my offer forthwith.  Tardiness will not serve you 
well, Sally Weston.

Governor Gray

		******************************

To: William Gray
From: Charles Abbott Richardson III, Blackwell & Story, Solicitors
Re: Client's Purchase of Wellington Holdings

Dear Mr Gray:

This week my client, Miss Sally Weston, instructed me to buy up a 
sizable portion of the available shares of Wellington Holdings, 
which owns the privately-run Stropbare Reformatory, in addition 
to a number of other businesses with which you and the other 
members of the Board profit.

As a 51% owner of the company, Miss Weston has instructed me to 
hire forensic accountants and investigators to examine the books 
of Stropbare Reformatory to determine:

  1) If the girls are being forced to provide "slave" labor for  
     Wellington Industries, and the many companies you and other 
     board members use to shield your myriad business interests.

  2) Whether all of the girls confined at the said reformatory 
     actually deserve to be there.

  3) Whether the numerous rumors of abuse that have swirled around 
     your reformatory are true.  For example, are the inmates 
     disciplined with the goal of rehabilitation or merely to 
     gratify the perverse sexual needs of the men who have made 
     themselves their masters?  And are the allegations true that 
     the girls are used for the sexual gratification of the guards, 
     faculty, and yes, the Board of Governors?

Please be on notice that this investigation begins immediately 
and that you will be held accountable for your actions, both 
financially and, if the evidence warrants it, criminally.

Charles Abbott Richardson III, Esq.

		******************************

To: Sally Weston
From: William Gray, Governor, Stropbare Reformatory.
Re: Your Recent Acquisition of Stropbare

My Dearest Friend,

Please, dear girl, call me William.

Sally, I do admire your pluck.  Yes, I confess it was underhanded 
of me to change the terms of our arrangement, particularly after 
your horrible ordeal at the uniform store.  I stand admonished and 
eager to make amends.

Do you really want to destroy Stropbare, Sally, and see Angelica 
go free...free to laugh at you, free to tell the world the tale of 
your fiancé's indiscretion, free to taunt you as she steals future 
boyfriends?  Or would you rather attend the reformatory as my 
special guest and have a front row seat for the whipping of the 
little slut?

Assuming your answer is the latter, do I have your kind permission 
to talk to Judge Strikehard and submit the paperwork necessary to 
arrange your visit?  I promise to expedite the matter.  As it 
stands, it is a rather involved and time-consuming process, 
which requires a considerable commitment from everyone involved.

Might I humbly suggest you suspend your most worthy investigation, 
at least temporarily, pending your chance to witness Angelica's 
punishment on the 12th?

Your obedient servant,

Bill

PS: I would also be honoured if you would friend me on Facebook.  
Please?

		******************************


To: William Gray, Governor
From: Sally Weston
Re: My Recent Acquisition of Stropbare

Dear Billy-Boy,

Consider the investigation into your affairs (and I chose that word 
deliberately) suspended...at least for now.

By all means, start!  If shuffling your papers is such a lengthy 
process, then you'd better go fetch fat old Judge Strikehard and 
get cracking, shouldn't you?

I remember Judge Strikehard from the club.  I believe he spilled 
his drink on his pants when I wondered if his refusal to admit 
women was because he was afraid they'd laugh at the carbuncle on 
his nose.  Please tell him Sally says "hello," and let him know 
that I think letting what little hair he has grow as long as 
Rapunzel's so he can drape it over his bald spot makes his chrome 
dome look quite ridiculous.  He really is such an absurd little 
creature; please tell him I said so.

I have friended you on Facebook, and you are my oldest friend, by 
about 120 years, I think.  Happy?

It's truly delightful how the tenor of conversation changes, 
depending on who is perceived to have the upper hand, is it not?

Sally Weston

		******************************

To: Sally Weston
From: William Gray, Governor, Stropbare Reformatory.
Re: Your Recent Acquisition of Stropbare

My Dear,

Delightful indeed.  I conveyed your greetings to Judge Strikehard, 
and your paperwork has been expedited.  As per your request it is 
being rushed through with the greatest haste.  You'll be hearing 
from me shortly.

William

PS: The cane Mr. Crimson sent me is hanging on the wall of my 
office in London, next to the picture of you in your uniform.  
Whenever I look up from my work, I think of you.

Touching, is it not?

		******************************

To: Sally Weston
From: Chestor Keaton, Clerk of H. M. Court
Re: Certificate of Delinquency

Dear Miss Weston:

This certified letter serves as your official notification that 
an official Certificate of Delinquency has been issued for:

    SALLY WESTON
    CERTIFICATE OF DELINQUENCY #37338-37384-383
    CRIME: PUBLIC DRUNKENNESS, SHOPLIFTING, ASSAULT
    TERM OF SENTENCE: 6 MONTHS FOR PUBLIC DRUNKENNESS, 
                      9 MONTHS FOR MISDEMEANOR CONVERSION, 
                      1 YEAR FOR ASSAULT. 
    SENTENCES TO BE CONSECUTIVE AND SUBJECT TO AUTOMATIC RENEWAL

Per this order the delinquent's credit cards, passport, and bank 
accounts have been placed on suspension, and control of all the 
delinquent's personal belongings and estate have been transferred 
to the following court-ordered executor:

    WILLIAM GRAY, GOVERNOR, STROPBARE REFORMATORY

Please report to STROPBARE REFORMATORY within the next 24 hours, or 
an arrest warrant will be issued and additional correction ordered. 
Photostat of the certificate to follow.

By order of H. M. Court, SALLY WESTON is hereby officially declared 
DELINQUENT and ordered to be remanded to the custody of the 
STROPBARE REFORMATORY for a period of no less than TWENTY SEVEN 
MONTHS.  During this period of detention the delinquent shall, 
without appeal, be fully subject to whatever discipline her betters 
deem necessary.  The sentence will commence with ONE DOZEN STROKES 
OF THE RAZOR STROP ACROSS HER BARE BOTTOM, FOLLOWED BY ONE DOZEN 
STROKES OF THE CANE.

Very truly yours,

Chester Keaton, Clerk of H. M. Court

		******************************

To: William Gray, Governor, Stropbare Reformatory.
From: Sally Weston
Re: Outrageous!

William, what is the meaning of the attached?  I attempted to 
contact my solicitors, and I was informed that, under the 
Delinquency Act of 1648, I had none, since declared delinquents 
were not entitled to "any further legal representation."

I managed to contact the Clerk of the Court, who tersely informed 
me that, now that I had been declared a delinquent, any further 
appeals must be "made at the reformatory, in person, and submitted 
to the headmaster, who will deal with any pleas using the ]
disciplinary tools at his disposal."

Outrageous!

My cellphone's been shut off, my credit cards have been cancelled, 
and the locks on my home have been changed.  I am writing this 
from an internet café a mile from my house.  What am I to do?

Help!

Your dearest friend, 

Sally

		******************************

To: Sally Weston
From: William Gray, Governor, Stropbare Reformatory.
Re: Certificate of Delinquency

Little Sally,

How nice to hear from you.  Always a pleasure.

First, my apologies for the misunderstanding.  I e-mailed Judge 
Strikehard your greetings, told him about your desire to experience 
genuine reformatory discipline, and sent him the picture of you in 
your uniform.  I also sent him Mr. Crimson's description of your 
assault upon him and the theft of the school uniform, as well as 
several choice pictures (from Facebook) of you partying with your 
friends.  Judge Strikehard apparently interpreted the latter as 
evidence of some sort of public drunkenness and moral turpitude.

Acceding to my request for an expedited review of the matter, he 
scheduled a delinquency hearing for you at 9AM yesterday morning,  
sending the papers to my office so that I might forward them on to 
you.  Unfortunately, when I left the papers in my out-basket, my 
secretary misunderstood my unspoken intent and filed your paperwork 
instead of sending it to you by messenger.

Your failure to show up at your delinquency hearing did not sit 
well with the judge, Sally, and your Certificate of Delinquency 
was issued forthwith.

I apologize for the misunderstanding.  You can, of course, request 
a hearing, upon the completion of the first year of your sentence.  
When that fails you may, upon the full completion of your term of 
punishment, request a formal hearing to prevent the automatic 
renewal of your sentence the court order specifies.

You are, as I'm sure you know, innocent of the original charges, 
but this lengthy review period will allow the headmaster to form a 
more complete opinion of your conduct, based on your disciplinary 
record at the reformatory, progress in your studies, the opinion of 
your teachers and the supervisors at the workhouse, your attitude, 
and your relationship with the other girls to determine if a parole 
is warranted.

If the headmaster feels that you merit a special review of your 
case, your file will be forwarded to the Board of Governors.  If 
the Board, unanimously agree that your case is a worthy one, your 
file would, in theory, be forwarded back to the court, so that 
another hearing might be held.

I say "in theory" because I don't recall this ever happening.  
Usually the governors simply reinstate the girl's sentence and 
condemn the little miscreant to a damn good hiding for having 
the temerity to waste our time with an appeal.

But you are special, are you not?

Perhaps.  Your Certificate of Delinquency, a copy of which arrived 
in my London office this morning and is now sitting on my desk, 
does not appear to be in any way particularly remarkable.  The 
certificate number in the corner is of course numerically unique, 
distinguishing you for bookkeeping purposes from the countless 
other drunks, hooligans, and petty thieves who have earned similar 
certificates (and painful punishment stripes) in the long and 
hallowed tradition of our reformatory system.

But otherwise your certificate is simply another government form, 
bland and colorless, except for the areas where your name was 
entered, and the lovely gold embossed seal at the bottom, which 
makes your sentence incontrovertible and official.

In a few minutes my secretary will take your form and lock it in 
one of the large file cabinets in the basement, where I suspect 
it will rest undisturbed for a very, very, very long time.

From reading your Facebook page, I knew that you had not been 
drinking that night and were the designated driver.  Indeed the 
photos show you smiling broadly, but it is clearly your friends 
who are holding the beers.

Perhaps I could have avoided a misunderstanding by forwarding that 
information to the judge.  Similarly, I knew that your account of 
what happened in the store was quite different from Mr. Crimson's 
and could easily be verified if we contacted your neighbor.  No 
matter; the sentence has been passed, and it is too late for 
regrets.

When I head about your scheduled thrashings I thought, perhaps, I 
might intervene, to prevent you from being whipped so very soundly 
for "crimes" that you had clearly not committed.  But then your 
Certificate of Delinquency arrived, and I recalled this passage 
from your previous e-mail, which put my mind at ease.  I quote:

    "As for whether or not her original transgression warranted her 
    incarceration, must I admonish you that such considerations are 
    entirely beside the point?  The reformatory system has been set 
    up so that a slattern can be severely thrashed for offenses 
    that would not even be considered misdemeanors if she had not 
    already been legally certified to be delinquent, at least not 
    without endless appeals and tiresome legal wrangling.  Once the 
    gavel falls -- and the Certificate of Delinquency is issued -- 
    the discussion must end, and the thrashing must begin."

And now, it seems, both our correspondence and our friendship must 
end, for I am the governor of the reformatory in which you will 
soon reside.  I fear our next communications will be of a more 
official nature.

Looking forward very much to seeing you in person, in uniform.

William Gray, Governor, Stropbare Reformatory

		*******************************

To: William Gray
From: Harry Friar, Headmaster, Stropbare Reformatory

Bill,

I thought you might be interested to know that your little pen-pal, 
Sally Weston, was picked up by the police last night after she 
attempted to contact a site that sells phony passports online.  
Fortunate, is it not, that you warned the police to track her 
movements?

She was promptly deposited at Stropbare, where she was stripped, 
showered, and deloused.  She was also shaved, and the proper 
inhibiting chemicals were applied.  I can testify firsthand that 
we will no longer have a problem with her little curlies peeking 
out from the top of her snug regulation panties.

Sally expressed some concern that, as a result of our initial 
meeting at the club, I held something of a grudge, and that I 
would treat her harshly.  I admitted that I did have "a special 
interest in her case," which was why I was attending to her 
processing personally.  However I assured her that I would be 
"strict, but fair."

Very strict, indeed.

Sally's a randy little minx, and she orgasmed several times during 
my rather lengthy and leisurely cavity search of her denuded and 
disinfected twat.  Her feet nearly broke the stirrups when I 
explained that you fully intended to keep your promise to allow 
her to witness Angelica Brazini's thrashing, as her front row seat 
on the 12th would be on the punishment horse next to her former 
maid.  The little slut creamed all over my hand when I told her 
that Angelica would be whipped immediately before her, although 
Sally's punishment would be more severe than her servant's, due 
to the gravity of her offenses.

From those to whom much is given, much is expected.

I have issued tickets to witness Sally's punishment to her (former) 
solicitor, to her former fiancé, to Mr. Crimson and his assistant, 
to Judge Strikehard (who called Sally "an absurd little creature, 
much deserving of a truly exemplary punishment"), as well as 
several other members of our club.  I have registered you as the 
chastiser of record, pursuant to your request.  Please do bring 
that cane you were telling me about; I very much look forward to 
seeing it in action. 

Ta-ta!

Harry Friar
aka "Friar, Friar, Pants on Fire!"
Headmaster, Stropbare Reformatory



Edited by C. Lakewood