A spanking get-together last month was followed, that evening, by dinner in a particularly fine restaurant. (The pheasant, my darlings, was simply divine!)

The staff were immaculate: polite, attentive. Waitresses were neat in austere black skirts and white blouses, with that professionally-ever-so- slightly-submissive demeanour that works so well for me for some strange reason.

Strange thing was, the waitress looking after our table was the spitting image of one of the girls who’d been caned at the earlier party. It wasn’t actually her, but I wondered whether she knew what her virtually-identical twin sister was into.

There’s an interesting angle on this, of course: the team from the Judicial Punishment Centre must *eat*. They’d choose a popular restaurant nearby.

Either, a young lady might find herself waiting on their table at lunchtime, knowing precisely who they were but they oblivious to the fact that she was due to be one of their afternoon visitors.

Or, perhaps better, a girl may have to head painfully to work in the evening, after her judicial flogging, wiping away the tears - only to find that the officers who’d punished her had arrived for dinner…

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