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who was currently receiving a vigorous beating with a crop, she didn’t really count.
    John turned from contemplating the view as Clive Mostyn paused in his beating for a moment.
    “We should be ready to go in about a fortnight,” he said without taking his eyes off the quivering buttocks of the girl in front of him. Having delivered a salvo of full blooded lashes he made her jump by delivering a few light flicks at various targets. The girl cast an anxious glance at John, who, as owner of The Lodge, was her owner as well, and settled again. “What can you let us have?” Mostyn asked, placing the crop against her bottom and settling his feet so that the girl knew hard strokes were coming. Then he made her wait.
    John was impressed. Mostyn couldn’t have afforded a day’s membership of The Lodge but he understood how to play on a submissive’s fear and excitement, so he was clearly experienced at handling submissive girlflesh.
    “I can let you have Jet and Cherry with Helga as groom for a fortnight in the South.”
    Mostyn nodded thoughtfully and then let fly with a hard lash. The girl let out a stifled scream and arched her back, pushing her face up from her crossed arms and frantically wriggling her stern. Mostyn quietened her by laying the crop against her skin once more.
    “They’re docile enough to cope with the change in routine and personnel,” John went on.
    “Indeed,” Mostyn agreed and treated the girl to another hard whack.
    “You can have Brian as instructor. Carlo will be away with Blondie, Ox, Trouble and a couple of the others at the N’Benga arena. I’ll need Tony to keep an eye on things here.”
    “Ok. That sounds fine. What are your thoughts about the other place?”
    The crop blurred once more as it scythed into the prominent and inviting buttocks. The girl’s back humped and her feet jigged about as she fought to contain the pain. Mostyn smiled and inserted three fingers between her spread legs. He worked her until she was squelching shamelessly then withdrew them and tapped her bottom with the crop again.
    “I’ll send Blackie and Legs with Anne Marie as groom. They’re relatively new but they’re docile too.”
    Whack! The girl’s long legs bent and her breath hissed as she absorbed the strike, which John had to admit was a stern one. The new uniform suited the tall girl’s build well he thought.
    The new uniform.
    Suddenly it seemed as if change was everywhere. Even Madame Stalevsky was talking about early retirement, the formidable ex-ballerina who had schooled The Lodge’s Housegirls to a standard that made them world famous was in her late fifties now. She had redesigned the uniforms almost as if it was a kind of swansong, giving in at last to the members’ desire to have the girls’ bodies more easily available.
    She had started with superbly tailored and boned corsets and had had the skirts sewn onto a broad waistband that could be removed by two simple clips at the back. The skirts themselves were split front and back but with ample overlap so the front one only revealed itself when the girl walked and even then – owing to the underskirts sewn in – they only hinted at the length and shapeliness of the limbs beneath. The result was that any member, or even this comparative upstart, Mostyn, could easily have a girl bare herself below the waist and beat her while enjoying the length of her stockinged legs and the quivering fullness of her smooth buttocks.
    “Who can you get to instruct the first students if you need Tony here?” Mostyn asked, tapping at the girl’s bottom repeatedly.
    “I’ll provide you with Peter Lang.”
    Whack!
    Mostyn looked up, impressed, while the girl’s arse gyrated desperately.
    “You can get him?”
    “With what the government’s paying, it wasn’t easy. But, yes, I’ve got him.”
    “Welcome to the public sector!” Mostyn gave him a cheeky grin and whacked in another lash, fetching a pretty, warbling cry from the girl.
    John