Sixteen Strokes for Christine
Christine receives a firm caning, in front of witnesses.
It was a quarter to eleven when Christine went upstairs to change. She slid into the long black dress she wore for formal occasions. It was full-length raw silk, low cut at the front and with a cunningly engineered internal structure that lifted and squeezed, giving her modestly sized breasts greater prominence and, incidentally and delightfully, dispensing with the need for a bra. The nubbly texture of the material made...