by Неизвестный
The Discipline of Nurse Riding and Police Ladies are further examples of Yolanda’s growing feel for uniform fetishism – incorporating more than a few bizarre treatments and unusual punishments, of course.
A list of Yolanda’s Nexus novels also includes:
The Governess Abroad
Sandra’s New School
The House of Maldona
Peeping at Pamela
The Island of Maldona
Soldier Girls
The Castle of Maldona
Nurses Enslaved
Private Memoirs of a Kentish Headmistress
Caged
The Taming of Trudi
The Correction of an Essex Maid
Cheri Chastised
Belle Submission
The Schooling of Stella
Strapping Suzette
The Submission of Stella
The English Vice
The Training of an English Gentleman
Girl Governess
The Smarting of Selina
Confession of an English Slave
Lacing Lisbeth
Cloughton Wyke Health Hydro was approached by a winding road up to the clifftop, from where the dusk lights of Cloughton sparkled seductively in the distance. Beyond that were miles of reeds and waving sand-dunes, and the grey twilit ocean. The property was surrounded by a tall hedge, backed by rows of poplars, and there was a small gatehouse at which the taxi halted, to announce their business. The attendant – a lady dressed in a black fur coat against the evening chill, and with legs in black dress nylons – picked up a telephone and spoke briefly. Wearing black shiny boots, she emerged from her cubicle with a bucket and spray-gun, and sprayed the wheels of the taxi before raising the heavy barrier pole and allowing them to proceed. As they approached the great white crenellations of the mansion, through wide lawns, gardens and orchards, Prue looked back and saw that behind the poplars was a wire fence about twelve feet high, ringing the whole property. Even in the darkness, everything looked immaculate, and the wire fence gleamed. As she stood by the front door in the comforting nest of her cases full of clothing, Prue watched the taxi chug into the night, and nervously rang the doorbell.
‘You are late, miss!’ were the first words Prue heard at her new home. ‘The Mistress of Hygiene takes a dim view of unpunctuality.’
She looked up and saw a young woman of about her own age holding a clipboard and dressed in a cross between a maid’s and nurse’s uniform. She said the ‘new nursemaid’ should follow her. She introduced herself as Nurse Heckmondthwaite and, without offering to help Prudence with her cases, she about-turned, flicked her pretty rump and strode briskly off on clacking high heels. Her uniform was white: a very short skirt and a tight blouse, under which her torso seemed unfettered by underthings. At her waist was coiled a curious tube of black rubber, with a knobbly bulb at the end.
Her blouse and skirt were made of thin, shiny rubber, although her stockings were cream-coloured, of finely meshed nylon, with a chocolate-brown back seam. Prue could see bare white thigh above her plain stocking-tops and suspenders, but could not see if she was wearing rubber knickers too, or any at all. The nurse had slim and finely muscled legs beneath her shiny cream stockings. They walked along a polished tile corridor, in pastel pink, and smelling medicinal, with vases of pretty flowers livening the pink walls, on which mural paintings depicted naked, or nearly naked females at various hygienic exercises. Prue asked the nursemaid if only females were treated here.
‘Why, no, maid!’ exclaimed her companion tartly. ‘You’ll see plenty of males – and not just pictures.’
Prudence was shown into a long corridor, this one painted white, like a real hospital. All along it were doors with little windows, like cells, and into one of these she was shown. It was a pleasant, if spartan room, with a bed, washbasin, table and an easy chair. The floor was dark-green linoleum with a little fluffy pink rug, and there was a steel-frame hospital bed, with crisp fresh linen and dark-grey blankets. There was a little vase of peonies on the table, which Prue thought nice, and the curtains were a cheap but bright flowery cotton; the window looked out over the grounds, and in the distance the night sea glinted.
‘You can unpack later,’ said Nurse Heckmondthwaite. ‘I expect you’ll want to get straight to bed, as reveille is at six in the morning. First, I’ll take you to Matron’s office, and have you enrolled.’
They proceeded down the corridor, at whose end the nurse pointed out the ‘privy’; Prue glanced in, and saw a row of open shower stalls, equally open Turkish squatter commodes, a plunge pool, and cabinets which the nurse said were steam and sauna baths, and were in service twenty-four hours a day. A hot, acrid smell emanated from the privy, and Prue asked what a sauna was. The nurse explained that, like a steam bath, it was a hot cabinet, to cleanse the skin and revitalise the inner organs, only it had dry instead of steam heat. During a bath, the skin was stimulated by beating with birch twigs, beneficial to the circulation and ‘moral wellbeing’.
‘The sauna and steam bath are an essential part of hygienic therapy,’ she said, ‘alternated, of course, with an ice plunge. And the birch treatment is most important, for male and female subjects alike. It is Finnish: Finland is not very far away.’
Prue shivered, and said she believed the birch was a very painful punishment, and that there was a certain baleful magic about the word birch, and she had read of schoolboys being birched naked as punishment. She blushed when she said it. Nurse Heckmondthwaite smiled with thin lips, and replied that the birch in bathing was therapy, not punishment, but that therapy and punishment were truly the same thing.
‘There is a magic to the kiss of the birch, above all other instruments of healing,’ she said, ‘and it is wonderful, not baleful magic. The cane kisses with one tongue, the birch with many.’
She recommended Prue take a short sauna before bed, as it would relax her after her journey.
They entered Matron’s office, where Nurse Heckmondthwaite curtsied; Prue did likewise, and was introduced to Miss Bream. The Matron was a woman of about thirty, with a crisp white uniform of starched cotton, a pink pinafore over it, and, like the nurse, a very short skirt which rode up above embroidered cream stockings which appeared silk. Unlike the nurse, Miss Bream did wear a very obvious corselage under her blouse, for her bosom … inordinate. The woman’s breasts were massive, and cunningly supported and thrust outwards by what must have been a very stout corset, which also pinned her waist to pencil thinness. Even under blouse and pinny, her nipples stuck out so huge and pointed that they seemed to wear a separate little corset of their own. Her hair was cut severely short at the back and sides, a lick of hair curled back from the forehead, in a boyish style. She too wore alarmingly high shoes with pointed toes and heels. Miss Bream looked over her pince-nez spectacles and nodded at her, then looked at the paper Nurse Heckmondthwaite handed her, and frowned.
‘Late, eh, Nurse Riding?’ she said, in the blunt accent of the north. ‘Can’t have that. Unhygienic behaviour has to be nipped in the bud, my girl. Tenner fine, I’m afraid.’
Prue looked puzzled.
‘Nurse Riding … that’s you, girl.’
‘O …’ Prue beamed, then frowned and said in embarrassment she was not sure she could afford so much.
‘Out of your wages, then,’ said Matron, ‘only it’s four pounds extra for the paperwork. Of course you may take a treatment instead – four strokes of the cane. I dare say you’d prefer that.’
Prudence gasped, but neither the nurse nor Matron seemed to think this anything extraordinary.
‘A … a caning?’ she exclaimed. ‘On my first day?’
‘Certainly. But four is hardly a caning. Don’t tell me you are unaware of our hygienic rules, and don’t tell me you’ve never been caned before. This isn’t the nambypamby Home Counties.’
‘Of course I have, Matron,’ Prue exclaimed proudly.
‘Well, then. Four is only a tickle. Think it over; if you opt for tr
eatment, you can take them in the morning after breakfast.’
‘I … I think I will take the treatment, Matron,’ said Prue, her heart beating. ‘Since I am a nurse, now.’ ‘Very well. Four, then. On the bare, of course.’
‘O! Of course, Matron,’ murmured Prudence.
The rest of her interview did not take long; she signed some papers, was given a rulebook to study, and her basic uniform, a pile of clothing which smelled lovely and crisp and fresh. Matron said her training would take a week, but that she would be learning ‘on the job’. Prue blurted that she was so looking forward to being a kind nurse, and wearing her lovely crisp uniform, and healing patients …
‘Nurse Riding,’ Matron said crisply, ‘we do not have “patients” at Cloughton Wyke, we have subjects. And our subjects need no kindness from their nurses: they need, and get, hard and proper discipline.’
At her room, Nurse Heckmondthwaite bade Prue goodnight, and said that after breakfast, she would be shaved and given her deep cleansing, before being sent straight to her apprenticeship. In the morning, she had only to follow the other nursemaids to the breakfast hall.
‘Shaved?’ said Prue.
‘Your whole body,’ said the nurse, ‘lady’s place and all. Unless you are already shaved down there. Nursemaids may keep their fluffy heads, the Mistress thinks girlish vanity is not unhealthy, within limits. Goodnight, nursemaid.’
Prudence stripped, looked at herself in the mirror before wrapping herself in her towel. She ran her fingers through her curly mink, and looked at the fleshy pink lips peeping coyly beneath. What a pity it had to be shaved! And yet … there had been something curiously exciting about Miss Macardle’s bare mons. To be bare seemed suddenly desirable, with the lips of her gash no longer coy …
The privy seemed deserted at this midnight hour, but when she opened the door of the sauna to a blistering wave of hot air, she saw another body in it, lying face up and naked on the upper bench. Prue grinned and felt a bit silly – she had her towel, but, of course, one bathed naked, didn’t one? Gingerly, she unfolded her towel and sat on it, on the lower bench by the other girl’s toes. At once, the heat caressed her like a glove. The other girl sat up.
‘’Lo, nursemaid,’ she said. ‘Be a duck and fling some water on the stove, will you?’
There was a bucket and ladle, beside a selection of sponges and birch flails, which Prue thought looked more like branches than mere twigs. She obeyed, was rewarded with a ferocious hiss and gasped as a wave of hot humid air seemed to flatten her. The other girl laughed.
‘First time?’ she said gaily. ‘New, eh? I’m Jess. My real name’s Jezebel Rise, but everyone calls me Jess.’
Prue introduced herself. Jess was a brunette, her hair neatly pinned back in a bun, and her body glistening with droplets of sweat. Her breasts shone like dew, and they were deliciously formed, thrusting out full, and hanging quite proudly to her ribcage, as though stretched and inflated. Prue was reminded of Miss Bream, and wondered if some mysterious hygienic process was at work. Between Jess’s legs, the fount gleamed like a polished vase, smooth as her whole bare body. Her shoulders and buttocks were impressively broad, as her waist was narrow. Pinned in her pierced nipples were two large silver rings.
‘Still got your rug, eh?’ said Jess boldly. ‘Well, you’ll feel better once it’s off. Any hair under the pits?’
‘Just a little,’ said Prue nervously. ‘I shaved the other day, and waxed my legs too, but –’
‘I shave every day,’ said Jess, ‘usually in the sauna, ’cos you don’t need lather. Doesn’t take long once you get used to it. Surprising how hairy a girl really is, when you look into all the nooks and crannies. The Mistress Hygienic says we may be descended from apes, but shouldn’t look like them. My bumhole gets so hairy! It’s so much nicer now – smooth and slippery and more efficient if you see what I mean. I’ll razor you here, if you like, once the sweat softens you up. Save the trouble tomorrow morning, dry shaved in full view of the nurses. Usually they do it after your bumsquirt, or “colonic irrigation”, in hygienic parlance, which we all must have.’
Prue sighed with the pleasure of the heat seeping into her, and began to rub her hands over her sweating body. She felt quite wet very suddenly, and Jess said it was the steam: one did not want the heat to be too, too dry. Eager to make conversation, Prue said ruefully that it was her first night, and already she had incurred punishment, and was to get four strokes of the cane, on her bare.
‘Four,’ said Jess. ‘Why, that’s not punishment, it’s a tickle. Surely you’ve been caned before?’
‘O, dozens of times,’ lied Prue.
‘Well then! Bum up and bear it! I had two sets of eighteen, in rapid fire, a couple of days ago, with only five minutes’ pause between sets. My, it smarted! And still does! Here, look.’
She twisted round and showed Prue her buttocks, which were mottled deep crimson.
‘How awful!’ said Prue, forgetting her thrashing of the male, which did not seem awful. ‘Is it always on bare?’
‘Always. What other caning is there?’
‘Nurse’s discipline does seem strict. What had you done?’
‘Had to bathe a lady subject, and I didn’t have the water cold enough. One set for that, and then to excuse myself I explained there weren’t enough ice cubes in the fridge, and that got me an extra set, for whingeing. Can’t say I didn’t deserve it. Actually, I got my own back ’cos, on our next session, I gave her forty with the tawse, as part of her hygiene – and made her wear a discipline after – that’s a hair shirt. Here, do you like my nipple rings? I got them last week, when I passed my test for second level. If I make third level, I’ll be able to have my quim pierced too, and have a ring there, and maybe even a guiche, you know, a nice little ring between your gash and your furrow. The more tin, the more respect! And a tattoo … mmm!’
Prue said she felt quite faint, and Jess said it was time to take a plunge. She took Prue’s hand and led her from the cabin to the pool, where she pulled her into the icy water. Prue shrieked at the shock, then broke out in giggles and sighs as she realised how lovely the cold was. They splashed in the water and she felt her nipples go all hard and tingly; Jess’s nipples were hard too, and big, like little brown teacakes. Suddenly she touched Prue’s fount.
‘You don’t mind if I have a feel?’ she said. ‘Just to see how thick you are, for your shaving. My, you do have a big mink! When you’re bare, you know it will always grow again, and even thicker – should you want to look like an ape.’
Prue said she did not want to look like an ape; it seemed taken for granted that the vivacious brunette was indeed going to shave her now, and Prue felt attracted towards the young nursemaid, and was in no mood to resist. They returned to the cabin, and Jess invited her to join her on the top bench, where it was hottest. Before she sat, she picked up sponges and birch rods, and said that it was good fun to ‘loofah’ each other, then tickle with the ‘twiggies’. Prue felt the sponge scrub her belly and breasts, then her back, then thighs and when Jess came to her quim, she scrubbed quite tenderly and for quite a long time, until Prue felt all tingly down there.
‘That is nice,’ she said dreamily, and began to do the same to Jess, finding that her sponge lingered most on the stiff nipples and fleshy quim-lips, which hung quite wide and showed the neat glistening pink within, in pleasant harmony to the pink of their lathered bodies. Jess quite brazenly put her fingers to her gash and opened the lips further, inviting Prue to ‘scrub deep’. Prue did so, and felt the hard little button of Jess’s damsel tremble as her strokes brushed her. Jess breathed deeply.
‘I think we are ready for twiggies,’ she murmured. ‘I’ll show you how it’s done.’
Prue turned round, and felt the birch rods sweep lightly across her back, making her shiver with a stimulus that was halfway between pain and tickling. Then she turned to her front, and received the same treatment on her shoulders and belly, and then full on her breasts – to her s
urprise, she liked that best, and felt her nipples harden even in the wilting heat. Seeing her arousal, Jess began to beat her harder, and Prue did not object, not even when Jess parted her thighs and began to flagellate the soft inner skin, and allow the birch tips to brush the lips of her quim, which were now noticeably swollen and standing free from their tousle of mink-hair. Jess whispered that the cane was a sweet kiss, but the birch the embrace of love itself. Then she said it was time for her shaving, and Prue waited, sorry that her ‘birching’ was over, while Jess fetched her razor.
She made Prue lie down on her back and spread her thighs wide. Prue shut her eyes and drifted into blissful dreams as she felt the cool swish of the razor against the tender skin of her lady’s place, and then she opened her eyes and saw Jess intent on her task, feeling the nipple rings stroke gently over her belly as the razor purred at her fount, and thought only of Jess. She reached down and began to stroke Jess’s hair, and then was ordered to lift her thighs right up to her breasts.
Now Jess applied the razor to her furrow, and her bumhole itself, and Prue gasped as the razor tingled right on the tender skin of her arse-bud. She did not object, nor flinch, but felt her juices begin to trickle on her thighs and mingle with her copious sweat. Jess signified her work was over by planting a single kiss, with closed lips, right on Prue’s gash, and, in passing, her chin brushed Prue’s tingling damsel, making her cry ‘oo!’ and sigh. When it was her turn to birch her new friend, her hand trembled.
Jess opened her thighs, and held up her breasts, inviting Prue to ‘tan teats’ first of all. Prue did so, gingerly at first, but then harder and harder at Jess’s insistence, until the breasts were deep pink and the nipple rings jangled loudly at each birch-stroke. Jess asked if Prue liked her teats, and were they big enough from the vacuum treatment, and soon she would be able to ‘wear the lyre’ like Miss Bream. She said Prue had lovely firm teats, and treatment would make them a dream. Prue concealed her puzzlement.