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A Common Woman (Peter Marriner)

A Common Woman by Peter Marriner

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Victoria is a Common Woman, available to all. She has broken the law and her sentence is simply that, to be a Common Woman.

Every day she has to show she has been Taken Up, used by men who have to sign to say they were satisfied. Without that satisfaction, she is liable to painful punishment. Any infringement of the laws surrounding a Common Woman also mean painful punishment, as she is well aware!

Constantly watched, cleansed inside for anal sex, aware that she can be used at any moment, life is extremely difficult for Victoria and is not likely to get any better!

Product type: EBook    Published by: Fiction4All    Published: 3 / 2018

No. words: 38500

Style: Male Dom - M/F

Available Formats: MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  PDF  MS Reader  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle


Chapter One

Victoria Thompson walked quickly from the tram to her office in the building occupied by the Clearance and Reconstruction Authority, glancing over her shoulder for any sign of followers and conscious of how many of the men she passed glanced at her collar and placard then looked to their wrist bands. She knew that they were reading the output from the electronic device around her neck.
She was wearing a short black dress, close fitted and long sleeved but with a deeply swooping neckline that exposed most of her bouncing breasts, the naked brown aureoles shyly peeping, then disappearing as she walked. The skirt clung tightly to her hips, then expanded in flounces about the tops of her thighs, not quite preventing a flash of white flesh with the black stripe of garter tab at the tops of her sheer black stockings that also appeared and disappeared as she walked. She had been conscious of the resentful eyes of the respectable women on the tram; in their flat heels, modestly long skirts and demure headscarves, assessing her flimsy attire, her exposed legs and bare bosom. She was torn between a hopeless attempt to be demure and brazen defiance. With all unattached girls so modestly covered up, except for some daring eye makeup visible behind fashionable lace veils and the married women seldom seen unaccompanied at all, she was the only man-exciting thing on show.
She might not have minded attracting lustful glances from the men here on the street except that, marked as a Common Woman, she would have no choice but to submit to any man who pursued it further. Probably none of the men would bother to do more than to note down her name and address at this time of the day, since she was obviously on her way to work and not immediately available. They would think they might see some other CW later on, whom they fancied a bit more. Window shoppers was how she had heard others of her status refer to them. Of course for that reason, the more likely time for her to be Taken-up in the street or on the tram would be on her way home. But by the time she returned from work to her flat, she could expect to find that at least one or two of those who had taken note of her in passing this morning, would have posted a Take-up notice on her home screen.
She wobbled on four-inch heels up the marble steps of the Yourgov office building, registered her entry time with the internal security system and submitted her security collar to the scanner of the elderly uniformed ex-soldier who was the security man as well as the Social Service Delegated Supervisor for the building. Victoria knew that there were plenty of applicants for that post, but the SS nearly always chose such middle-aged, married men, stolid and not too bright. This one had always seemed a jolly sort of man before she became subject to his supervision.
“Five minutes late, Miss! And you are already subject to Summary Justice, I see!” he said sternly as he scanned and downloaded the contents of her collar into the building’s computer. She sighed dismally, she was five minutes late because of an encounter with a stupid old man in the street outside, who had to have her temporary unavailability explained to him. Of course she should probably have bowed to necessity, affected to accept his Take-up and then let security eject him, but being almost right outside the building had affected her judgement. She could offer no excuse that would have availed her. Even to have argued with a man probably entailed a penalty and being late of course certainly did.
“You will have to report to have that discharged before you leave, Miss,” he said. Victoria flinched instinctively and glanced unhappily at the terminal. This would be the first time that a punishment session had been assigned to her workplace. The central supervising computer would assess the penalty for lateness and add it to her accumulated total since her last session. She walked upstairs and through the open plan office to her desk, clip-clopping in her high heels, conscious that any incautious movement could reveal even more intimate details. Fortunately she was not alone in her conspicuous garb; there were several other CWs in the building though she was the only one in her particular office. She settled to her chair, wriggling as her bare bottom felt the cool seat cushion, keeping her knees together to conceal the dark flash of pubic bush between them. She stood her placard, on her desk, the single flashing word ‘Vacancies’ on the screen, advertising to colleagues and visitors alike her availability for that evening. Take-ups were not allowed by colleagues in the workplace but outside of working hours, like any of the other males she had passed in the street, even the old fool outside if he had the sense to wait, any of the men in her office might book her to be Taken-up.
Victoria threw herself desperately into her work, dealing with builders and architects applying for alterations in the allocation of Work Corps units. By doing this she hoped to banish from her mind such speculations as to which of her colleagues would be first to post his Take-up notice this week and whether there were any visitors to the office whom her line manager would favour. The threat of her coming punishment was pushed entirely to the back of her mind.
Monday was a quiet day for visitors. She only had to take one during the coffee break. “Ah, Miss Thompson!” Mr Forrest, her line manager, said, appearing just as she got to her feet and rubbing his hands. “This is Mr Jones, the Yourgov Auditor, who finds he has a few minutes to spare.” Alongside him a tall cadaverous man with thinning grey hair and a stoop was already smirking in anticipation. “He has noticed your availability and the Hospitality suite is vacant.” Forrest extended his wrist to Victoria’s placard and duly authenticated her Take-up during her break time as being for Official Business Purposes.
“I’m sure you will find Miss Thompson a satisfactory performer,” he said fawningly to the accountant. “She is overdue on her disciplinary reckoning and will not want to increase it further!” The Auditor took up the full twenty minutes of her coffee break, taking her along to the building’s Hospitality Suite, positioning her upon her back on one of the comfortable black leather couches, not even having the decency to take her from behind in the approved manner. He fucked her slowly and methodically, collar and tie still in place, addressing her as Miss Thompson throughout and she of course addressing him as Sir. She became almost mesmerised by the way his tie dangled and swung regularly to and fro above her nose in time to his thrusts. He managed to cum precisely on the twentieth minute and then he ordered coffee for himself, briskly dismissing her, so she was left to clip-clop straight back to her desk, his cum still squelching between her legs, reluctant to risk the inevitable added penalties for delay.
She lunched at her desk on the excuse of pressure of work this day, rather than risk the possibility of there being visitors in the canteen, someone whose eye she might catch. On different days during the previous week she had been Taken-up in the lunch break by an IT technician, a couple of delivery men and one of Mr Forrest’s business friends. She wriggled her unprotected bottom on the chair seat a little, however, for she was uneasily conscious that the SS computer, which ran surveillance upon her, had a comprehensive and well-tested program. For all she knew it might be running an electronic comparison of daily movements and activity that might expose her evasion and allot corresponding punishment. The computer’s summary of her current disciplinary account came up on her screen for her to print out, only a few minutes before she finished work, a CWP12.
At five o clock, Victoria made her way out with the rest of the departing staff of the YCRA, lagging behind the rush, clutching the printout, conscious of the surreptitious glances, curious, pitying, or excited. In the entrance lobby, the doorman was waiting for her, coat and cap set aside; his uniform shirt already had the right sleeve rolled up, the bared, muscle corded and hairy arm looking at odds with the polished Pre-collapse marble surrounds and the gleaming glass and aluminium doors leading to the street. In his fist a long bamboo cane tapped restlessly at his trouser leg. Behind him a shamefully large number of people were already seated in the waiting area, ready to watch, many more than were required as official witnesses. The other CWs from the same building were kneeling in a meek row, her line manager, Mr Forrest, the auditor, Mr Jones, as he had loudly promised himself before allowing her to depart, some of her colleagues, male and female; even one of the business visitors had lingered. They were more or less the ones Victoria had expected but she dared not show any resentment.
Looking hurriedly away, her eyes fell immediately upon the government-issue Punishment Frame, which the SS’s delegated enforcer had already brought out and positioned in the centre of the lobby in front of the reception desk and from that flew back to the bamboo cane.
“Make your request, Miss Thompson,” her manager said. “Remember that any default will have to be reported to the Social Service Authority.” Choking back her sobs and trying to stiffen her wobbling legs lest she incur a further charge of indiscipline, Victoria began to read.
“Please Mr…” She hesitated while she took-in the name of the security man, which she had unfortunately forgotten. “Mr Johnstone. I have made myself subject to Summary Justice by failing in my duties as a Common Woman. I request you to give me a public caning of…” There was only a slight tremor as she read out the number, for of course she had already registered that the form was a P12 rather than a P6 or P18, “of twelve strokes,” she continued, swallowing, “with a cane of not less than 12mm diameter. As representative of public morality, it is your duty to cane me severely across my bare bottom, in the presence of as many occupants of the building as wish to represent the necessary public witness.” She started on the succeeding paragraph, but then checked guiltily. That paragraph had been asterisked. It was an expression of her contrition and gratitude for her punishment, but the small print of the corresponding note below made it clear that she was to read and sign it only after receiving the caning.
Mr Johnstone clicked his tongue. “Careless as ever, Miss! One stroke extra for failing to read the form properly!” Victoria swallowed her instinctive protest. She was uncertain whether he could order extra, but protest might incur a Recalcitrancy Notice. At the foot of the form were the indicated spaces for the signatures of six witnesses testifying that she had been properly caned on the bare bottom and had been given the full number prescribed.
She bent over the apparatus. It consisted simply of two square frames made from shining tubular steel inclined together at the top to form an A-shape. Midway along the top bar was a narrow leather saddle, from either side of which protruded a stout metal tongue and clasp. The small wheels had been retracted to set the frame down solidly upon its heavy rubber-lined pads. A frantically heaving victim could shake, but not overturn it. It was a little higher than Victoria’s waist, but a step was provided to lift her sufficiently to bend right over and slide her belly over the curved saddle, reaching down to clutch the lower crossbar between the stainless-steel uprights. At each side, broad leather straps dangled from an adjustable slide, but she hoped to avoid the penalty she would incur if those had to be put to use. She was supposed to accept the punishment voluntarily. She wriggled her hips over the smooth saddle so that her bottom cheeks were uppermost, leaving her toes well clear of the lobby carpet. Her short flounced skirts tumbled back immediately to beyond her waist, leaving the naked white rounds plumply framed by the curving suspender straps and the arched span of black lace provided by her garter-belt. The security-man pulled up the thick woven strap out of one slot in the saddle and, passing it across the small of Victoria’s back, slotted it into the other with a clunk and click of metal. The effect was like the old pre-Collapse car seat belts except that this one drew tauter with every attempt to escape it.
He stooped, grunting. “Well apart, Miss!” he admonished. Victoria reluctantly allowed him to draw her legs wider and felt him fasten her ankles with the straps from the rear uprights, making sure to tighten the slides and stretch her legs taut. She knew by the touch of cool air that she was now revealing every detail of her sex to view, but she was more relieved to find that the positioning had been so careless that the seated witnesses could not easily check her expression. Under the scrutiny of so many people whom she knew and, given that being subject to Summary Justice she was perforce becoming used to being on the receiving end of a cane, Victoria thought she might have managed three or even six without any great display, but being given the full dozen and one extra, was going to be hard to bear with the correct stoicism. Then lifting her head a little, she realised that her audience had a perfectly adequate view after all, in the mirrored panels behind the reception desk, though at least passers-by peering through the glass doors from the outside, could only identify her as an CW undergoing punishment by a view of her naked rear elevated above the frame.
“Begin the count, Miss!”
“One…p-please” Victoria squeaked reluctantly. Almost before she had got it out the swish of the cane, loud in the expectant lobby, warned her of its descent just a split second before its impact across her tautening bottom cheeks. Swishhh-Thwackkk! She forgot all resolution; Mr Johnstone’s jovial manner had not extended to laxity in this part of his duty. The whippy cane seemed to sink its length in her suddenly yielding flesh.
“T-Thank you…sir,” she responded in wobbly tones. She took a shaky breath, feeling every inch of what was now surely a deep crimson stripe marking the track of the cane across trembling creamy curves. But she had to go on. “T…Two…p-please” she offered squeakily.
Swishhh-Thwackkk! “Ah…ah… thank you…sir!” Her voice cracked, and her fingers let go of the crossbar, writhing loose for a moment but not daring to reach back however much she desired, to interpose between the descending cane and the scarlet stripes across her bottom. She knew what would happen if she did. She desperately sought for breath and got out, “Th-three p-please…”
The cane continued inexorably to swish and crack, the blazing lines multiplying across Victoria’s behind, with each one having to be kept count of and its successor invited by her, each delivery having to be responded to with the obligatory expression of gratitude, forced from her hoarse throat loudly enough to make sure that her auditors registered every word. When the count reached six there was a pause. At first she thought it was because the delegated arm had tired, but she heard the murmur of voices. Mr Johnstone moved closer and, reaching down to re-engage the wheels, pulled and pushed the mobile frame, swivelling it round ninety degrees with Victoria helpless aboard it.

Author Information

For many years a Merchant Seaman who voyaged world wide. Wrote most of the stories then foe my own amusement and updated them later for publication.

An interest in SF themes particularly Post Catastrophe worlds as a way to strand white females among non-European survivor groups.

Some of the stories are historically based in wilder times and places.


Publisher Information

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