Disconnections

Disconnections
a series of stories by Eve Adorer

The Katiann Prokiss Affair
Synopsis: - The year was 2063, and the newsblogs of the time called Katiann Prokiss ‘trailer trash’.

The Katiann Prokiss Affair
by Eve Adorer

‘Statement by the Secretary of State for Women’s Affairs - Ms Paton-Hicks!’

Madam Speaker nodded her way, and the very attractive brunette the Speaker had thus indicated to, rose confidently to her feet before the upper house of England’s London based Governing Assembly.
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Ten minutes earlier, and the custodian of the public gallery – the ‘Onlookers’ Gallery’ of the House of Ladies, had placed her own handbag at the end of the front row of the bench seats of that lofty location. She had decided that it was decidedly right to reserve a place for the ‘onlooker’ whose name was on every breath.

So many Ladies of the Land - as the elected members of this upper House of the Assembly were styled - were in the debating chamber below, that quite a number were having to stand.

Standing was not allowed in the public gallery: security was tight since ten years back, and the threat of the GLA – the Girls’ Liberation Army – now long gone – the threat that is – their leaders were still doing hard labour – effectively gone unlike the change in regulations they’d caused, which still remained.

No standing was allowed, and, as a result, many girls were being turned away from the public balcony today. The custodian knew it was right to reserve a seat so that the graceful redhead could slide her elegant figure into and onto it - talking of which she’d be sitting it on it wouldn’t she - lucky bench.

From the fuss at the outside front door of the building, the custodian had realised, that her suspicions the ‘notorious’ girl had been – indeed had had to be - sneaked in through the ‘secret’ tunnel that connected the House with the nearby Assembly Underground Train Station, were almost certainly true.

It was a regular deception that, so often used it was a wonder the media hadn’t caught on to how they’d been caught out so often ages since.

When the girl graced in, she was so cool and so elegant, that the custodian had to remind herself not to curtsy.

She dressed so smartly. How could a girl from her background afford Paris, New York, and Milan; the clear evidence of which clothed and shod her? And yet her smile of thanks was so sweet and so natural. How could this be the ‘demon damsel’ the yellow – the gutter press were pressing on the public’s collective mind?

And, oh my god, she was wearing front-‘heeled’ ballet shoes. Her incredibly long incredibly strong incredibly smoothly-muscular legs were encased in sheer nylon stockings, and she was naturally wiggle-walking on the very topmost tiptop of her toes, in shoes with a counterbalancing ‘heel’ in front of the part of the shoe containing her foot – the part in squared-off steel-tipped en-pointe ballet shoe formulation.

Her wool-weave jacket and miniskirt were in harlequin green; her blouse white pure silk. Her glorious red hair, her wonderful tight curls, kissed her jacket’s shoulders. Her skirt’s hemline was so short, everyone’s first glance was subliminally drawn to whether or not they could see it; so short indeed that the tops of her stockings and the grips of her stretched suspenders showed when she sat.

And when she sat, the seat was, for her, she being higher than average height, so low, and her legs so long, that her knees were higher than her lap, and her calves, in her ballet shoes, thus took on such erotic curvature, that the supervisor of the public seating just could not take her eyes off Katiann’s legs, and her monumental thighs with the ghost-white bare flesh above the stocking tops before the hemline crossed her lap.

And, as if they had been drawn by magnets, the custodian discovered the focus of both of her eyes was swiftly and unwaveringly focused on the shaded shadowed area betwixt the bewitching stupendous thighs within which it nestled.

And had they but realised their unity, it would have been known that every other woman and girl in the gallery was also of the decided view that, if the session being held on the floor of the House below was indeed questions of the prime minister of England, the first foremost and only question that should be asked, repeatedly if necessary, unless and until answered, was the matter of panty or no panty.

This lovely redhead had sold more newspapers – well these days it was online hits they counted wasn’t it – the ‘press’ – the media - knew their public alright. She was always ‘Katiann’, never just her surname ‘Prokiss’, as she would have been in the headlines were she not so attractive, and if she wasn’t - well - if she didn’t move in high-level - high-powered - much-moneyed circles.

Every article about her hinted at the impossibility of any mere mortal getting anywhere near it, as if it - as if the one she had got - was superior in some way to what any girl in the street had in her knickers.

Perhaps it was true though. The packaging was so lovely, that, it - what this girl had between her powerful thighs, was in higher demand than the run of the mill – you know - ‘thingy’ - of most girls. In consequence she, this girl, could sell access to it for a price - for the highest - I mean she’d been the girlfriend of Michelle Jaeger the lead singer of the Knowing Bones no less. Every teenage girl in the land had been jealous of that - well - till the Turtles had begun to top the charts with that blonde bimbo with the legs - what was her name now - And she was rumoured to have had it tongued by the bimbo too, out in the West Indies - waste of time that if she was after a tan what with her being a real redhead and that - so she shouldn’t risk being made all red and peeling in the sun - horrible that - Sweet freckles she’s got - Bet her skin is so soft staying indoors and covered up outdoors all the time - And bet too she has to wear her necklines high as well, what with her - with them - you know - so big and that - They say they’re all natural too - lucky girl - lucky girlfriends come to that, wouldn’t mind getting my hands on them, on one of them come to that. Bet they’re so soft - From the way they - you know when she walked in - of cause it’s natural - No point in buying a bra if you never wear - well if you’re - if they’re - well - firm - Those silly cone implants that they have done - some of them have done - ought to be a crime did that - I mean it ain’t natural - only real is natural - poking out stiffer than doorknobs, silly cone indeed. Silly cones. Silly name that - Don’t know why they bother - I suppose they think it makes them more attractive, hard tits - that and their god awful tattoos - They ought to be illegal as well - their lovely complexions ruined for the rest of their sweet lives - Fancy thinking you can improve on god’s perfection.

The press outside the front of the Assembly were, no doubt, after another picture of ‘Katiann’ the girl who was in all the headlines and had been for this past year and more.

All the existing pictures showed a girl with shoulder-caressing radiantly red curls, usually wearing a soft felt broad-brimmed hat pulled down at her brow and prow, in case the dark mirror-lenses of her sunglasses – her ‘shades’ – ‘The shades of shame’ as one of the press products that was against her called them – were not enough to disguise an evidently lovely face, as she was rushed by in the rear of a ponygirl-hauled private covered carriage.

Some of the press called her the new ‘it girl’ - No prizes for guessing what ‘it’ that referred to - Wonder if she shaves it - Most girls do now - Hygiene and all that - That so-seductive innocent look it has, when they’ve used the depilation cream around and on it.

When she arrived in the gallery, all heads turned; even those of some of the Ladies down below, supposed to be listening to prime minister’s questions - which was coming to the last question of this week’s session.

They weren’t there just for that. The House wasn’t full like this, for just a routine prime minister’s questions; even if the PM was in a bit of bother with one of her ministers, and her government might fall and a general election follow – married too she was with a lovely wife – ex-ballet dancer: the minister that is - the minister married I mean. Always in miniskirts - her wife; well with legs like hers you would wouldn’t you: must be that limbering up thing they do; and the dancing as well I expect.

Below in the chamber, timed to perfection with the arrival of the luxuriously long legs of the fragrant redhead into the public gallery, Belynda McJones, leader of her majesty’s loyal opposition, asked her last question of the session, of Hortensia Joynson-Johnson, the prime minister of England - A question she’d been storing. A question she and her aides had been polishing all morning in readiness.

‘Will the prime minister confirm true that which all the media are united in affirming, that the prime minister’s right honourable friend, the Secretary of State for Women’s Affairs, has been giving alternate meaning to the title of the post she now disgraces, by bedding the notorious call-girl, Katiann Prokiss, a young woman whose beauty is as undoubted as her notoriety; a notoriety said to include her intimate knowledge of the bedrooms of a number of foreign ambassorderesses resident in this, the capital city of a free and proud country, and the recently former defence attaché of the Russian Embassy, Ms Petrova? And will the prime minister also confirm that her right honourable friend’s immediately previous career and consequent knowledge of a leading defence equipment manufacturing company and the products of that company; products vital for the defence of the English realm, must inevitably have risked intimate pillow-talk passage to a foreign power of intelligence damnably damaging to this nation’s security? And will the prime minister further confirm that she will, this day, demand the resignation of the Secretary of State for Women’s Affairs, call upon the Royal Girl Police to interview Ms Prokiss, and pass her own resignation and that of her discredited government to her majesty the queen immediately thereafter?’

Satisfied with her portmanteau packaged question, Belynda McJones displayed a ‘that’ll flush it out in the open’ smile of quiet satisfaction, which she briefly turned to show her supporters sitting on the benches behind her, as they cheered her to the last girl and to the rafters.

The opposition then watched, with unconcealed excitement, as, at Madam Speaker’s invitation, the prime minister rose to respond - -

‘No.’

- and quietly sat down again.

The House was in uproar, with shouts of ‘Answer!’ colliding with one another, before coinciding in a chorus of: ‘Answer!’, ‘Answer!’, ‘Answer!’

Madam Speaker’s repeated calls of ‘Order!’ were barely discernible amid the racket. Indeed it might have been thought that, as she mouthed the inaudible, she too could have been in the chorus of: ‘Answer!’, ‘Answer!’, ‘Answer!’ - Till she broke step with that chant and her word - her repeated command, could at last be heard.

‘Order!’

‘Order!’

‘ - the House will come to order!’ she finally managed to assert. She then sat and nodded to the Secretary of State for Women’s Affairs.

‘Order!’

‘The next business of the House - ’

Disgruntlement continued to find loud expression, such that it might well drown out the next contributor to proceedings.

‘Order!’

‘Order!!’

‘Statement by the Secretary of State for Women’s Affairs - The Right Honourable Ms Paton-Hicks!’

- and the very attractive early-forties-aged shapely brunette rose to her feet, and began to address the House; but not before a sotto voce solo voice had audibly scoffed from her own benches – the government benches behind her: ‘Honourable?!!’ and incurred the speaker’s wrath in consequence.

‘The House will attend diligently upon the speech of the Right Honourable Lady, the Secretary of State for Women’s Affairs, without recourse to ribald remarks such as that just heard, audible to all in this House, and thus to the outer world which holds this place in less than conspicuous pride in consequence of such behaviour.

‘Order!’

- ‘Statement by the Secretary of State for Women’s Affairs - The Right Honourable Ms Paton-Hicks!’

The attractive brown-eyed brunette rose to her feet again, and many turned, and not in the public gallery alone, to see the reaction, if any, of the gracefully tall torrential-curls-blessed redhead, whose light-blue eyes were securely behind the dark glasses she now habitually wore in public; a public so populated by glaring TV spotlights and flashbulbs for her these days, that she was obliged to take such shelter; and in consequence of which she could look cool and calm without need of effort, as she too listened to her secret lover’s statement.

The custodian of the public gallery didn’t think it right. Not that matters had come to pass such that this statement was necessary from a minister; she didn’t consider it right that a girl from a background like that of Katiann Prokiss should have had any opportunity to advance so far in society.

‘Positive discrimination’ it had been called. The party that was now in opposition had introduced the means for trailer trash such as Prokiss to get to university. They’d privatised the universities, leaving them dependent entirely upon industry for funding.

Industry wanted a pay-off, and so, such as D’Evono, cheap scent and lipstick for teenagers – D’Evono had used their sponsorship for publicity – for advertising.

Prokiss was a graduate of Camford, the best university in England; she was an MA no less - if such a degree for such a girl had any value, and if that college she’d gone to was really a part of the university as they claimed, though Camford was taking them to court for misrepresentation yet again, weren’t they?
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The custodian could not have known it, but, as she sat listening out for the statement from her lover, the lucky woman who had kissed it this very morning, Katiann Prokiss’ mind was wandering back to happier times - times coinciding with the events the custodian was, even right then, condemning.

The culmination of five years of ‘study’; all depended now on the viva - the viva voce. Ninety-one percent of the marks needed to graduate depended upon the viva.

Selected and elected, nem-con, by the travelling community among whom she’d back then dwelt – Katiann’s birthplace and genealogical roots - her momma and her momma’s girlfriend, had both been in tears as the voting hands rose in unanimity for the flame-curl-headed English rose, back then of but sixteen sweet summers.

If it hadn’t been for the visit to the encampment of the ‘D’Evono Girl’ with her promises of ‘beauty on a budget’, Katiann might never have got the sponsorship needed for her to afford college.

At sixteen, she was outstandingly pretty, and already pretty shapely for a mid-teen-teenager.

Of course it had had to go beyond the vote of the caravan collective and assemblage of the traveller community, encamped in a small corner of the seaside town of Barnmouth that spring.

To assure D’Evono that they should grant her a bursary ‘because it’s so you!’ as their advertising punch-line (stolen after D’Evono’s takeover of D’Oriant ten years since) had it; Katiann had had to go through district and then the full county rounds, and there were any number of competitors for places.

The caravan community had voluntarily stayed stationary for the duration of the preliminary rounds, and the county of Barnmouthshire level win. They hoped Katiann’s success would lift them from the slough of despond to which the communal mindset of the popular majority had them in status wherever they went.

This tall, rather clumsy – as she then was – but oh so pretty teen, must win minds over from the constant dismissal of such as they, and therefore of she, as ‘trailer trash’, with its unspoken insinuation of ‘trouble’ in terms of dishonesty, dirt, and even disease-spreading, spread in the minds of the majority populace, who would as often as not cross to the other pavement sidewalk when a traveller-girl was recognised as such as she approached.

Of course Katiann had the basics already. It was for the basics she had been selected and elected. Once up at Camford University - well in the City of Camford, she had studied assiduously.

Despite the disruption to her education of the constant travelling of her clan, that Katiann was not lacking in intellectual gifts was evident from her schooldays.

Her studies at college, of mathematics and English literature, had gone extremely well, as had the far more important lectures that had necessitated the ‘hall of mirrors’, so cruelly satirised by the girls in the ‘Camford Spotlights’ review team in the theatre of the real university.

The practical courses in dressmaking, embroidery, hand sewing, cookery, hostessing, guesting, etc, had gone just as well too; along with elocution and deportment.

So also had the physical side of Katiann’s courses. ‘Men sana in corpore sano’ was the motto of St Puella’s College at Camford where Katiann studied; and five hours per day, seven days per week, had been spent in the gymnasium, and that after a five mile morning run.

Rising daily at 05.00 for a cold shower had become the norm for Katiann eventually; when it had been the corresponding challenge and strain upon her endurance of her courses, in the first six months: that and the cold shower that followed her run, and then another after her workout and aerobic routines.

But the culmination of five years of research and study and training; all depended now on the viva - the viva voce. Ninety-one percent of the marks needed to graduate depended upon the viva.

Just above her pretty left hand, Katiann bore the number ‘2’ on a circular plastic disc attached to an elasticised wristband.

Her thesis had gone forward some three months since. Her number two position before the viva was based upon her mark from that, and the assessment and the marks for her course work throughout the five years.

In all that time she had been second to only one. She and her foremost rival had been marked all-square on their theses. The course work markings were the only difference between their respective places; and the gap a few marks only. First place was still attainable by Katiann.

The viva could win that for Katiann. The viva counted for ninety-one percent of the marks that could be awarded. She had to get eighty-percent or more from within the ninety-one percent to get through to the top tier.

Her final position would depend on how far, if at all of course, the judges and the audience considered her to score above 80% in the viva voce element of the five-year culmination of her efforts – Katiann’s efforts and those of her still surviving competitors, that is to say.

The viva voce was her ‘finals’ her final examination – Katiann’s all and everything depended on the hour-long viva.
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An hour later; and Katiann was in tears.

Tears of relief mixed with joy. She’d thought twice about attempting a tan. She was a natural pure redhead and her complexion unsuited to the caress of the sun. Her momma and her momma’s girlfriend – now become Katiann’s step-‘poppa’ - were also in tears, there in the front row of the university’s theatre.

To counter her wish to stay indoors in the lead-up to the viva, she’d been allowed vitamin D. Even when she’d ventured out, she’d always dressed in toe-length-hemmed long-sleeved dresses, or likewise lengthed skirts with long-sleeved blouses, always buttoned up to the neck; consistently worn her trusty straw sombrero, and donned gloves even in the summer sun – all to avoid any signs of demarcatory boundaries in her appearance at the viva.

Katiann had taken maximum advantage of her height – now twenty-one she’d grown to six-one in bare feet. The seven-inch-stiletto-heeled mules she’d worn for the event had raised her legs, and consequently her calves, to new heights of long strong shapeliness. The shoes had cost her parents a small fortune.

She was so glad she’d opted to include ballet-shoe-shod tiptoe-table-tennis in her workouts over her five year course. She could now walk in any style and any height of heels as if they were nature to her, as indeed they were.

She’d been questioned on world peace and her desire to work to help poor children or sick animals; and her totally natural charm had shown through; her nervous giggles only adding to her winning ways.

After the hour on stage parading with her rivals, her five-minute-long interview, and then listening to her rivals’ answers in their interrogations, in their turns before the judging lecturers and the assembled families, and the audience of fellow St Puella students, and girls of other colleges, many from the real university.

A choice of shoes was the only variant allowed viva voce examinees.

But, of course, Katiann had filled the standard issue white bikini worn by all the contestants in the viva, to a superlative; both above where they promised to overspill, and below of course, where it clearly emboldened the crutch of the bikini’s thong.

And after the hour of parading with her gorgeous constant smile, and the five minutes of questioning - after the hour, had come the announcement she had longed for and worked so hard for, for five whole, for five long years.

‘And in second place - Number 2 - Katiann Prokiss!’ the news reporter who was this year’s celebrity mistress of ceremonies had announced, and the maids of honour had covered Katiann’s shoulders with a silver mini-cloak and, as sweet Katiann had dipped at her knees to aid them, reached up to place a silver mortarboard hat atop her flame-red curls, as the audience applauded and the wolf-whistles sang out for her, and Katiann cried and cried with joy at this attainment, and mouthed ‘thank you’ with her ever-moist lips in response to every whistler among the girls assembled in the audience. These, now that the formal ceremony was done and their metaphorical hair could be let down, wolf-whistled their favourites even louder than when their appreciation of the charms of the contestants had been part of the viva voce’s scoring.

Now Katiann sobbed with joy as she watched her best friend, Nufanda Namobia, who, amid her own tears and cheers and wolf-whistles, was receiving the golden mini-cloak and gold mortarboard hat to mark her attainment of the number-one place.

Katiann just could not believe it was all over. She had graduated!

She had just won her degree: the viva voce pageant had gone brilliantly for her. All those hours on the running track, in the gymnasium, playing tiptop-tiptoe table-tennis, swimming, aerobics, body-pumping, sculpting her pectorals to lift her all-natural but generous and correspondingly heavy bosom - and the endless studies of makeup, body care, hair care, clothing, shoes, hats - it had seemed endless.

But here she was now a graduate – with her lovely face, her stunning red hair, and her outstandingly shapely statuesque body in the white thong bikini she had worn as per the standard for the viva voce.

She had been awarded alpha-alpha-minus for the parade component - the viva voce that counted for ninety-one percent of the marks needed. Together with the alpha-alpha-plus awarded to her thesis on ‘Women’s Hair Styling in Shakespeare’s England’ and the alpha-alpha-minus mark for her course work, Katiann had attained her MA in Feminine Studies – through the viva voce assessment of her face and her body she had attained a Mistress of Arts, and the tears of joy rolled down her sweetly freckled soft cheeks.

Now she wiggled over in her needle-heeled steeple-mules, with the slim fingers of a pretty hand holding her saucy mortarboard from tumbling off her tumultuous red curls, to embrace the beautiful negress, Nufanda, who had won number one spot and thus the doctorate.

And both girls fell into giggles as the wolf-whistles from the audience implied they were made for each other; and Katiann blushed very visibly at the thought that, that very evening, she would be in Nufanda’s arms as her partner, as per tradition, for her to waltz it - for both of them to waltz them, around the floor in the opening dance of the St Puella’s College graduates’ ball.

And Katiann’s blush told the audience that it had dampened her bikini’s thong-panties, and they wolf-whistled Katiann all the more, all the more loudly, and all the longer - and so she blushed all the more, and dampened her thong all the more - and the audience knew it was getting wet and cheered Katiann yet more - and it got wetter still - And she kissed Nufanda’s sweet face to congratulate her on winning the Doctorate of Femanolgy at the viva voce, and, in Katiann’s minuscule white thong, it was sopping wet and eagerly receptive -
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After college, Katiann had become a party-girl. There had been no shortage of dates in her years at college. Although students at the main university looked down their noses at pupils attending St Puella’s College, they knew what the purpose of that establishment was, and so there was no shortage of girls hanging around St Puella’s gates at the end of lectures, hoping to win the favours of the exceptionally pretty girls selected to go there.

Unlike Katiann, Nufanda came from a very wealthy family. And it was Nufanda who, post college days, had begun to introduce Katiann to the lower reaches of the highlife. Girls as pretty as these, were wanted at parties. It was Katiann who had had the bright idea; but Nufanda who made contact with other top graduates of St Puella’s, and the pair of them that ran the escort service they soon formed.
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Two minds thought alike in the public gallery of the House of Ladies that day. A third also thought of Katiann. That third mind was on the government front benches waiting to make, what she knew, was the most important speech of her political career. This was Jofanna Paton-Hicks, the Secretary of State for Women’s Affairs, who let her mind drift off while she listened to her leader, the prime minister, responding to questions from the opposition - let her mind drift back to a first encounter -
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Lady Diverdon-Fansing was holding one of her famed weekend parties at her Barnmouthshire retreat. Members of all political parties were there; at least those members who loved a fun weekend and could keep a secret about who was there, and what went on.

The Diverdon-Fansings, Lady and wife, were so rich – ‘something in exports I believe my dear’ - they dismissively summarised the source of their conspicuous wealth – that, even though the highest society of all dismissed them as – ‘trade’ don’t yer know – many of the younger women among them found themselves at Diverdon-Fansing House. It had become such a regular haunt of the English establishment that the Diverdon-Fansings were all-but part of ‘the season’ now.

The Diverdon-Fansings were part of ‘the season’. This day, the weather season announcing it was spring, all the guests who wished to, had taken an early morning ride around their vast estate.

Jofanna Paton-Hicks had been out on one of Lady Diverdon-Fansing’s Arab ponygirls, her choice, but a mount made for swift acceleration and a short burst of sustained speed, and thus totally unsuited to hacking. So she had fallen behind; even behind those left hindmost.

‘I was miles away. So I turned her round and came back here to wait for you all to return.’

‘You chose the wrong mount there I’m afraid, Jofanna. ‘Minaret’ needs a tight rein and plenty of whip, and even the spurs, just to keep her on the straight and narrow in a walk. She was always a spirited girl. We were in the same class at school you know. Her mummy’s business went down the pan. Automobiles? There’s no money in autos now. Nobody can - well almost nobody - can afford the fuel. She was so pleased when I agreed to have her three daughters broken to the reins. Better they be in my stables than pulling an omnibus around the streets of London - She even chose their ponygirl names - ’

At this, the loud baying yapping yelping and whelping of the Diverdon-Fansings’ hunting hounds, some short time since returned to their kennels after morning exercise; turned the heads of both Jofanna and her interlocutor to see if they could see the cause of the racket.

‘My god, will you just look at the legs on that!!’ Jofanna thought aloud, whispering to no one in particular.

‘One of the escorts who’ll be gracing our table at dinner. That one’s ‘Katiann’. Six-foot-one in her stockings it seems. So it’s far from little wonder her legs are ten miles long - each’, Lady Diverdon-Fansing informed, before adding, ‘A thousand dollars an hour? She and her lovely negress companion; to hire them I mean. Katiann graduated MA from St Puella’s up in Camford a year back - Can you wonder at it?’

Katiann turned and shyly smiled, before stopping to dip long-long leggy curtsies, with a polite, ‘Good morning my lady’, to each of the conversationalists in turn.

It was her place and duty so to do, but it was also calculated to draw attention to her charms. And Katiann knew it had worked, as it invariably did, for, as she graced onwards to the house, she felt admiring eyes on her rear and up and down her very long legs.

At the present she was wearing a top-of-arms-sleeved tee-shirt-dress in dazzlingly florescent pink, with ‘St Puella Escorts’ advertised on it, front and rear; and six-inch heeled sling-backs. Behind her she trailed a wheeled suitcase grip, with the clothes she would need – or perhaps not – for the weekend. As she wiggled on past their enclosure, the kennelled dogs began to bark and howl louder yet, and some to leap against its wire fencing.

‘I expect they can scent it - ’, Lady Diverdon-Fansing answered, to the question Jofanna had not asked, other than by a look of puzzlement on her attractive features - ‘Especially as that dress is so wonderfully short - I mean, they’ll be able to scent it even if it is covered by panty - ’

‘ - I owe you for the tip - ’ she then added.

‘I gave you no tip’, Jofanna Paton-Hicks reminded.

‘Of course you didn’t - So I owe you for the tip you didn’t give me.

I sold just in time Jofanna. I’d have lost half a small fortune if you hadn’t tipped me off.

- So I’ll tell the butler she must sit the leggy one next to you at luncheon; and watch and see how long you can keep your hands off those wonderful long strong smoothly muscular thighs!

And if you want to bed her, it’s on me.

Aha! - I know that look and I already did research for you. Their calendars are on the St Puella Escorts’ website. She’s due on in a couple of weeks, and I’ll happily hire her again then. A room is always available for you in any of my London homes, if you want her when it’s bleeding, as I know is your joy - ’
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‘Madam Speaker, I welcome the opportunity to address this House on the matter of not one, but a series of wholly unwarranted, because totally untrue, accusations about my relationship with a Ms Katiann Prokiss, and, more importantly, the unsubstantiated, because unsubstantiable lie, that I have in any way at any time put the defence of this country at risk.

Taking the latter issue first, Madam Speaker, I challenge any member of this House, or of the media, or of the wider public, to inform the legal authorities of any evidence they have that I have ever, directly, or as more precisely accused, indirectly, passed secrets or even information of any kind, secret or not, to a potential or actual enemy of the state, or come to that, even a friendly power or powers. And given that they are able to convince, to the satisfaction of those authorities, that there is a case for me to answer-to in a court of law, I will face justice and take such punishment as court or courts impose.

- Madam Speaker, as we are all too aware, those of us in public life are particularly prone to the attentions of the media. And I hold that my record is beyond challenge in my forbearance from reaction to what the press, in particular, have taken it upon themselves to write about me.

Such forbearance as I have shown over the past year and more, is, of course, that necessary to ensure the freedom of the media. None of us wishes to have our lives solely dedicated to libel actions. We would none of us be able to perform any function in public life - for the people of this great land - were we not prepared to make the sacrifice that our lives, private as well as public, will, when we are in ministerial office especially, become a matter of scrutiny.

In the normal way of matters, Madam Speaker, tolerance has to be exercised, and so I have exercised the tolerance required. But the time for forbearance, for tolerance, is over. And, accordingly, I have today, instructed my solicitors to sue for libel, a list of newspapers, broadcasters and other media, that I need not trouble this House by reciting, other than to assure the House that it is comprehensive.

- My suit will concern, not only and foremost the accusation I have been a traitor to my country, but also the salacious gossip about my knowledge of Ms Prokiss.

- Madam Speaker, even were she able to afford to do so, I would not recommend Ms Prokiss to sue the media in likewise manner. Let us not beat about the bush here. This is no time for semantics. The press - the media - describe Ms Prokiss as an ‘escort’, or more often, a ‘call-girl’. Madam Speaker, a prostitute by any other name is still a prostitute.

I don’t deny, indeed I have never denied, having discovered that I was present at several social gatherings when Ms Prokiss was also there. You will note here, Madam Speaker, that, in respect of the congruence of Ms Prokiss’ presence, I did not use the term ‘fellow guest’. That is, of course, because I can only conceive that she was ever present in such circles as I move in, in a purely ‘professional’ capacity.

The discovery I have made that our two presences coincided, has been purely retrospective, Madam Speaker. Only after I requested my diary secretary to check dates and locations mentioned in the media, was I able to confirm that I was present when Ms Prokiss also was.

- But mutual presence is as far as it goes, Madam Speaker. To the best of my knowledge I have never met Ms Prokiss. Nor, given the distinctly considerable gap between our relative social standings, would I expect ever to have been introduced to her.

If I ever was, I have forgotten the occasion, just as it would be expected one would, when introduced to a servant or other underling, let alone someone suspected of earning her money via a profession honoured only for its venerable state, but still disgusting and abhorrent.

- Why I submit that Ms Prokiss would be unwise to sue the media, Madam Speaker, is because they accuse her of being a social climber. And, though it would be slander for me to say that she is, it would not be without the libel laws to say that, for what little thought I have ever given the question, there does appear to be a strong suggestion of it.

And I will therefore also be suing Ms Prokiss for using me; my good name that is to say; and so deeply wounding my dear wife in our happy marriage of twenty years, with her claim that she has ever, to use the usual commoners’ metaphor, ‘been to bed’ with me.

- However, it may be unnecessary for me to proceed with that course, because nobody with even the slightest knowledge of the matters I am responding to, denies that state secrets were passed to the Russian Embassy through their London Defence Attaché, since swiftly repatriated to Moscow and her wife and daughters. And I understand the English legal authorities wish to question Ms Prokiss about her alleged role in the matter.

- Madam Speaker, we are fortunate to have an ally in Russia. Their ambassadoress has served that alliance well these past few months. And I understand that an affidavit from Ms Petrova, the former attaché just before mentioned, who is also willing to come back to London to support her sworn confirmation that, Ms Prokiss did, on several occasions, offer information, of a highly classified nature, to Ms Petrova.

- So Ms Prokiss must answer where she got the information from. She undoubtedly got it by selling use of her body, so the question of how she obtained it does not need asking. And I have no fear, whatsoever, Madam Speaker, that Ms Prokiss can name me as the source, or can possibly prove the charge if she does name me.

Madam Speaker, I have spoken at length and without apology, for I have nothing to apologise for, to this House; or the nation I serve and love.’

At this, Jofanna Paton-Hicks sat down.

For a long second there was silence in the House.

But then a cheer rose from the government benches, a cheer, then cheers that got louder and louder as the women on the government side pointed at the grim faces and folded arms among the deeply disappointed and equally defeated opposition.
..................

‘And we have of course, as has been announced over the past few days, completely changed our schedule for this afternoon, and will join our radio colleagues in multi-station live coverage of the exit from gaol, expected at any time now, of Katiann Prokiss.’

‘Our outside broadcast team is led by Aileen Anton-Moores who, I believe, has with her, to contribute from her specialist expert knowledge, Barbara Bartonford, not long since White Staff in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen, no less.’

‘Over to you Aileen, and, as if anyone who hasn’t been in outer space these past weeks months or even years could possibly not know, please remind our viewers and listeners who Katiann Prokiss is. I’m sure there will be some detail your impeccable in-depth knowledge of public affairs will bring out, Aileen - ’

‘Thank you for those very kind words Sarah. And a welcome to both viewers and listeners to our mobile outside broadcast studio, stationed at; or, more precisely, for the better view, slightly above the location of imminent proceedings.’

‘Well, to start with a small diversion, I’m sure I don’t need to introduce you to the sight and sound of modern-day central London.’

‘But then again, perhaps I do, since London is different today. Much of the sound has gone. Certainly in Pudenda Square here, the familiar constant cacophony of running wheels trotting hooves, cracking whips, and gasping ponygirls, is not in evidence today.’

‘But the square is far from quiet in another way, since crowds have gathered, and women and girls, given the day off from their studies or employment, have come here to witness, live, the event; so many in fact, so many girls that is, and a smattering of men, presumably of retirement age, that, as we can see while the camera pans around for us, the Royal Girl Police are out in force. Not that the RGP need be concerned. The crowd is, so far at least, very well behaved. And I hope we’ll catch a word with one or two of them later; from the crowd that is of course, not the RGP who I’d guess will be kept quietly busy.’

Yes indeed; Katiann Prokiss, who is she and why are we here today because of her?’

‘Katiann Prokiss; what can I tell viewers and listeners about her that they’ll not already know? Well, Katiann was, is, from a poor background. Her family heritage is that of the travelling community. She was a very pretty teenager, and that won her an opportunity, under the scheme introduced by the previous government, to attend university.’

‘And it was her good fortune that, when she was just sixteen, St Puella’s College in Camford was being sponsored by D’Evono, the perfumers; and their agents were simply delighted to come across her. Katiann was unlikely, very unlikely given her class status, to have got to college any other way. And D’Evono were, one day, talent scouting in Barnport on the south coast of England, when her travelling community were, however briefly, settled there.’

‘Excuse me I have a message in my earpiece.’

‘Sorry - can you repeat that? - ‘I should have said ‘Barnford’? - Barnmouth?! Barnmouth, okay.’

‘Katiann won through the local, county, and finally the national rounds of the viva voce interviews, gained her place, spent five years at St Puella’s working daily extremely hard, and did so to the success of winning a Mistress of Arts for her face and body and some adorable giggles in her five minute interview in the traditional finals of her year.’

‘Since then, although the college training was intended to fit her for social advancement, an opportunity for a girl from a poor background such as hers to make a good marriage; marry a girl with a higher social standing, Katiann chose to employ herself, or rather, to be employed, as a call-girl. And with her stunning looks and her beautiful body, she was very much in demand, and very expensive to hire, I’m told.’

‘The rest we know from the recent trial; the scandal of being bedded by those who, allegedly, inadvertently gave her secrets she, allegedly, passed on to foreigners – friendly foreigners as it happens; but as her judge said at the end of the ten minutes of Katiann’s trial last week, that might not have been the case.’

‘And I’ve not forgotten Barbara: Barbara Bartonford welcome: ‘White Staff in Ordinary’ it’s an historic title, the position is unpaid; honorary; what powers does it convey; or I should say ‘did’ since, where you are concerned, you recently stood down? Did you actually have to carry a white staff everywhere?’

‘Ah yes, Aileen, they all ask that. No, the white staff is just a symbol. It spends most of its time in its case in the much larger encasement that guards the crown jewels in the Tower of London. Sorry to disappoint, but I’ve never carried it. I was, of course, touched on each shoulder with it when I knelt before her majesty just after the previous occupant of the office decided she would retire, and I was honoured to be granted the charter in succession to her.’

‘So, a white staff and a charter Barbara?’

‘Yes Aileen, and at least I’ve personally got the charter, and I’m allowed to keep it. But it’s only a copy of the very original course. It’s hand written on some very nice parchment with her majesty’s signature under my own. But before anyone asks it’s not for sale! Oh, and my duties were to oversee events such as today’s, and I did so for my five years. And that’s why the English Broadcasting Company – the good old EBC - has asked me to join you today.’

‘Because you’re an expert?’

‘I like to think so Aileen.’

‘Excellent.’

‘Now Safina Smith is in my earpiece - You’re our reporter-at-large down among the crowd today Safina - what have they been saying?’

‘- Hold that one moment Safina, I’m getting another message.’

‘We’ll have to come back to you Safina, because I’ve just been told the gates are opening, and Katiann is about to emerge, a little earlier than we had been expecting. But there’s definite movement, at least of the right gate of Alloway Prison, as our local camera shows us.’

‘We’re of course hoping that our intrepid Safina will be able to grab an interview with Katiann herself. But I promise we’ll not forget to get back to her, to Safina, so she can tell us about crowd opinion and reaction later.’

‘Turning back to Barbara, our expert, will she be naked Barbara?’

‘Well, Aileen, as you’ll have seen from previous events, a fair degree of nudity is usual for a client undergoing improvement. It’s used, of course, to put a little pressure on her through shame.’

‘I notice you use the terms ‘client’ and ‘improvement’, and not, for example, ‘victim’ and ‘punishment’ Barbara.’

‘Oh my goodness gosh Aileen! As I suspect you well know, the use of those terms went out ages since - with the Ark I shouldn’t wonder!’

‘Here she comes! She’s walking very slowly. What lovely red hair; though I’m sure I’ve seen pictures when she wore it shoulder-length, and not in that rather charming boyish crop of curls she now has. Tell us first about those rather curious shoes Barbara, they look as if they are made of iron. Are you a fashion expert as well?’

‘Not in my wife’s decided opinion Aileen?’

‘I think you look very smart.’

‘Thank you. I wish you’d say that where my wife could hear it! - The shoes: in fact rather than ‘iron’ Aileen, they’re almost certainly stainless-steel. From this distance it’s hard to be sure. Perhaps the camera can focus in a little more, instead of running up and down the client’s rather lovely legs?’

‘Yes. Yes. I introduced those; that model of shoe. They’re deportment-shoes. Stainless steel ballet shoes, with a front heel. The client’s feet will be naked within them. She’ll have been obliged to wear a pair at least two sizes too small for her, and to remind her that today’s event is for her improvement, the shoes have spikes in the toe-ends that will have inserted themselves several inches into each of her feet between each individual toe. They also have spikes in their soles. So the client’s feet will be impaled on one-inch long spikes within each shoe Aileen.’

‘She does have very beautiful legs, doesn’t she Barbara?’

‘Would that be from all that sculpting she did to get her MA from college, Aileen?’

‘I’m sure you’re right there. They must have been very shapely and pretty when she went up to college. And so, as one - or, rather, two of her many excellent physical assets, she would have been instructed in a five year programme for their development to the wonderful state they are now in. Not an ounce of misplaced muscularity. Absolutely lovely! And they’re so long. But then she is six foot-one tall according to my briefing notes. I see there’s a very short chain Barbara. Tell us about that.’

‘I’d prefer we continued to admire those really lovely legs Aileen! Don’t the ballet shoes show them off so well? If they do, that’s as intended of course, because, as well as to undergo improvement, the client is here today to give us an erotic treat. It’s so as to boost her morale that we do that. A girl always wants to look her best when she’s out and about, doesn’t she?’

‘But the chain: that’s a hobble Aileen. It will be no more than two-inches long, if that. The client’s walk will be restricted by that of course. It’s done to prolong what is called by the public ‘the walk of shame’ – the stage of the improvement of Katiann we are witnessing the beginnings of.’

‘Our law courts have found Katiann falling short in her attitude to society. So the shoes and the hobble chain are painful and problematic reminders; aids to her re-learning her duty to this world, to be not only as pretty as she indisputably is, but also to be a good girl at all times. No doubt her teachers spanked her bottom when she was a naughty girl at school. Well, improvement includes for correction of naughtiness in the adult girl, when good and proper behaviour has become harder to inculcate, and thus requires a lot more than a spanking to drive the message home to the naughty one: the client.’

‘I’m afraid we’re rather ignoring that huge log Katiann is struggling to carry on her soft shoulders, Barbara. It looks as heavy as a whole tree, and complete with its bark still on, that must be hurting her skin mustn’t it Barbara?’

‘The ‘log’ as you rightly define it, actually an ancient oak log, will be at least as heavy as the client, Aileen. Before she left the prison - I mean before she began what is properly called ‘the deportment’ – not ‘the walk of shame’ – Katiann will have had her shoes fitted and her ankles hobbled and then been flogged. The log will, all that while have been within her view, as a kindness, so she knows what is coming next.’

‘And after the flogging, she will have been obliged to squat under the trunk, up till then temporarily held between two ‘Y’ supports so that she can get under it; and lift it and stand straight as she can as she carries it in the deportment. Of course, while she was squatting, she will have had her wrists nailed to the ends, each end, both ends separately, of the log. She will then have been requested to rise with it on her shoulders. I’m afraid that sometimes a whip has to be used at that point.’

‘Carrying her burden thus - it just shows that her legs are not only exceptionally lovely, but also immensely strong, doesn’t it Aileen?’

‘I agree Barbara; the strain they are under brings out their beauty even more: beauty as strong as they are. I don’t know if our effects microphones are picking it up, but, in my earpiece, I can hear Katiann crying. Of course, we can hear the whips. They are whipping her very hard at almost every step she manages to take, Barbara.’

‘Not at ‘nearly’ every step Aileen: at every step. As you’ll see, there are a team of six girls with leather-tongued thigh-crops, attending to Katiann in pairs. That is, of course, a health and safety measure. With all the effort they have to put in to every lash of the client’s gorgeous thighs, those strong thighs, we wouldn’t want any of the girls to hurt themselves: hence the team of lashers have a chance to rest their arms and shoulders after every ten strokes.’

‘So they are beating her thighs with nothing more than what is used every day to encourage or chastise a run-of-the mill ponygirl then Barbara?’

‘Not exactly Aileen. As you can see, each stroke is drawing blood. The thigh-crops are, of course studded. A crop has been found to be the ideal device for teaching a subservient girl her place. Many owners use one on their maids. And, of course, the rescinding of the human-animal rights laws, means they can be used on such as ponygirls and pet doggy-girls without let or hindrance of limitation.’

‘But a routine crop is, as we have found from experience, insufficient to drive along a client under duress to the extent that Katiann, deliberately, is. Accordingly she is being whipped along with studded crops; crops also being a particular good design of ‘incentive providing implementation’ as the technical term has it: a particular good design for whipping a client’s thighs.’

‘Thank you Barbara - But I think we can see Katiann’s back now Barbara. My goodness! There’s not, there’s no skin on her back at all, yet it’s not bleeding. They must have flogged her, no doubt appropriately, but terribly. Why is there no blood though Barbara, when, now they are whipping her thighs to keep her walking, her lovely thighs are bleeding profusely? And her beautiful breasts, they’ve left them bare and they appear unharmed - and she wears some kind of codpiece – white plastic perhaps – a white plastic g-string over her naughty part. Why might that be Barbara? I’m sorry - so many difficult questions all at once.’

‘That’s alright Aileen. That’s why I’m here of course. My initial guess would be that the breasts were covered during Katiann’s preliminary flogging.’

‘Sorry Barbara - I hope you caught that from the effects mike at home: that was a scream. Katiann screamed with her pain just then. Will they whip her for that Barbara?’

‘I think they will if she squeals or screams again. I imagine they’ll double her whipping during the deportment if she does that, or they may add another layer to her improvement, such as including her breasts in the deportment flogging, though those may be being preserving for later, or fitting her with one or more razor-wire thigh garters.’

‘But, back to why the breasts were not including in the initial whipping of the client, and the state of her back. I would say that, from the look of it - salt - they’ll have salted her wounds after flogging her back. That’s why the blood will have stopped. They usually intoductorally flog the client by giving her some two-hundred spaced strokes. At least that is the minimum norm. And from the fact her breasts are still pristine and all her back has been stripped of its flesh; I’d say they used flails on her back rather than bullwhips. As it happens, I brought a flail with me to show the viewers. - Do please be very careful with your fingers Aileen - those spikes are razor sharp!’

‘As you’ll see, but as we need to describe for radio listeners, the flail comprises two round two-foot-long components of some three-eighths-inches, about one centimetre, in diameter.’

‘When they are used, the handle end of the flail is held in forearm-length protective gloves. Again, of course, because we these days have to think of health and safety. So the gloves are worn by the wielders who work in pairs, to beat the client.’

‘The handle is wooden; the business end strong but flexible rubber. The business end of the flail has what we term ‘rose-thorn spikes’. They were ‘built in’, so to speak, when it was manufactured, and are in circles around the circumference, those circles being no more than one centimetre apart throughout its length.’

‘And of course, there is a chain of around six-inches in length linking the handle to the business end.’

‘Flogging a girl with a flail is a particular skill; one I enjoyed learning, and was once lucky enough to deploy. I was a guest at a previous client’s preliminary flogging, and was lucky enough to have a turn. It is surprisingly therapeutic.’

‘She is making very slow progress and I think we can all hear her sobbing now. She looks as if she is struggling to bear that log on her back, with just her shoulders and her slim arms to hold it. Her legs, I’d guess, would never give way, she has trained them to perfection. I’m wondering, as I dare say many of our viewers and listeners are; what if she drops the log?’

‘If she drops the log or falls off her ballet shoes by collapsing or whatever, they’ll whip her to make her stand up and pick it up again, and force her to carry it on her shoulders once more. She has her wrists nailed to each end of the log, and it would therefore be extremely painful for her to lift it on her shoulders once again, from the ground.’

‘That being so, she may well need to be driven to an understanding of what is required of her. Localised pain can confuse a client. So as to overcome the localised distraction, flails are kept in reserve to deliver overriding pain. The thigh crops would not be painful enough.’

‘Of course, it would not be right to help her, other than by whipping her to make her be a good girl. To assist her in getting up from the ground or in lifting the log would, obviously, not be conducive to the client’s improvement.’

‘Excuse me Barbara - over to Safina Smith out there with a chance to speak to Katiann – Safina -’

‘Katiann: Safina Smith of the EBC: Are you in a lot of pain Katiann?’

‘I’m afraid Katiann doesn’t appear to have heard me.’

‘We’ll come back to you later then Safina, because we cannot get in the way of progress, and we certainly cannot stop them whipping Katiann as they deem necessary for her benefit. And, anyway, we must take a break here, for a word from some of our sponsors. We’ll be back in well under five minutes ladies. – Now then Barbara -’

‘Lovely legs deserve lovely stockings. Just look at gorgeous socialite Katiann Prokiss. Here at the races she wears seamed ten denier Clientele Caresses. And here she is out for a night on the town in sinful black forty denier seamless Winter-Warms - Is that a skirt or a pelmet Katiann? What a naughty girl! But what lovely legs! Ladies, like Katiann, get the girl you love to love your legs. Remember Clientele - the price is worth it!’

‘I read that you are entirely natural and never wear a brassiere, yet you have perfect uplift Katiann.’ ‘Thank you Mary,’ ‘How do you keep your uplift? Will you tell us your secret?’ When we could catch a quiet moment in her busy life, this is what we asked lovely Katiann Prokiss. And she told us: ‘It’s no secret Mary. I use the Lockheart duo-lift pectoral exerciser every day.’ ‘And has Lockheart’s patented duo-lift pectoral exerciser, locked a heart for you Katiann?’ ‘Ah, that’s my little secret Mary!’

Katiann Prokiss uses Swan Soap. Only a soap as pure as Swan could protect that lovely complexion. Look at the smile on Katiann’s pretty face as she enters the theatre on the arm of the girl that looks just like her ‘Miss Right’. You too can catch a ‘Miss Right’ if, like stunning Katiann Prokiss, you use Swan Soap. Swan Soap; the soap chosen by Katiann Prokiss, because it’s the soap of choice.’

‘Lips as lovely as these can only be wearing D’Evono lipstick. Ask Katiann Prokiss. We did. After all they are her lips. ‘Do you use D’Evono lipstick Katiann?’ ‘But of course I do Sally, I wouldn’t use anything else, and it comes in all the shades a girl could wish for.’ ‘But have you checked out its guarantee to be kiss-proof Katiann?’ ‘Ah, now that would be telling wouldn’t it Sally?’ D’Evono, sponsors of St Puella College Camford; college bursary sponsor of Katiann Prokiss MA.’

‘Welcome back viewers and listeners. The sound you can hear is the continuing continuous whipping of Katiann’s thighs as she continues the ‘walk of shame’ as I know from Barbara’s wise commentary, I shouldn’t really be calling her public progress.’

‘The deportment’ Barbara. To have to walk even a few hundred yards in her stainless-steel ballet deportment shoes with her ankles restricted by a two-inch-long hobble chain, and with that huge log on her shoulders, and with her thighs being whipped at every step, and all that after a preliminary flogging with spiked flails on her bare back - how can they punish – I mean of course ‘improve’ - Katiann more, Barbara? Or will it now be concluded she has suffered enough for actions which were never finally proven to have led to a betrayal of her country?’

‘Well, Aileen, proven or not, we must of course recall, that Katiann is also being improved in public here today, as a warning and example of what happens to girls of her class, if they get ideas above their rightful station. And - and, no, what we have witnessed so far is just the preliminary, and I can see that, shortly, she will have arrived at the centre of the square, where we can spot that an interesting development awaits her, and therefore us as well.’

‘While we were briefly away with our sponsors’ advertising; and by the way, we have been asked by the present Minister of Justice to thank sponsors for financing Katiann’s ‘improvement’ and thus save taxpayers’ money - while we were away, you told me there might be something in Katiann’s thong panties Barbara.’

‘Well now Aileen, what a lovely thought to contemplate!!’

‘No, you know what I mean Barbara; something extra to what god provided her – god blessed her and thus us with.’

‘Well, to be serious, and to save my hot flush at the exciting thought of what is in Katiann’s panties, I believe she will have an insert Aileen.’

‘An insert?’

‘The panties - her g-string - are - is of pliable plastic; pliable but still rigid enough to support an entertainer.’

‘All these technical terms Barbara, we need you to tell us what they mean. Do go on.’

‘Well, an ‘entertainer’ is a specialised dildo, Aileen. It will be some twelve inches long and one inch in diameter at minimum. Also of pliable plastic, it will be studded with sharp spikes in rings at close intervals all along its ‘penis’.’

‘I think we can see that, at close-to-crutch-level, she wears cog-garters? Those cogs, also of pliable plastic, engage with a cog at the base of the entertainer.’

‘The entertainer comprises an insert within an insert. The lengthy spiked ‘penis’ is free to rotate and counter-rotate within a base; the base, which is of course, inserted in it too, being rigidly fixed to Katiann’s thighs by garter ties, just above the cog-garters. The base’s garter ties are akin to those cable-ties some girls use to keep decorative hubcaps from falling off their ponygirl carts?’

‘The entertainer – keeping the entertainer’s base and thus its penis up Katiann, is one of the functions of the plastic g-string of course. The penis protrudes beyond her naughty part and engages with a cone-shaped spindle in the g-string to keep the penis of the entertainer in and up it. The g-string is also fastened around her thighs, by ties, to stop the cog-garters slipping down.’

‘The near bottom end of the ‘penis’ is also cogged. It protrudes beyond the entertainer’s fixed base insert, sufficiently for the cogs at the bottom of the ‘penis’ to engage with the immobile cog-garters, and thus be rotated by them, back and forth within her, so that, by the very act of her walking, Katiann has it scoured during her walk.

Her thong is designed to keep the entertainer up her, and to stop the cog-garters slipping down her thighs. Unfortunately, the cogs, garters and the entertainer’s cog base, will occasionally disengage. But the two-inch hobble restriction on her lovely legs will be an aid against too great a frequency of that occurrence.’

‘Of course, along with the log burden, the entertainer will be extremely painful for her. And that is why she has to have her thighs whipped with the spiked crops: she has to be incentivised to walk in the deportment.’

‘Thank you for that Barbara, such depth of knowledge and so clearly expressed.’

‘Thank you Aileen.’

‘I think we are getting close to what will be the culmination of Katiann’s improvement. So, although we broke only a short while ago, here’s a little more from our sponsors - from yet more of the generous financial supporters who are saving we much-burdened taxpayers from paying for today’s event.’

‘How do you cope with that time of the month ladies? Do you worry about being let down? Look at lovely Katiann Prokiss, so active and athletic here on the tennis court. She’s on, but who could possibly tell? We know because we asked her. And when we asked her, she unhesitatingly recommended the Thrust Pad and Thrust Tampon. Thrust, the choice of pad or tampon you can trust!’

‘How do you keep your oh so lovely, oh so long legs so smooth? That’s a question we longed to pose to gorgeous socialite Katiann Prokiss. Of course we struggled to find a space in her busy engagement diaries. But she granted time, because she wanted to thank us, and to tell you her secret; the secret of smooth legs, even legs as long as Katiann’s. Jonsen’s Depilatory Crème. Jonsen’s Crème, safe to use in that intimate area too. Jonsen’s, the crème of depilatory creams.’

‘Does she or doesn’t she? Is she or isn’t she? Has she or hasn’t she? Was she, as we see her here, in that naughty pelmet skirt? Well, was she or wasn’t she? We asked oh so pretty Katiann Prokiss, and she collapsed in adorable giggles. But we know that when Katiann does; and also when she doesn’t, she wears Phantasy. Phantasy: the scent sent from Paris.’

‘Welcome back again. We’ve come to some kind of change here Barbara. I’ll just be in the way, so I’ll hand over to you to describe for viewers, and obviously, more especially the radio audience, and just come in with questions?’

‘That’ll, of course, be just fine Aileen.’

‘Well, Katiann has reached the end of the - of her deportment, and is being prepared for the final stage - at least I would take an educated guess we are about to witness the final stage of her public improvement.’

‘At the moment they are just hosing off her thighs, to remove the blood, though as we can see in this close-up, she is still bleeding from the thigh-crops used to encourage her during her walk. The hosing will be so they can more clearly see the effectiveness or otherwise, of the crops, which are of a new design, on which, in exchange for loaning them to the authorities, fee-free for the day, the manufactures have been promised photographic feedback.’

‘We have to recall, that although Katiann may feel some relief from the huge log she bore walking - or rather, pleasingly sexily wiggling - in her tiptoe stainless-steel front-‘heel’ ballet shoes, having been placed - the log having been lifted so that - the ropes and pulleys having raised it to just above her lovely red hair, rather darkened now by her perspiration - though her stunning body confirms that she is a very fit girl - perspiration from the strain of carrying the huge log on her bare shoulders - the log hauled up - now hauled aloft in the middle of the overhead bar of the soccer-goal shaped gantry under which she stands, still in her stainless-steel deportment shoes of course, and thus on very-tip-top-tiptoe to give her the award - for improvement includes, of course ‘carrot as well as stick’ as the saying has it - the award of being able to display her particularly long - she is six-one in her bare feet of course - her particular long very shapely and very strong legs at their best. What was I saying? Yes, we must recall that her wrists are nailed to the ends, both ends, one wrist at each end, the ends of that ancient English oak log, traditionally used in the deportment phase of most clients’ improvement over many years now. A log donated by her majesty the queen herself.’

‘So her majesty herself actually donated the log?’

‘Well, yes Aileen, though I should really have said it was actually the present queen’s momma who gifted it to the nation. It comes from her estate - her country retreat in East Anglia - Barling Palace? - or rather the tree did. It’s a windblown faller. The log is from its lowest part, nearest the roots. But the rest of the oak has been saved in log-form-sections should they be required; perhaps when too many girls have had their turn nailed to this one? It’s just over two-hundred years old, according to analysis of the rings.’

‘I think we may be missing some action here Barbara. Do please tell us - continue to describe events.’

‘Well Aileen, I was wondering about why - the reason Katiann’s arms have been lifted not too high - she is certainly magnificently endowed - her breasts are astonishingly beautiful, with huge sunrise-pink nipples - I suppose the contrast with her driven-snow-white redhead’s complexion, makes for the contrast of the rest of her, with the pink of her perfectly-circular-disc nipples - they must be two-inches in diameter.’

‘For the moment, they are refreshing her lipstick. I do hope she really uses that brand she advertises.’

‘I’m sorry Barbara, I must step in there. We mustn’t speculate about that. And I’m sure the EBC apologises to the sponsor; that particular sponsor, for the authenticity of their generosity being questioned.’

‘Oh god, I’m so sorry Aileen!’

‘Not a major problem Barbara. You’re first broadcast after all - why the lipstick?’

‘Well, it’s again for the client’s morale; so it’s boosted by her looking at her best.’

‘I think we can go over to Safina, our roving reporter, who has a chance to talk to Katiann; at least she will have if she can make it through the crowds of cameras and microphones, because, of course, this is an internationally covered event. Safina –‘

‘Thank you Aileen. Katiann, Safina Smith of the EBC again? Katiann you have had your back flayed, and your thighs whipped; can you tell our viewers and listeners which hurts you the more?’

‘I’m sorry Aileen, Katiann is crying with her pain and doesn’t seem to want to talk.’

‘Try her with another question Safina; and I’m sure they’ll whip her for you if she won’t answer.’

‘Katiann, do you deserve what is happening to you today? And do you forgive the girls improving you?’

‘I forgive -’

‘Aileen, I do believe Katiann has fainted, and I need to step aside because they are moving in to whip her with the crops, to bring her round again.’

‘Okay Safina: not been the easiest day for you has it?’

‘Turning back to Barbara then: she’s - Katiann’s been brought round - I’m sure listeners won’t have failed to hear the particularly loud cracks from the use of the crops on her thighs to effect that - what’s - what’s happening now? They seem to be fitting her out with some transparent plastic odds and ends - very odd to my untutored eyes - what’s going on, Barbara?’

‘Well, Aileen, I think now I know for sure, what Katiann’s real improvement for treachery

‘Alleged treachery’ Barbara -’

‘- for alleged treachery, as you so rightly remind me Aileen - what it’s to be.’

‘I’m glad someone does Barbara - thank goodness you’re here! Do go on, remembering, as you have so far, that we have a radio audience as well.’

‘Well, Aileen, they are presently fitting Katiann with rings, large rings being needed for those beautifully huge breasts with the much celebrated ‘natural uplift’ - The rings are like a bra. There are, obviously, two rings that are large enough - only just! - to go over Katiann’s breasts - one each ring! - and then nestle on her chest. The two rings have a short chain to link them in her cleavage, and - as we can see now the camera has gone behind - are being tightly fitted by their ‘bra straps’ at her back.’

‘Size is important here. Not the size of Katiann’s magnificent bosom, but the size of the rings, and that the bra strap is buckled very tightly. The rings must just barely squeeze the base of the breasts, so as to form a seal, but not so as to spoil their natural beauty by distorting them. And they must press firmly on her chest.’

‘They have raised her arms, so she – still nailed to the log as she is – so that she, her breasts are lifted, and do not nestle on her chest, as they would, to the full degree they would otherwise, despite the uplift claimed in her adver – er, in some quarters.

The inside of each ring, and their undersides next her chest - did I say the rings are of stainless-steel? - their inside sides and undersides have a soft rubber sealing ring. It is actually those sealing rings that press lightly but firmly, into the breast on the inside of the rings, and onto the chest at the bases of the rings. More such seals are within the rings.’

‘Now they are checking the security of the entertainer I think. That’ll be to ensure it’s engaged with the cog-garters - I’m pretty sure of that. It will come back into play if - when - if Katiann begins to move - squirm, as she pretty surely will, I know I would, when -’

‘Are yes - these are the transparent domes; Pyrex glass rather than plastic Aileen.’

‘Oh dear, that’ll slow things down - it looks as if there’s a problem with the screw-thread on the first one, and they’re – no - no it’s sorted.’

‘Katiann looks completely puzzled. Of course, nobody, least of all Katiann, has been told what improvement method has been chosen for her - except those doing the job; they must know of course.’

‘As we can see, each of the domes.’

‘Not all of our customers can see; don’t forget radio, Barbara -’

‘Well, sorry Aileen - each of the domes is quite bulbous, and they, when they are screwed in place - start again, I’m sorry.’

‘You’re doing remarkably well for a first-time broadcaster Barbara. Don’t worry, just keep going.’

‘Thanks Aileen. Well, I should have said each of the bulbous bowls has a screw-thread at its base. And there is an answering screw-thread in the rings, the stainless-steel rings of the ‘bra’ Katiann now wears - and a rubber liner ringing the base of the stainless-steel rings so as to form a seal when the bulbous bowls are screwed firmly into the bases to full tightness.’

‘The bulbs - when they - when the bulbs are screwed down into the bases, are - need to end up aligned so they contain the breast and are shaped so they slope to contain the breast without unduly lifting it from its natural pose - when a girl is so big and so natural as Katiann - to take on the same slope as her bare breasts on her bare chest as if when – before the globes were screwed there, I think I mean.’

‘Go on - It’s fascinating. Do go on Barbara - take a sip of water.’

‘Thank you - That’s better - Thanks.’

‘Well, each Pyrex globe - if the camera could focus on them please - each globe, as we - as I can describe - each globe has two holes in their – nearer the rear ends – nearer Katiann’s chest.’

‘They are being very efficient. I wish I’d had this crew when I was White Staff! They are screwing into one pair of holes, the first part of the piping one pipe each hole, one pipe each bowl - transparent plastic piping, while another girl has fastened a support collar around Katiann’s neck.’

‘And the other two holes are having their pipes screwed in. Again, one pipe each hole, one pipe each bowl.’

‘There’s a difference in the pipes, Aileen. The ones in the front-most holes have no valves. The rearmost ones have non-return valves nearest – just above where they fit into the holes in the top side of the bowls.’

‘I’m completely lost here Barbara! I’m sure it will all make sense soon. Please, please do go on. And thank goodness the EBC hired you for today!’

‘Well Aileen, as we can – erm, the support collar now holds two transparent plastic bottles. One is a hopper, and the other - the other has that short length of spiral-tube coming out its top - the other is a condenser. The hopper is around one litre - say two pints? - and the condenser half that size. The hopper is below the condenser.’

‘The pipes from the hopper - the pipes without any valves leading up from the holes in the top sides of the bowls, both connect to nipples at the bottom of the hopper.’

‘The pipes with the non-return valves from the holes in the tops of the bowls over Katiann’s superb breasts - the ones with the non-return valves – sorry I’ve said that haven’t I – the - those pipes with non-return valves - both lead up - both those pipes lead up into that single spiral pipe, and the spiral pipe into the top of the condenser.’

‘And then a pipe runs down from the bottom of the condenser, which is above the hopper, so that what comes out of the condenser - the flow, after it’s cooled in the condenser, can go back into the hopper once more, and so back round the system. Easy really - when you think about it.’

‘I am thinking about it Barbara, and I’m still confused! There’s yet more piping being fitted to Katiann. My goodness. Help! Please continue to explain Barbara.’

‘Well, that device carries a supply to the back of the bra that holds the bowls. Look - I can see you’re totally lost Aileen. But it will all become clear when they fill the hopper?’

‘From that single pipe just screwed into place; built into the bra are two branch-pipes, they are arranging now. They are copper pipes and they fit in at the back of Katiann’s bowl-bra and follow – look they are setting that up now – they follow the contour around the outside of the bowls – one pipe each bowl - and have their open ends just short of where Katiann’s gorgeous pink nipples rest within the bowls.’

‘At the top of the corset they are fitting to her next - a waspie you could call it I suppose - to Katiann’s waist - not that she needs one, goodness knows - a corset I mean of course, let alone a waspie – they will fit two mirrors -’

‘Sorry to interrupt Barbara, but viewers wishing to see today’s ‘Coronation Farm’, and find out what happens to lovely Swedish blonde, Elke, who is on the run after finding a gap in the fence following the thunderstorm, should press their red buttons now - or they can, of course, catch up with it from nine tonight, when it will be available on the EBC replayer. And we’ve not forgotten you ‘Love’s Harbour’ fans; those of you who can’t wait till it’s on the replayer, also from nine tonight, should retune to Radio 16 now. And apologies for those hoping to listen to Play of the Week, ‘Maid in England’ on Radio 16; that will now be broadcast at a later date. Now please do go on Barbara - sorry for the interruption.’

‘Well, they have just been fitting mirrors - two mirrors - to Katiann’s waspie corset so she can look down and watch what is happening, both from above with her unaided eyes, and from below and front of her breasts via the mirrors. And they are slowly filling the hopper, and via the hopper, the bra bowls, with water – pure mountain spring water, and not town tap water of course - which will take a little while to complete.’

‘So, we’ll take another short break at this point then - Do please sip some more water yourself Barbara.’

‘Have you got sparkling teeth like these? Yes? But is your mouth really clean? As that stunning smile belongs to her, we asked gorgeous Katiann Prokiss, the secret of a clean healthy mouth. And she told us that she always uses Densino toothpaste, Densino floss, and Densino mouthwash. Densino: toothpaste, floss, and mouthwash, for a really clean mouth.’

‘What a body and what body! Hectically busy socialite, Katiann Prokiss, could only find time to chat to us when she was washing her glorious red hair. But we were so grateful for the opportunity. Our invitation from Katiann was no mystery. Busy girl though she is, she just simply couldn’t wait to thank us for Veline combined shampoo and conditioner. Veline gives hair body.’

‘Do you have a ‘deep pore problem’? As she approached a downtown nightclub, we went up to a gorgeous tall redhead with four lovely girls eagerly holding her hands. And she told us, that to remove her makeup, she always uses Adnan’s face scrubs. You guessed it: it was lovely Katiann Prokiss. ‘Do you have a deep pore problem Katiann?’ ‘After using Adnan’s face scrubs? No Jane! - no of course not!’

Does she or doesn’t she? Is she or isn’t she? Has she or hasn’t she? Was she, as we see her here, in that naughty pelmet skirt? Well, was she or wasn’t she? We asked oh so pretty Katiann Prokiss, and she collapsed in adorable giggles. But we know that when Katiann does, and also when she doesn’t, she wears Phantasy. Phantasy: the scent sent from Paris.’

‘And welcome back again.’

‘The bowls are filling – slowly - with water Barbara -’

‘Well, yes Aileen, the viewers can see in this close up, that they are ensuring both bowls are filling evenly, and that each breast is covered – over its top except of course nearest Katiann’s chest – with water – nearly filling the bowls.’

‘And look at the look on Katiann’s face. She’s fascinated and horrified. I think she knows what’s to happen. Look at the lovely eyes! Green. I’m sure she has light-blue eyes in all those advertisements. They are green with horror as when, sometimes when, a girl is aroused and it’s very wet they sparkle a different colour – She can’t help looking down into the mirrors.’

‘The camera-girls are doing a great job. They’re turning on the supply now - not the camera-girls of course; they are just lookers-on like us. But the improvers – the girls charged with carrying out the improvement - are turning on the supply at the valve at the back of Katiann’s water-filled bowl-bra – the flexible armoured pipe to there, to the valve there, comes from that pressure-bottle some distance behind her? And the two improver-girls at the front have lit the flames at the nipple ends of the copper supply pipes – the copper pipes – outside the Pyrex bowls of the bra at the nipple ends - Katiann’s nipples are within the bowls of course. And they are adjusting the flames so that the flames will deliver.’

‘And I suppose the pain of her back being flayed and her thighs whipped has dazed Katiann’s mind, because she seems only just to have realised, that she is going to have - her breasts are going to be – what’s happening.’

‘Just look at her dancing, still in her two inch ankle hobble chain, working her gorgeous legs in the struggle to escape! She must be driving the spiked penis of the entertainer in her panties; in her - in her naughty part pushed hard up it - almost in circles. How that must be ripping its insides! She’s clearly terrified. She seems to think she can shake off the bra bowls, or get the water out of them, or put out the flames heating them up so that her tits – sorry her breasts will be - er dealt with.’

‘And I think we can see the first bubble – some bubs – a bubble – more bubbles in the water near the flames. And Katiann is trying to make her breasts dance within the bowls. And it looks so incredibly sexy. They are wet like fish and look like leaping salmon, especially with her coral-pink nipples. But they cannot – she cannot escape – she cannot get them out of the water and the bubbles are increasing and we can hear her screams, she is obviously terrified.’

‘The crowd are cheering. Because the RGP have kept them behind crash barriers and at some considerable distance, at the very edges of the square, they are primarily watching on the supersize television screens relaying the EBC transmission – this transmission – just the pictures from it I mean, not the commentary.’

‘Now the water is clearly heating – the water in the bowls is clearly pretty warm already, and Katiann is begging for mercy, and they are turning down the gas, and she thinks it is out of kindness, but I know it’s so her breasts – so it slows the procedure down and ensures it’s done evenly and all through, and she does not lose her lovely-complexioned flesh, as she would were the procedure - if they proceed too rapidly.’

‘The bubbles are lessening, so they are adjusting the gas, taking it up a notch because they are concerned it was too far reduced just before now. And the look on her pretty face! As if they care that she thinks they have betrayed her. As if she thought the turning down of the flames was out of consideration of her, and not out of consideration of how to ensure the procedure leads to the proper end – the required end – the desired end!’

‘Look at her looking in turns at the mirrors showing her breasts amid the bubbles! And she’s dancing those fabulously long – those famous – those gorgeously shapely strong legs of hers and making the entertainer whip around to and fro within her - within it – and the spikes must already have scoured its insides flesh-less, and yet she is still tearing herself, tearing it in her terror. And her long strong lovely legs are well restrained by the hobble chain and she cannot – they cannot break the chain that binds and confines. And the bubbling in the bowls is increasing. And we begin to see bubbles over the surface of the water covering her breasts in the bowls. And the valves are beginning to work, with the initial water vapour becoming replaced by steam. And the steam will exit the one-way valves and is already beginning to turn back into water in the tube leading up to the condenser. And those tubes will fill and the water end up taking the path through the cooling coil – cooled by the outside air as it passes through the coil and the condenser bowl - to drip into the header hopper of water, which has already delivered droplets of cold water to replace that driven off out of the bra bowls by the heating of the bra bowls, but not enough cold water to cool the now fiercely bubbling water in the bra bowls, or therefore to stop Katiann screaming and screaming and screaming and screaming, and dancing her lovely legs and prancing her lovely legs and swinging her gorgeous breasts inside the bowls and making them salmon-leap and screaming and screaming and screaming and salmon-leaping her breasts in the bowls stirring the water and ensuring even-cover of her breasts, basting her breasts unwittingly or otherwise, and dancing her lovely legs and prancing her lovely legs fighting to escape and ripping her nailed wrists her wrists nailed to the log held above her head and screaming and screaming and screaming and salmon-leaping her breasts in the bowls as her breasts are being slowly but inexorably and inevitably taken to the end of the procedure – to the end of her improvement – Katiann’s public improvement.’

‘Well, now – next – I think – no, I’m sure now – yes – they’re reducing the flames so – they’re taking the heat down – reducing the water to simmer. But Katiann’s still screaming and she must have ripped herself to hell, the way she’s been working those glorious legs back and forth trying to escape the pain, she must have ripped herself to hell inside it with the entertainer, and she’s still making her breasts do salmon frolics inside the bowls of her bra, like they were some of those old-style – like they were a couple of goldfish bowls! But she can’t stop – she’s howling with the pain and babbling incoherently – she’s in perfect agony – I – we can hear her begging for mercy; at least that is the tone of her moans between her screams.’

‘But that’s a different sound now. You know I do believe she’s – put it this way, if I didn’t know better – she’s having an orgasm – she’s actually having an orgasm, a totally massive orgasm. She’s having her both of her breasts slowly boiled and she’s having an orgasm!’

‘I think we’ll come away from the outside cameras now please. And cut the sound! Thank you.’

‘That was brilliant commentary Barbara! Truly brilliant!’

‘But don’t you want to show the viewers Katiann’s orgasms?’

‘I think we can return viewers and listeners to normal programmes now, Barbara.’

‘But, before we go, I can’t thank you enough for your contribution. You made me redundant toward the end. I just couldn’t possibly have managed without you. Thank you again.’

‘Thanks also to you, Sarah Smith, our intrepid out-and-about reporter. Thank you Sarah! And thanks too, to our camera operators, sound team, and engineering team. Great stuff girls.’

‘And as one last thing before we go back to central, perhaps we can lighten the gloom that is inevitable when a girl, regrettably, has to undergo improvement.’

‘And perhaps we can cut the outside sound as I requested? Fully please - Thank you. Thank you. We don’t want to listen to that going endlessly on and on, those particular moans and screams.’

‘I think the lighter-mood-moment is that, if I heard you right, Barbara, you said you’d learned – before we came on air it was – in fact I’m sure now it was when we first met - you said Katiann had told you she was due at the Asparagus at 08.00 tonight? The Asparagus is that newly opened gourmets’ establishment everyone’s – the serious press have been raving about isn’t it?’

‘Yes, that’s the place Aileen.’

‘Well we’re looking at, mmm, 08.00 is two hours or so from now by the clock up there in our outside studio truck, so it really looks like Katiann was just a teensy weensy bit optimistic there doesn’t it?’

‘From what’s – from where she is now, she won’t make – well, that’s one engagement our gorgeous but ‘oh so busy socialite’ will miss for sure -’

‘Well, no.’

‘No she won’t Aileen.’

‘No she won’t.’