The Borstal Mistress

By Kivutar Amy Koski

Yet another scorching sizzler, a full length novel from the pen of the "QUEEN OF KINK" Kivutar Amy Koski...

THE BORSTAL MISTRESS

It is 1950 and Lydney Bridge Borstal institution is failing: miserably. A new governor is needed, to sweep away the corruption and rebellious behaviour. But the new governor is...a governess! Joanne Welland comes with the strict reputation of a martinet, but she gets results. She seems to enjoy inflicting punishments, as does the local magistrate, Lady Soames. With so many wild and frustrated young men under lock and key there will be all the strict discipline you might imagine. Sound intriguing? You can bet it is, especially when Miss Welland initiates the use of the cane and rubber strap to enforce her strict rule. The whipping horse in the Punishment Room is probably going to be very busy, and when she discovers her male assistant governor's dark secret...
A tale of canes, rubber punishment straps and paddles, whipping benches, rubber corsets and gloves, and chastity tubes (among other things!) In a Borstal, as well as in everyday life, discipline is the key, and the key is best held by a strict woman.

A full-length fast-paced novel of 50,000 words with hot Fem Dom action and a surprisingly warming end. Don't forget to visit Kivutar Amy Koski's facebook page for extended excerpts and news of the latest releases.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kivutar Amy Koski
• Release date: Jun 15, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311710536

Kivutar Amy Koski

It's been a long journey from the young girl starting out as a new legal graduate, fresh from university. My father was Finnish, and I was brought up in Birmingham. I met Bruno my future husband when he was stationed in Poole many years ago. I moved often in those days, the requirements of the service being paramount, and we ended up here in Scotland at Arbroath. Together we we found a beautiful 10-acre croft (farm) that needed renovation. It overlooks the Moray Firth in the scenic Scottish Highlands. We bought it, and Bruno being very practical and skilled we restored the house and barns, stables etc.It is no accident I write the things I do: both Bruno and I have a terrible weakness for BDSM, femdom and rubber (especially rubber). We have converted one of the haylofts into a fully-equipped punishment/play room, with a flogging horse, vacuum bed, milking stool and restraint spider to name but a few. I can assure you I have the best behaved husband it is possible to imagine! His face is a mixture of fear and desire when I tell him to fetch the key, unlock the playroom and await my pleasure.I write a good deal; it's hard work but I love it and there are those who say I have a talent. I write other more conventional historical romances (with a twist), under another name - it serves to keep the literary establishment at bay. No one who writes the way I do, about the subjects I do, would ever be taken seriously by the publishing industry as the author of a 'literary' piece so that's the way it has to be unfortunately. Both Oscar Wilde and D H Lawrence would have been better served heeding that dictum. I have both a volume of contemporary poetry and a WW1 novel available, as well as another couple in the pipeline. I have so far been discovered by three readers, who have uncovered my nom de plume, (I have no idea how) and I suppose it makes for a bit of fun - no doubt there will be other sleuths who make the discovery.We are considering moving to the sun - it may come off, we have seriously looked at small villas in the quiet mountain areas of Cyprus, Spain, Greek islands and so forth, and the idea of writing in that environment appeals. If it happens it won't be for a year or so, due to personal complications, but we have our fingers crossed. I am always available to chat - I love ideas and swapping personal experiences, but I am often busy and don't get the time I'd like to talk with those of a like mind. I do go on my facebook page regularly, and that is normally the best place to get an instant response. Email is slower, but I check my mails normally every day, so it's a sure process. I love fresh ideas and perspectives, occasionally I work them into my books, and in the past I have included the names of readers in little cameos (you know who you are lol) which I find makes for a piquant little taster of mischief. I hope I provide the kind of book rarely available elsewhere - all my work is of a professional well-edited standard: I have to say not all the indie books I've seen can say that, there are some shocking examples out there, but also some good ones. As ever beauty is in the eye of the beholder I suppose. xxx

Book preview

The Borstal Mistress

Kivutar Amy Koski

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First published in Great Britain by PLP Books, 2015.

The moral right of Kivutar Amy Koski to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the copyrights designs and patents act of 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

©Kivutar Amy Koski 2015

ISBN 9781311710536

THIS BOOK CONTAINS ADULT MATERIAL INCLUDING SCENES OF DOMINATION AND PUNISHMENT. AS SUCH IT IS NOT INTENDED FOR MINORS OR THOSE COUNTRIES WHERE SUCH MATERIAL IS ILLEGAL. PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS BOOK IF YOU MAY BE SHOCKED OR OFFENDED BY EXPLICIT MATERIAL.

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Borstal: (noun) A British institution for the imprisonment and correction of young offenders up to the age of twenty-three. Named after the village in Kent where the first such institution was established (1903). Conceived as a reforming shock with educational facilities, physical training and strictly enforced discipline. The Borstal system ended in 1982, replaced by the milder Young Offenders Institute.

New English Encyclopaedia

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Rubber Missy held up high,

To kiss the boys and make them cry.

Across your arse a stinging pain,

Dare to misbehave again!

(1930’s north of England Borstal song)

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1: THE NEW BROOM

2: A DATE WITH MISSY

3: DOWN PAYMENT

4: DAY OF RECKONING

5: PREPARING THE GROUND

6: JANE THE CANE

7: THE VISITING JUSTICE

8; THE HARDEST DISCIPLINE OF ALL

9: MILADY

10: DERELICTION OF DUTY

11: NEW TOYS

12: SEVERE PUNISHMENT

13: LEARNING LESSONS

14: STOPPING A VERY BAD HABIT

15: SNARE THE BUNNY

16: NEW BLOOD

17: A LITTLE LIGHT ROLE REVERSAL

18: SANDRA GETS A PET

19: NO CREDIBLE DETERRENT

20: RIDING THE DONKEY

21: TEA WITH THE SCHOOLMISTRESS

22: A PROPER PUNISHMENT

23: LIFE WITHOUT PAROLE

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1: THE NEW BROOM

Mr Bennett was going into semi-retirement, to pursue a career in politics by standing in the forthcoming 1950 general election – a role for which he was particularly suited. Mr Bennett had been the Governor at Lydney Bridge for eleven years, during which time the institution had become a byword for inefficiency, corruption and poor educational standards of the young men held there in detention. There were several factions within the Borstal that vied with each other under the lax discipline for control of the cell blocks, and even the attached Approved School in the grounds suffered from the malaise.

Gillian Welland surveyed the Board of Governors from her seat in a composed and relaxed manner. She was every bit as collected and cool as her demeanour suggested, her crisp, white, high-necked blouse just visible below the rather severely cut jacket. Many of the male eyes in the room averted their gaze from the charcoal grey seamed stockings, the navy blue skirt and the matching stiletto-heeled shoes which were all clearly on view beneath the desk to those seated on the far side of the room. The Reverend Tillotson rubbed the side of his nose, nervously. Gillian Welland came with a track record of success and excellence in all that she touched, but had also the reputation of a martinet: a quirky and awkward customer at the best of times; but effective: very effective. Horace Tillotson sneaked yet another look at the curved figure, the unblemished face and hair of what was, indisputably, an extremely attractive forty-year-old woman of considerable presence. Unconsciously he reached up to adjust his dog collar, swallowing and clearing his throat before speaking.

I believe we are all – beg pardon, mostly – in agreement on this matter. Lydney Bridge is in need of a firm hand at the tiller, and your record, Miss Welland, speaks for itself. Your reform of the girls’ Borstal at Hallingham was nothing short of spectacular, as is your performance as Visiting Justice for the Borstals in Yorkshire. Did you not wish to continue your career in accountancy when the war ended? I see you are still chartered... Gillian scanned the man’s features behind his small glasses and smiled, before speaking. It was the smile of a tiger.

"Are you suggesting that a woman isn’t capable of penal reform, reverend? You are fully aware of my previous positions and the standards I inflict?" The last word was emphasised with care, and it started the brigadier off again.

We are all aware of your past achievements, Miss Welland, but that was a female institution; your methods and ideas just aren’t suitable for a male Borstal. We at Lydney Bridge have always relied upon firm but fair discipline – the birch, Miss Welland – the birch: applied to the bare backside of the culprit. Punishment straps are for girls. They will not deter a young man hell bent on making trouble. They’ll laugh at you up their sleeves!

Tell me, Brigadier Soames, just how effective has your birch been? Just how exactly would you sum up the current state of the Borstal you all oversee? Her tone was firm, but low and unruffled, and the resulting silence was deafening. The unrest and lack of order in Lydney Bridge was precisely why she had been shortlisted. She met the glance of the brigadier with a cool stare, full of self-assurance. I can guarantee that any young man who is subject to a strapping under my regime will not quickly forget the experience. The brigadier snorted, albeit under his breath, attracting a contemptuous look from Gillian Welland.

If you had ever been on the receiving end of a rubber strap, brigadier, you would not dismiss the experience so lightly; perhaps I might demonstrate its efficacy to you in person: purely in the interests of science you understand? There were several intakes of breath, then a long silence; near the back she was sure she heard a suppressed snigger. Most of the faces were turned towards the brigadier who seemed to be held in the stare of Miss Welland, much as a rabbit is fascinated by a stoat. He laughed, but nervously; he had a vision of this fearsome woman punishing him with a birch. His loins were stirring and he maintained his composure with some effort.

If I decide to take you up on that, Miss Welland, I’ll be sure to let you know. His eyes did not manage to meet hers however and she smiled sweetly, reading his thoughts, before looking at the reverend: the Chairman of Governors.

"We are agreed by majority decision, Miss Welland. The post of Governor – forgive me – Governess of Lydney Bridge Borstal and Approved School is offered to you on the terms and conditions we discussed last week. If you’d be good enough to confirm in writing...?"

I shall do so immediately; I can promise you results gentlemen: I do not tolerate failure of any kind. I do hope you are prepared for the seismic consequences? There was a long silence before the brigadier coughed lightly. It was noted by the reverend that the brigadier seemed a little flustered...

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The new Governess is here, she wants you in the study at once. Stephen Blake shrugged but his features showed his irritation. Since Reg Bennett’s retirement he’d stepped up from Assistant Governor to run the place temporarily, acting as Governor, with a promise from Brigadier Sir Geoffrey Soames that the permanent position was his. Now he was being summoned, by someone who had landed his job: and a woman to boot. He fumed silently, but calmed himself on the walk to the governor’s study. After all this was only a woman, she should be easily manipulated. His own track record was impressive after all: senior staff sergeant in a military prison for the duration of the war, released back to the prison service in 1947: back to good old Lydney Bridge. Reg Bennett had maintained all the little bonuses for them both during the hostilities: the special deals with local suppliers, the hiring out of the older lads to local farms and businesses with the profits split equally between the two of them. He wondered how he would maintain that arrangement in the presence of this new woman; he’d adjusted to the extra income and he was sure he could manage a mere female. No problem at all: he’d managed majors, colonels, even the brigadier with total assurance; this woman would be easy.

He knocked, and entered when the cool voice of authority told him to, but he was unprepared for what he saw. He’d expected a withered old battleaxe, but Gillian Welland was gorgeous. Around forty – his own age – with shoulder-length brown hair, styled beautifully. Her hazel eyes were firm, her features pretty but strong, with a jawline to match. This was no shrinking violet and there was the stirring of misgivings in his stomach. Something else too: attraction, the stiffening in his groin as he took in the rounded curves beneath her skirt and blouse; the air of control and authority which sat so naturally on her pretty shoulders. He groaned inwardly as the weakness returned and tried to hold it in check. He’d always found strong dominant women attractive – fantasised often about them – but had never been in a relationship with one: with any woman in fact, since he’d joined the service. He was married to the job and his career came first.

Blake: Chief Officer. Stephen James: forty. Take a seat, Stephen James Blake. We have some things to clarify. Her tone was firm, yet casual, and he found his subterranean desires tingling again as he throbbed. He sat: she surveyed him coolly. He throbbed some more and she seemed to be reading him, just as she was reading the buff file before her eyes – his file. The bloody woman was reading all about him: his personal details, assessments, psychological and practical test results, all the things he would dearly like to read for himself.

Unmarried: Acting Assistant Governor. Hmm: we’ll need to see how it goes over the coming month before I decide on that. We’ve hardly begun to know each other. How do you feel about not getting the job, Blake? Her eyes were bright and piercing, and again she was reading him. Can you see yourself performing satisfactorily beneath me? Her terminology was not helping his condition and he tried to master the aching in his groin. He saw her smile faintly and swallowed before replying.

Yes, ma’am; I’m disappointed not to get the job, obviously, but I’m quite used to the chain of command and the discipline that goes with it.

Good, I’m pleased to hear it. I’m big on discipline, Blake – I insist upon it in fact: for the inmates of course, but more especially for my staff. I tolerate no nonsense: none whatsoever. Under my regime there will be no slacking, no mistakes and no failure to meet my standards. Do I make myself clear, Blake?

Yes, ma’am. Perfectly clear. He could feel himself hardening: the bloody thing was out of control almost, and he was starting to sweat. If she noticed his condition there would be all kinds of trouble and he made a superhuman effort to impose self-restraint. She was still holding his gaze and her lips were still curled in a faint smile, as though she could read his every dirty thought. He felt himself blushing, but if she’d noticed she hadn’t mentioned it.

Very well. We need to discuss punishment. She pointed to the table by the window and he noticed, for the first time, the Borstal’s tired and motley collection of canes and birches. She’d collected all of them together. You may dispose of those, they are no longer required. I have a new, more effective, solution to our disciplinary ills. She stood and lifted a long, slim leather case onto the desk; clicking the catches and watching it as it unrolled into a series of sleeves holding various implements of correction. He watched her withdraw five long canes and two shiny rubber straps with one-piece rubber handles. He was fascinated.

"The rules are very simple, Blake. I expect discipline to be enforced at all times, without fear or favour. I’m particularly targeting bullying. There will be no bullying or fighting. The new canes are standard issue senior rods, and therefore will not break the skin under controlled use. Any officer may use these at their discretion, for a maximum of three strokes on juniors and six strokes on seniors, without my authorisation. That is the only punishment permitted on juniors without my approval; the straps will be reserved for seniors unless I say so. Understood?"

Yes ma’am; crystal clear. He swallowed again. Are these straps so severe, ma’am? I know they’re used widely up north, but I have no experience of them at all.

You would do well to keep it that way, Blake. She lifted and eyebrow at him, her lips betraying a faint smile. "They are severe indeed. If you were punished with either the Mistress or Queen strap you would never forget it." Her smile was visibly wider now, as though she was relishing the very prospect, and it made him harder still. She took the shorter of the straps and lifted it, showing him the shivering rubber blade shining wickedly. It moved with a life almost of its own, the gleaming rubber perforated with a neat pattern of holes over most of its twenty-four inches to let the air through, so the strap would meet its target with maximum power and speed. Without warning she brought it down with a fearsome crack on the desk. Stephen shivered in a mixture of awe and fascination.

Excruciatingly painful, Blake, especially when applied to the bare bottom – which in this establishment will always be the case. Her voice was silky, purring almost. "These are similar to the ones used in Scotland – called a tawse – but there they use leather. These rubber ones are more consistently severe. They maintain their ferocity without care: they do not dry out and require oiling. They are thicker and therefore heavier, and