Rhona "Ripper" Reilly

Medical help rushes to the downed player and the referee wastes no time brandishing his large yellow rectangular plastic paddle and ordering the blonde defender to bare her backside. She appears quite content to sacrifice her bum cheeks in return for stopping the attack on her team's goal, flipping up her short sports skirt and slipping her underwear to her knees in the same motion that ends with her bent at the waist and grabbing her ankles. You muse that she's the first student you've seen wearing knickers since rewriting the rules for the college, so you suppose they must be a compulsory part of the football strip and supersede the dress code. It's nice to see that skirts are an acceptable alternative to shorts, though you can't help noticing that all the university team (except the nearly nude Johanna) are in the former, whilst all their opponents wear the latter.

"Oh, no," says Julia beside you, almost to herself. "That's her second yellow."

"Does that mean she'll be sent off?" You lean closer to ask her.

"Er, no, Jack, not in the women's game. She'll just get a red whipping, which will put her out of action for a while."

Just then, your attention is called back to the action, when the referee commences his chastisement. The implement is thick and heavy and you could swear you can hear the impact even over the hum of the crowd. The defender's bottom and thighs are already heavily bruised from earlier punishments, not least, you suspect, from her coach, but she hardly reacts to the brutal paddling. The swats come rapidly, every couple of seconds, at an intensity that you're sure would overwhelm a less experienced receiver of corporal punishment, but she bravely endures, although when she straightens after the tenth and last stroke, her shoulders heave with sobs. You're too far away to see the tears which are undoubtedly running down her cheeks.

No sooner has the referee finished than the wronged midfielder thanks the medic and leaps to her feet to take the free kick. Unfortunately for her, the defence has had time to organize and even a man down, manages to successfully clear the ball from around the goal. Meanwhile, the spanked player pulls her tight snug knickers up her muscled thighs and over buttocks scarcely more bruised than they were before, albeit considerably more painful. You're not the only one who continues to watch her instead of following the action, while she jogs wincingly over to the touch line where an official is waiting to administer the second part of her disciplinary procedure.

Julia has remained silent for the last few moments, watching the blonde's ordeal just as intently as you, but now she leans over to say something, so you lower your head to bring your ear closer to her mouth, so she doesn't need to shout.

"We'll see how hard coach Rossellini spanks her at half time. Double and he agrees with the referee, equal and he doesn't."

"What do you think?"

"Well, Ripper Reilly's tackles look bad, but they're usually clean; Coach wouldn't tolerate anything else. On the other hand, that doesn't mean Akkabi was putting on an act. It looked to me like there was no fault on either side, but that's why I'm sitting here and not refereeing the match! We'll be getting quite a bit of spanking and injury time if he keeps this up."

You didn't realize Dr. Morgan was such an aficionado of women's football, but you notice that rather than the action, her gaze is firmly on the girl who's just removed her shirt and sports bra and slipped her hands through a pair of loops attached to the top of a robust metal arch beside the pitch at the centre line. The home team's personal implements are arrayed here, since they can't be safely carried during the match, but it's a multi-tailed lash that the assistant referee wields, both the handle and thongs a bright pillar-box red that makes them look cheap and gaudy. Reilly's back is hardly less chastened than her bottom was and even her belly and boobs bear the unmistakable traces of regular thrashings, probably with a strap, but the wicked instrument she has in store promises to be even harsher than she's used to.

The CAR or Chastisement Assistant Referee, as Julia informs you he's called, is a short, bald bloke, his pate tanned nut brown, although his face and hands are incongruously pale. The whipping post is not far from where you're sitting and you have about as good a vantage point as it's possible to get from the stands, which makes you wonder whether Julia chose this position deliberately, on the off-chance that the arch came into use. You still wish that you were a bit closer and can't help leaning forwards when the first lash swings down with vicious **** across Reilly's back, the impact's weight unbalancing her so that she would fall if not for the loops around her wrists.

"Jack?" Julia's voice distracts you momentarily and you turn to see her proffering a pair of grey ceramic opera glasses. Not wanting to question why she has them at a football match, you take them with a smile of thanks and waste no time focusing on the flogging in newly available close-up.

The lash swings again and the blonde howls in agony, wracked with sobs. Now you can see her tears, floods of them soaking her chest, which looks much larger now she's out of her shirt, perhaps unsurprisingly. A third stroke and she can't hold back a scream, anguish written on her beautiful face. The CAR walks round in front and takes aim at her tits, leaving red scourge-marks in his wake and bringing his subject close to total hysteria. Not wanting to hog the glasses, you hand them back to the Tutor for Women, who takes them without looking up and presses them eagerly to her eyes to watch the whip castigate the defender's abdomen. The spanker continues to walk around, returning to his original position at the back, administering another swinging stroke.

Julia gasps and Reilly writhes. The opera glasses are pushed back into your hand and you look through them in time to see another brutal lash, low down on the girl's back, then another, half way between shoulder and rump. Reilly's head drops and she seems exhausted by the relentless thrashing, but it's not over yet. The CAR administers a sideways stroke across her belly and the lower surfaces of her breasts, which elicits the most intense shrieks so far, then stands back and pauses for so long that you almost miss it when he lays on one final lash right across her boobs, sending them bouncing and leaving their owner looking positively nauseous from the pain.

The young defender hangs there momentarily, before edging her hands out of the loop and collapsing to her knees in the grass. Absently, you realize there's been no tipping, but you're too preoccupied by the first sight of her back, a mass of livid weals. Julia sighs and you give back her glasses so she can see the effects of the whipping as well as you can.

"He's really shredded her, hasn't he?" She sounds impressed, almost awed, rather than censuring. You nod.

"I dare say it's a very effective punishment for two yellows in different matches," you reply.

"Yes, indeed. Our league has the lowest rate of offences in the world."

Ripper Reilly finally regains the strength to struggle back into her clothes and just manages to get back onto the pitch when Rossellini substitutes her for a fresh raven-haired brunette. You don't blame him; you doubt the blonde would be good for much after that flogging. Still, with the most interesting (to you) activity complete, you turn your attention back to the action, which does little to keep you in its thrall, with the ball being passed back repeatedly and neither side seeming to have too much desire to attack the opposing goal. The university team is at least doing a better job of putting pressure on the visitors so that they can't run rampant, but the occasional burst of excitement from the spectators isn't, as far as you can tell, reflected in the play. Your mind wanders back to memories of the whipping and you wonder what the dedicated defender has in store from her coach for getting in so much trouble.

Suddenly, Julia gasps and grabs your hand, squeezing it firmly. You notice out of the corner of your eye that she's doing the same with her neighbour on the other side, then you turn your full attention back to the match, trying to work out what has her so animated.