Story from Blushes Supplement 16.
Dr Gifford's research project
He got their names from his colleague Dr Bawland in the University Health Service. There was a medical check-up at the beginning of the first term for all students – male as well as female but of course we are only talking about female students. Dr Gifford was only interested in female students (as indeed was Dr Bawland himself) and it was only female students, these first-year girls conveniently in for their medicals, whose names would be supplied by the latter. Not all female students by any means but ones here and there whom Dr Bawland thought Dr Gifford would find suitable for his purpose. Dr Bawland knew what type his colleagues wanted although he did not enquire too closely into his interest and activities. He knew enough, though, to guess that it would not stand up too well to a lot of public scrutiny. The papers especially, hysterical sensation-seekers that they were, would no doubt have a field day. For this reason one did have to be careful in suggesting a name.
The papers would also no doubt have had a field day with Dr Bawland if they had known all the details about him; although he was the medical adviser and thus could claim to be on legitimate grounds both in his intimate questioning of a girl student and his equally (or more?) intimate examination of her person. Stripped down and then up on his examination couch, on her back, knees raised and apart; and subsequently required to turn over and raise herself on hands and knees. None of this, naturally, was necessary for male students.
But it was all necessary and routine for young women, as Dr Bawland would tell them, and a fresh and inexperienced girl of 18 or 19 was not going to argue or refuse. And equally she was not going to make any subsequent fuss, preferring to keep quiet and forget all about it. Not that Dr Bawland's examination was easy to forget about, not right away at least.
The phone call from Dr Gifford would come quite soon after her check-up, for any girl whose name had been passed on. Dr Gifford wanted to meet them as early as possible, before they had settled in and got their bearings. He wanted an initial friendly chat in which to size up his colleague's offering. Not all would, in his estimation, be suitable but in any case he didn't wish for large numbers. He was selective and indeed needed to be. Selective and circumspect. Angela Farley got her phone call two days after her appointment with Dr Bawland. Introducing himself Dr Gifford said he was also in the University Medical Department and had a short questionnaire he would like her to answer. Perhaps they could meet for coffee? Dr Gifford on the phone sounded very pleasant and Angela agreed, although only two days after her visit to Dr Bawland the words 'Medical Department' still made her shiver. Mid-morning the next day was agreed, when Angela had an hour free from lectures. A little coffee-shop not far from the main university building.
Dr Gifford at once liked, very much, what he saw. A pretty, shy-looking girl, smartly dressed, under her undergraduate gown in blouse and full skirt with stockings and high-heeled courts. (In the late 1950's of course girls did dress smartly, unlike more recent years when girl students can look like something the cat has dragged in.) Not only pretty but shapely too, filling out the blouse and skirt to appetising effect. And nice legs as well in the seamed stockings. Yes, very nice.
Not only all this, but she did seem very much the type. Not at all bold or self-confident, flushing prettily when he introduced himself. Flushing a bit more when he mentioned Dr Bawland – at the thought, no doubt, that Dr Gifford might know what she had had to submit to on that other doctor's couch. Those hands, and at the same time the questioning: 'Do you ever give yourself pleasure, Angela? Like this? No need to be shy; most girls do it, you know.' The thought that this Dr Gifford could possibly know about that was bound to make a girl flush. Not that Dr Gifford was simply in the business of getting hold of shy and pretty girls to work his way with. But his work, his research, was sensitive, so easy to be misunderstood by the common herd. So shy girls were the ones, unsure of themselves, who were not going to cause a stir. As for wanting her to be pretty, and shapely besides – well, he was only human after all.
Angela, for her part, saw a pleasant and friendly man in his forties. Dr Bawland had also been a pleasant and friendly man in his forties – at least pleasant and friendly until he had asked her to take all her clothes off 'except the suspender belt and stockings' – but Angela was trying to forget all that.
Fortunately the saying 'once bitten twice shy' doesn't always hold true; and Angela was still feeling rather lost, and in particular had not yet found what every nice girl of 19 wants although she does not always want to say so, which is a nice friend of the opposite sex. Dr Gifford was certainly not seen as a prospective boyfriend (he was old enough to be her father!) but he did seem very pleasant and understanding. The pleasant and personable Dr Gifford having observed that this pretty young lady was very much what he wanted, quickly moved on from his questionnaire (which in fact did not amount to anything much) to speak of this special research he was doing. Not any details, only really to say that he needed assistance, a helper, a subject if you like. And he would very much like Angela's help.
And as he was such a pleasant person, Angela thought, well, why not? Why not go along to his flat tomorrow evening as he wanted. The thought was indeed quite exciting. It would certainly be better than sitting in her room studying, which Angela had done every evening except Saturday when she had gone to the dance but hadn't enjoyed it. The boys she would have liked to dance with had all been too shy to ask and the ones who had asked had not been nice at all. Third-year students smelling of beer who had groped her on the dance floor (though nothing like Dr Bawland!). Yes, it would be a change to go to Dr Gifford's flat. It would be exciting. Having got her agreement, Dr Gifford went on to mention that as the work was incomplete and was in a way sensitive he did not want it mentioned to anyone...
Dr Gifford's work was to do with pain. Pain perception and pain thresholds and also in a related way the sense of embarrassment.
He told Angela this quite soon after she arrived on Wednesday evening. As soon as they were seated in his lounge with a cup of coffee, Angela having said, 'no thanks', she didn't want sherry. Strike while the iron was hot, was Dr Gifford's motto once the subject was in the privacy of his flat.
The pretty face registered bewilderment at his words – a not common reaction. He noted with approval that she had put on more make-up this evening, nothing brash but the full lips were a nice pinky-red and there was eye-shadow. There was no gown this evening, naturally, just a light coat which he had now hung up, and he also noted with approval the twin bulges of her fullish tits pushing out the front of the quite-tight navy sweater. There was also a full blue and black wool skirt and the nylons and high-heeled courts again. Very nice. Dr Gifford thought for a moment of George Bawland, with her up on his couch in just her suspender belt and stockings, giving her the old 'Do you ever play with yourself?' routine.
And then he thought, of course... He smiled reassuringly at the bewildered look. 'Well let me give an example. I don't know if you were caned at school but if, say, you were caned on your hand you would feel pain but not a lot of embarrassment I imagine. But if you were, for example, Angela, caned on your bottom, with your skirt up and bending over, you would feel embarrassment as well as the pain. And if of course you were made to take your knickers down and got it on your bare bottom – well that would be more embarrassing still though the pain would be about the same.' The pretty face rapidly colouring as the shocking words with their shocking images were taken in. Shocking because although girls in theory could be caned at school, very few, certainly very few university entrants, actually had been. And even if you knew of a girl being caned it would have been on the hand. Never on the bottom. Never, ever on the bare bottom.
Dr Gifford smiling brightly, enjoying his pretty guest's evident discomfiture. 'You see what I mean,' he added, eyeing her, thinking of what was under that full skirt.
Angela made some mumbled reply, picking up her coffee cup to hide her confusion. Dr Gifford was continuing, talking about the psychology of pain and its relationship with the psychological state of embarrassment. Stressing what an important study it was and how it was so important to have first-hand experimental data if one was to get a proper understanding. He needed subjects, participants, to aid his work. Clearly one could not use just anyone, what one needed was a bright, intelligent co-worker. His eyes were shining. He was sure Angela would be prepared to help.
Angela not knowing what to say, not at all sure what he wanted. He couldn't mean... Dr Gifford pressing her. Somehow she heard herself saying that she would of course like to help...
Dr Gifford jumping smartly to his feet. A quick introduction before she fully realized... Striding over to a cupboard and coming back with a cane in his hand. Asking Angela to please stand.
In something like a trance – surely this couldn't really be happening? – Angela got to her feet, and automatically obeyed Dr Gifford's instruction to hold out her hand. Palm up, waist high. Dr Gifford's cane right away rising and sharply cutting down.
The red-hot pain instantly dispelling that trance-like feeling. Angela jerking forward from the waist, desperately hugging the frantic hand to her. Blinking away sudden hot tears. Seconds later Dr Gifford, cane abandoned, had his arm round her. Soothing words in her ear, though Angela was in too shocked a state to really hear. How could he have done that!! Sitting on the sofa again and now blankly accepting the glass of sherry which Dr Gifford produced. Partly choking as it went down. Her clenched hand was still burning. Dr Gifford had his arm round her again, which fell nice if you could forget what a dreadful thing the arm had just done. Angela's head clearer now. Dr Gifford telling her it had only been a test, a demonstration. He wanted to know how it felt. And he wanted to see it, her burning hand. Shakily she let him take it. He sounded quite calm: the scientist objectively studying a phenomenon. Angela could not know, of course, of that thing, stiff and quivering with excitement, in the front of Dr Gifford's trousers. Unbelievably he did it again before she left. Told her he needed to do it a second time, on her other hand, and Angela didn't know how or why, but she was somehow standing holding out her left hand. For a second red-hot cut of that fiendish cane. The sharp cry of pain again afterwards. This time Dr Gifford put both arms round her. And then did something else as shocking in its way as the cane.
He let go of her and turned her round so that her back was towards him. And then his two hands slid round under Angela's arms to take hold of her tits. She gave another strangled gasp. Dr Bawland had handled them in his examination but that, in his examination room, was somehow quite different. This was Dr Gifford's flat where she had just had coffee and sherry. Where also Dr Gifford had caned both of her palms. Her still burning hands went automatically to the tightly clutching male hands, but he didn't let go.
'Tell me how this feels. Angela. Has the cane affected their sensitivity? Do your breasts feel aroused at all?' Dr Gifford was continuing to squeeze and mound her firm, full tits through her sweater.
* * * *
Confirmation of Results
Two days later, 10 o'clock, after her only lecture that morning, Angela was somehow walking back to Dr Gifford's flat again. She didn't want to – or at least 90 per cent of her didn't want to. There was perhaps a tiny part of her that said he was a nice understanding man who had wanted to know how she was getting on, how she was settling in. He was a person – and a man – whom she could talk to. But that was only the bits when he wasn't wanting her co-operation on this mind-numbing project he was doing. When he wasn't wanting to cane her hands. And then intimately fondle her boobs. Memories of that last visit still made her tremble. And now she was going again...
He had been so persuasive on the phone. Saying of course she wanted to come, don't be a silly girl. And she had agreed to help him, to take part. In fact she had never actually said that. But...
Dr Gifford, all friendly smiles, had the coffee ready. He had been almost sure she would turn up. He knew girls by now, knew their minds, knew when he'd got through to them. She wouldn't want to of course, she would be very scared but at the same time she would feel she was obliged to. And on the second visit one went boldly forward without allowing time for further doubts. Forward to just about the whole thing. Cane the hand on the first visit and if she took that, then on the second... There was just the slightest chance that she would be too scared and not show up: a possibility to add that extra piquancy to his wailing. But the bell had rung, on time, just as, deep down, he had been sure it would.
Coming from a lecture, Angela had her gown on over blouse and skirt. Nice. Dr Gifford liked the gown. When he had her fully trained he would make her wear just the gown... But not today of course. Today...
Not immediately. First some reassuring general chat over the coffee, to put her at ease. Or partially. She'd been having some slight problems with her landlady. Ask about that, let her talk, about those little problems. And then... Actually later when she had got used to it he would do it round at her place, her bed-sit. An extra dimension. The delicious girl in a dead fright that the landlady might somehow come in. As she was taking off the blouse and skirt. As she was bending over... Oh yes. But that was in the future. Today...
Smiling disarmingly, hiding his excitement. 'Well, Angela, it is extremely pleasant sitting here chatting with such a pretty girl, but we were going to do some more on my project, weren't we? Yes? Today... I want you to take your skirt off?'
She just sat there. Stunned by the though perhaps. Her pink tongue unconsciously appearing to moisten the full lips that this morning had little or no lipstick on. She began to shake her head.
Dr Gifford briskly on his feet. And pulling Angela to her feet. Action. Before the mind could build up its rejection patterns. 'Come on. I can do it if you want...'
'No!' Frantically shaking her head. 'I can't!' Trying to push him away.
'Of course you can, Angela. You had your skirt off for Dr Bawland. You had everything off except your stockings and suspender belt, I expect. Didn't you?' That shocking memory. And Dr Gifford did know. Gasping 'No' but weakly now as forceful Dr Gifford's hands were inside her gown at her waist. At the zipper of her skirt. Opening it, sliding the skirt down. She wasn't fighting it now. A white slip which happily proved to be a waist slip so that could be tugged down as well. White knickers, taut over rounded hips and the ripe swell of her pubis. Pale thighs crossed by the straps of a pure white satin suspender belt. The darker rims of her tan stockings...
She numbly stepped out of the skirt and slip. Somehow accepting now what was happening. Part of her must have guessed this would happen. That part of her mind was accepting it while the other part, the part that wanted to scream NO, was too stunned to do anything. She stood leaning on the sofa back for support. Trembling. The gown was now covering the white things, the whiter knickers.
Dr Gifford making a quick decision. Not the cane right now perhaps. Instead... Sitting back down on the sofa and taking the quivering girl's arm. Dragging her down. Over his lap.
'I'm not going to cane you. Not now. I'm going to spank your bottom. I'm going to take your knickers down and spank it bare. I shall want to know your reaction of course. There will no doubt be a large embarrassment component...'
A wailing, gasping sound but he had her down now, head low and bottom in position. Grabbing up the loose black gown, up over her shoulders. And then fingers in the waistband of the virginal white pants.
Tugging. Right off of the ripely swelling hemispheres. Angela's bottom suddenly bare. And Dr Gifford's right hand sliding intimately, shockingly, over the warm cheeks. Squeezing. Fondling. His voice:
'How does this feel? You have never had your bottom bared for a spanking before, I take it, Angela? Is it very embarrassing for you? Of course you had it bare for Dr Bawland but that was different. That was a clinical situation. When a girl is over a man's lap for a spanking there is a highly personal element. Mmm?'
Angela was not responding to any of this. It was just too awful. She wanted to faint, so that she wouldn't know what was happening, but she wasn't fainting, her mind was crystal clear.
'Now I'm going to start spanking...'
Crying out as the palm of his hand cracked down. Again and again, sharp exclamations of pain, as Dr Gifford's hand came down repeatedly in hard, crisp smacks. A man's hand does not have quite the same shock impact as a stroke of the cane but the cumulative effect can be almost as devastating as the sensitive flesh of a girl's bottom becomes more and more tender. There is, as well, the sense of helpless impotence as she is firmly held by that strong male arm in spite of her inevitable struggles against the stinging pain. Plus the shockingly personal nature of what is happening. Oh yes, it can be devastating all right, and well before Dr Gifford had finished the hot salt tears were flowing. Jerky sobs mixed in with the gasp and yelps.
At the end of it Dr Gifford could probably not have got any intelligible comment out of Angela if he had wanted to, but he did not in any case try. The first proper session with a girl, a spanking or caning of her bottom, was usually such that coherent answers to questions was not on. The main point was that he had done it and she had taken it.
He left her to pull her knickers back up and replace her slip and skirt while he went out to make some coffee. Understanding and reassurance in large measures were needed now, because this was very much the stage at which you could lose a girl. She could leave and refuse ever to come back: refuse all blandishments, and you couldn't force her. So now it was essential to be extra nice and understanding. Refer to what had happened briefly, thank her for her co-operation, which has been most valuable. But then go on to other matters.
Walking away from Dr Gifford's flat half an hour later, Angela told herself she would never, ever go there again. What had happened was scarcely believable but it had happened and she would not ever let it happen again. Dr Gifford had said he would like to see her at the weekend and she had mumbled something, not really yes or no; but she wouldn't go.
And she didn't. He called up and Angela said she had a lot of work to do. Dr Gifford didn't press it. He said he was awfully disappointed that he wouldn't be seeing her but he understood she had to work. He would call again in the week. I won't come, Angela mouthed silently into the phone. And she didn't either: said the same when he called. She had work to do. It would have been nice to say she had a date, was going out with a boy, but that would not have been true.
She went to the dance again on Saturday. Hopeful: but there was no nice interesting boy, only those loud-mouthed groping ones. When a girl has been three weeks at university and not clicked she is convinced she never will. Dr Gifford called her again on Sunday morning and initially got the same reply: she had to work. This time, though, sensing that the time was ripe he was more persistent. And successful. Angela at last agreeing to go out, a drive in the country.
Arguments and protestations in a secluded glade in some quiet woods. But Dr Gilford at last succeeded in getting another session for his work. Succeeding in taking Angela's knickers down and spanking her bottom again.
Two days later she was back al his flat, though again she had vowed she wouldn't go. This time Dr Gifford caned her bottom for the first time.