The Club – the story in two parts

The Club - part one
Story from Blushes 07.

Across a golf course, half-hidden by tall trees and flanked by neat lawns, one of those houses that an estate agent might describe as 'substantial' was hosting the seventy third meeting of the 'selection committee' of one of the most exclusive organisations in the country, Masonic Societies not excepted.

The lady of the house was away visiting her sister in Bournemouth; The Committee had no need to fear interruptions - they were free to concentrate completely upon the 'Candidate' which kindly providence had provided for their delectation that afternoon.

Through the terrace windows of the sitting room at the back of the house, golfers could be seen wheeling their trolleys across fairways and taking detours through small copses and around bunkers. Distant though these perambulating figures were, the young subject of the committee's appraisal felt for all the world as though she were on public exhibition, even though commonsense told her that it was unlikely that anyone on the golf course would be able to see into the house. Yet, although the outside world was actually unaware of her presence in that most private room, the inescapable fact was that the pretty, chestnut haired girl was on show and with ample reason to be feeling acutely embarrassed about it too!

Four chairs, on which were seated the members of the committee, had been placed at the corners of a small rug, each chair and its occupant facing into the hollow square. In the middle of the rug, and at the focal point of everyone's attention, the girl could hardly have been dressed more provocatively, considering that each pair of eyes, as they wandered and loitered and lingered here and there about her saucily endowed young figure, were windows onto the souls of some very lasciviously-minded gentlemen indeed!

None of those attentively-watching roués could have failed to guess that their visitor had at some time been a member of the Girl Guides, and it would not have taken much imagination to have worked out from the close fitting skimpiness of what was left of the Guide uniform, due allowance being made for those girl-shape enhancing alterations that had been made to it, that it's wearer must first have been fitted out in that particular outfit at least two years, and a couple of smaller sizes ago! No Girl Guide one would ordinarily see, no matter how lustily embosomed, could have countenanced appearing in public with her breasts so lewdly uplifted and blue cuddled; with her nipples made prominent even without erection, simply by the closeness of the fit of her uniform blouse; as were the deliciously handful-sized young tits which this 'Girl Guide' thrust unwillingly yet unavoidably out in front of her. Badges on the breast pockets pulled at their stitching - as did the pockets themselves - and enhanced the out thrusting burgeoning of the girl's firm and up tilted titties. Buttons tugged at buttonholes and threatened to disengage on the instant, at the onset of a passage of heavy breathing. Lanyards, tags, tapes, and name panels, all were arranged in such a way as to highlight the uniform and to catch the eye, yet all conspired to lead the onlooker's attention to those succulently out-pressing young breasts.

Pulled in snugly at the waist, the blouse led the eye down to navy blue shorts with white piping at the side seams, not entirely authentic Girl Guide rig, but once seen, enough to persuade anyone with a passing interest in teenaged female anatomy that such a change in Guides uniforms could only make for greater appreciation of the movement's underlying qualities and substantially inflate 'Bob A Job Week' into 'Fiver A Peek Week' if only you could have one of the little darlings come and dig up your garden!

The shorts were a delight in themselves. Tight around the out swells and incurves of the 'Guides' impudently cheeked bum, the legs were somehow still loose where their edges gave way to bare girl-flesh at hip and thigh top and under-buttock, so that in the imagination a finger slipped up between shorts and skin might traverse the high-cut hip and slide down the cross-bum cheek diagonal and still have just enough freedom to interlope between close pressed inner thighs and seek out warmth and inviting moisture in shadowed nooks. And yet again, this finger-tempting looseness of fit around much of the edges of the shorts somehow snugged up around the girl's plump pubic swell, the indiscreet centre seam being perfectly placed and sufficiently taut-stretched in a vertical direction as to coax a visible labial division precisely in the middle at the very apex of bare and soft-skinned thighs.

Upon this tantalisingly displayed involution, two pairs of eyes rested in between excursions up and down, while the girl's bottom too, and the palm-tingling slap-ability of the backs of her thighs, caught the eye of those two of the committee immediately presented with the half-bared aspect of the girl's decidedly asking-for-it bum. Ankle socks, clean and crisp against lightly tanned claves, and shined-up black patent shoes with flat, school-girl heels, neatened the whole presentation; those shoes, turning slightly inward at the toes as would those of a child as her confidence slipped away from her moment by moment, were what the girl's eyes focussed upon, for want of anywhere else to look not rife with the risk of encountering an ironically smiling face, as she fought back her feeling of helplessness and framed the desperately supplicant word on her soft pink lips.

"Please -"

"Please, sir," prompted Alec, with a patient smile.

The girl stammered a "Sorry -" then licked her lips with the tip of her tongue. She tried again.

"Please sir -" The note of humiliated pleading in her soft voice did not go unappreciated; around the room tweedy twitches and worsted stirrings in seated laps recognised the promise that the girl was beginning to show.

"Please, what, Charlotte?" enquired the "Chairman" of these proceedings, with a benign and sympathetic smile.

"Please -" Charlotte hesitated, confused.

Asked directly, "what?" she found that she couldn't exactly say what.

"P-please sir - I'm - I'm," her protest stumbled and lapsed into silence.

"Think she's tryin' to say she's shy, Mr Chairman?"

"I think that's what it is, old boy," murmured Algernon; he raised his voice so that the girl turned nervously towards him "Don't want to show us your little titties, my dear? Eh? That what it is?" Charlotte's pink cheeks warmed instantly - she cast her eyes down to the floor again in consternation.

"Not so little titties," said Max, unhelpfully.

Charlotte's freshening blushes scorched her cheeks.

"Rather nice titties, actually," chimed in George.

"Perhaps it's because she's not wearing a bra," said Algernon.

"Tut-tut," cooed Max. "Naughty little Charlotte - eh? Naughty little girl, aren't you, hmm?" Charlotte's hot cheeks positively glowed with shame!

"Vote," said the Chairman, keeping order, "As to whether or not the committee wishes to have a peep at this young lady's tits, her protests notwithstanding."

"Hear, hear," said George enthusiastically.

"All those in favour?"

"Aye."

"Aye."

"Most certainly!" declared Max.

"Motion carried," said the Chairman unsurprisedly.

"And a stroke of the strap, for being awkward," suggested someone.

"Stroke of the cane, old boy," insisted Algernon. "Lovely cheeky young bottom like that? Needs the cane, that's what I say!"

"Ooogh!" That's what Charlotte said, though under her breath.

"Vote," said George. "I vote for the cane too!"

"Haven't seen her bottom yet!" complained Max. "I say we decide once we've got her pants down, that's what I say."

"Let's have 'em down, then!" said George.

"Order!" said the Chairman, and everyone shut up, whilst Charlotte's chubby young bottom twitched involuntarily, not entirely unfamiliar with the sting of both those perfectly-designed castigatory instruments.

It was at this emotionally charged juncture that the telephone rang in the hall outside the sitting room.

"Brief adjournment," declared Alec, and went to answer the 'phone.

It was Charlotte's 'sponsor' wondering "how are thing's goin', old chap?"

"We're - ah - still considering the matter," said Alec guardedly. "Let you know just as soon as we've completed our - er - deliberations."

The caller, anxious that nothing should go wrong, insisted on bending Alec's ear for several minutes more. Back in the sitting room, with the embarrassed girl now hiding her crimson- cheeked face in her hands, the "selection committee" congratulated themselves on having hit upon so delicious a prospect as young Charlotte seemed likely to prove. Blushes! How delightful!

"How old did Alec say she was?" asked Algernon of Max in a half guarded whisper.

"Sixteen and a half - I think", said Max, his eyes loitering around the invitingly out curved bit at the tops of the insides of the girl's thighs where the soft-pouting peach-cleft bridged the little opening at the very top of her legs.

"And - said to be still quite intact," said George not bothering to modify his voice for the sake of the girl's blushes.

"'Quite' as in 'almost', or 'quite' as in 'absolutely'?" asked Algernon, pedantic as ever.

"Quite, as in 'intacta'," said George peevishly. "She'd hardly be 'intacta' if I'd meant 'almost', would she!"

Algernon and the others stared wonderingly at the bewildered Charlotte, who had never realised she was in - in - whatever they had said she was. All three speculated that if it was actually true, then Charlotte was a novelty such as none of them had ever supposed they would come across in a lifetime of interviewing girls sponsored by would be members. The reasons for this shared wonderment, verging on frank disbelief, were as convincing as they are shameful to relate.

The 'organisation', the 'society', the 'club' if one wished to think of it as such, had at one time been called the "Guardians' Club". To outsiders overhearing those intrinsically innocuous words in a pub, they might have meant nothing very exactly but would have given an impression of a responsible and respectable organisation engaged, in all probability, on 'good works'. To those select few made privy to the real portent of the title, an entirely different picture of the club's activities would have manifested itself!

Potential 'recruits', discreetly yet eagerly sought out by established members, would all have two things in common; each would be in a position of responsibility in respect of a ward or step-daughter or at least a teenaged girl having not yet attained her majority, and all, this last to be ascertained by cunning, discreet enquiry or, if all else failed, by setting a temptation and closely watching the "bait", all would have a taste for girls of exactly the same tender and vulnerable kind that they had in their care or charge. It would be put to them that the subject of their guardianship was an invaluable asset; a chap willing to share his good fortune with others - to put "his" girl into a common "pool" in the sense that he would be prepared to let her go off to another member's home for the odd weekend and not ask awkward questions when she came home slightly cross-eyed and short of a pair of knickers or two in her suitcase - such a fellow, provided he was discreet, would be entitled to stake a claim on another chap's "contribution" and have her to his house for a day or two.

Because the "vetting" team did their work carefully, refusals were unknown; girls who were packed off on trains on Friday nights with only the vaguest idea of where they were going or why, and equipped only with the instructions that they were to be "good girls" when they got there, came home on Sunday evenings somewhat more broadly educated than when they had left.

With regard then to the three committee members whose eyes still wandered speculatively around the briefly covered little bits of Charlotte which most took their fancy - Charlotte who was still blushing profusely and worrying what it meant when they'd said she was in - something or other, only if she'd but known it she needn't have bothered, because whatever it was, she wasn't going to be it for very much longer - and with regard to those members doubts as to the likelihood that young Charlotte was what she was said to be, even if for not much longer - well, their caution in accepting the truth of that statement was not entirely without foundation.

Because, if one worked it out, there was a glaring inconsistency in the notion that a chap who was so anxious to get inside the knickers of another chap's girl, that he would let his own girl, in the hands of a complete, indeed unknown stranger, to be used or abused in just the same way as he meant to take advantage of that other girl, that he would nevertheless have declined all the opportunities that having a girl of his own and all to himself must inevitably have presented him with all along. In short, it was asking them to believe that the delightful, nubile Charlotte had long been in the clutches of a self-confessed lecher, yet that same lecherous gentleman had apparently entirely overlooked the fact that she was unquestionably available and unarguably fanciable!

Well, if it was true, then Charlotte's sponsor was a man in thousands - certainly there wasn't one of them, nor was there any other member they could think of, who hadn't failed miserably in the art of self-control where he alone had succeeded!

When Alec returned from his evasive one-sided conversation with Charlotte's sponsor, he wasted no time in getting the meeting under way again - he had other things to attend to back at the school and time was getting on.

"Right then - a vote, wasn't it?" he looked around and then treated the flush-cheeked girl to another of his sympathetic grins. "Some doubt as to whether Charlotte ought to be made to show us her titties, wasn't there?"

The aforementioned tits self-evident in the most unconcealable way, Charlotte stood with close pressed thighs and childishly in-turned toes as the vote as to whether she should be made to render the committee visible evidence was taken and found to be in the affirmative, a tear or two slipping heavily down her cheek as she was made to unbutton her blouse, whilst the vote in respect of the punishment she was to receive for having dared to protest at being treated so humiliatingly was called for and passed. Six, after all - six strokes of the strap, on her bared bottom, and the few tears became a frightened outburst of sobbing as the instrument itself was produced from a hook behind a chair.

Charlotte's buttons almost popped open once the first was undone, and together the girl's firm young breasts bobbed free of the over-washed and stitch-straining blue blouse, nipples unaccountably stiffening even as they made their appearance.

"Shorts off!" she was told, and her blouse was taken from her, then aflame with blushes, she groped for the waistband of her skimpy little shorts and pushed and wangled and wiggled them down over her hips until her plump bottom-cheeks spilled out and thrust themselves saucily towards Alec and one of the others whilst her close little haze of blonde pubic hair attracted its own share of attention at the front. Charlotte's shorts dropped to the floor at her ankles and all at once, there were no more secrets. Just helpless, humiliating nudity and teardrops, which fell uncontrollably onto her uplifted breasts.

"Turn round," said Alec, and again, "Turn round."

Shuffling steps took Charlotte through three hundred and sixty degrees, with peeps through her fingers at all four faces in turn, the men's eyes wandering unashamedly up and down her naked body. She stumbled, her breasts bobbing, and she looked down to find that she had tangled her feet in her shorts. She stooped to untwist them but was told to take them right off; she wasn't going to need them! She picked the shorts up and they were taken from her, so that she had only her ankle socks and her shoes to show that she had ever been a Girl Guide.

"Pretty little thing, isn't she!" said Max condescendingly. No-one dissented; Charlotte's bottom trembled as she was made to turn round yet again.

"Hands on your head," said Alec coaxingly, and Charlotte had to do as she was told; red-faced she folded her hands together on her head and her tits lifted and pushed out even more. From the corner of her eye, she could see the firm erectness of her nipples and she began to wilt at the knees as she saw eyes taking in that unwitting demonstration of feminine arousal - certainly she wasn't aroused! She was panic-stricken! Several comments were made which she was too confused to catch, but the words "strap" and "bottom" permeated her bewilderment.

"Over here -" said Alec. Charlotte turned to find him indicating a table standing to one side of the circle of chairs; the strap was on the table.

"Please -" she pleaded, but she was nudged towards the table and in a moment she was bent across it, hands led to fingertip holds on the far edge and her bottom elevated by something cushiony placed under her hips.

"Oh, n-no -!"

They strapped her deliberately, no one bothering to remark that only six strokes had been decided upon, the strap visiting her jiggling, wiggling bottom perhaps two dozen times whilst she squealed and struggled but got her bum well strapped for all her frantic demonstrations. She wasn't allowed up even then; slowly her tears cleared from her eyes and she found herself looking out of the long window across the golf course while murmurings and shufflings went on behind her. Max's voice raised itself a little above the others claiming priority on the grounds of seniority, while Charlotte strained her will power and kept her legs wide apart in accordance with the last instruction she'd been given, her bottom singing still with the lingering tingle of the strap's harsh kisses.

Behind her, it seemed that some measure of agreement had been reached; her hands were taken one by one and folded together in the hollow of her back, where they were held in a grip that was firm but not painful. The insides of her spread-eagled thighs flinched suddenly from a scratchy contact with rough tweed trousers.

When Alec called Carlotte's guardian some thirty minutes later the phone seemed to be answered almost before it rang.

"Mr Romsey? This is Alec -" A startled squeal from the back of the house prompted him to cover the instrument with his hand; "I thought you'd like to know as soon as possible - the committee has decided to accept your application for membership -" He waited for the enthusiastic gentleman on the other end to subside; "Perhaps we could have a chat about that when I bring Charlotte home later?"

Another squeal, distant but quite loud enough to be heard on the telephone, rather undermined Alec's attempt to keep the conversation formal.

"Er - yes, it is, actually," he had to say. He felt awkward for a moment, and then an imp of devilment nudged him into saying "I think she's complaining that someone's pinched her knickers."

He remembered that she hadn't been wearing knickers. Oh well - that wasn't what she was yelling about anyway! He left it to the man on the other end of the line to make of it what he would and returned to his pretence of formality.

"Ah - perhaps you'd let me reconfirm a detail or two whilst we're speaking. Guardianship - she is your legally appointed ward, I think you said?" He made a note on a pad.

"Yes - yes, I see. Until she's eighteen, I presume. Yes - which will be when?" His pen hovered over the paper, then it's top fell off with a plop. Alec's eyes wandered guiltily around as he listened. At last, he made the note on the pad.

"Oh, I see - I must have misunderstood -" Alec ran a finger round his collar.

"So she's actually -" he wrote it very small, subconsciously.

"And a half - yes, yes - oh, no - no, I don't suppose it'll make any difference." Not now, it wouldn't anyway.

Alec put the phone down quietly and tucked his pen back into his pocket. Another muted cry from the committee room made him start, but he kept his pace even as he went back to the others, a man with a secret now.

--------------------------

The Club - part two
Story from Blushes 08.


Dennis Romsey regarded his young ward Charlotte with affection. Now that Alec, Chairman of the Club had departed, he somehow felt he could talk more freely. Silly that, really, because Alec had always been open and honest with him.

"So you had to go before the Committee, did you my dear?" "Y-Yes, Uncle..." replied the girl... and blushed furiously. She always called Dennis 'Uncle' though there was no blood relationship between them. He was simply Charlotte's legal guardian until she was eighteen.

"And... er... how did you get on?" He smiled encouragingly and his eyes roved lustfully over his ward. That ripe young figure was literally bursting out of that Girl Guide's uniform he had made her wear. The Members of the Committee would have appreciated that, he reflected with satisfaction. Perhaps it was the deciding factor in his being accepted in the club. Clever of him to trick her out in this fashion. "I... I was frightened and... and... so a-ashamed..."

"Well, well, Charlotte, I suppose that's understandable. After all, you are still very young and those gentlemen are rather getting on in years. Like me. Still, that's over now. And, as you heard the Chairman of the Club say, I have been elected as a Member."

Somewhat to Dennis's surprise, Charlotte covered her face with his hands and burst into tears. "Oh... ohhh... how could you, Uncle?" she wailed.

"I do not think it is any business of yours, young lady, as to how or why I want to join any organisation," said Dennis sternly. "Frankly, Charlotte, I am fast coming to the conclusion I have been far too lenient with you in the past. That is going to change."

"Ohh...oohh... Uncle..."

"I have already had some discussion on the subject with the Committee. Now that I am a Member, I shall have more. Doubtless I shall get some good advice. Dry your tears and stop snivelling." Dennis pulled out a handkerchief and threw it across. Charlotte dabbed at her reddened eyes.

"You ...mmmfff.... don't know what ...mmmmfff.... what they made me do," she sobbed.

Dennis Romsey seated himself in an armchair and lit a small cigar. "Perhaps you had better tell me," he said.

"I.... I... mmmfff.. don't w-want to," replied the girl.

"What you want is neither here nor there," snapped Dennis. "You will tell me." He was most intrigued to know what his 'Candidacy Contribution' had gone through. One day he might be a Member of that Committee!

Charlotte bit her lips furiously before answering. "They... they made me take my clothes off..."

"Really?" Dennis was faintly surprised that the Committee had gone so far at such an early stage. "All of them?"

"Y-Yes," nodded Charlotte. "But that's not all..."

"Well?"

"They p-put me over a t-table and... and... oohh... they st-strapped me..."

Dennis was even more surprised. And excited. The Committee certainly didn't do things by halves! "I expect you deserved it," he said, trying to keep his voice calm.

"I didn't... I didn't... it was horrid!" cried Charlotte. She felt she couldn't bring herself to recount what had happened after that.

"I think you'd better show me," said Dennis, drawing heavily on his cigar.

"Show you? Show you what?"

"Your bottom, of course, young lady." Dennis felt his pulses throbbing.

"After all, if they've harmed you, I shall take it up with the Committee. Even further maybe."

Charlotte hesitated, blushing furiously again. How awful it was! First those horrid men... and now her Uncle. Still, it might be worth it; he might take some action. She turned and, for the second time that day, removed those tight-fitting shorts. No knickers beneath. Down her tapering thighs, they went... to reveal two delightful gibous-moons of flesh covered in a mass of pink-red swathes.

Dennis Romsey's eyes feasted; his pulses pounded more furiously. They had indeed given the girl quite a good hiding, but nothing too serious. All traces would have gone in a few days. Stubbing out his cigar, he stood up, walked across to his ward, and lightly ran his hand over both buttock cheeks. They felt deliciously soft and warm.

"Oh don't... don't!" gasped Charlotte, flinching and twisting away.

At once, Dennis delivered two stinging slaps on the tender flesh, making the girl yelp loudly. "Don't tell me what and what not to do, Miss!" he shouted. "You're far too cheeky and it is obvious to me that you should have had this sort of treatment long ago."

Charlotte's hands were clasped to her bottom, her head hung and she continued to sob. "Are you... g-going to... speak to... t-them?"

"I certainly am," replied Dennis jovially. "I am going to send them my approval."

Charlotte turned, eyes flashing. Dennis saw the downy, blonde triangle. "Ohh you couldn't... oohh... you b-beast... you beast!"

"That is quite enough of that," said Dennis firmly. He gripped the girl by one arm and pulled her towards the armchair. "Such language from a girl to her Guardian!" In moments Dennis was reseated on the chair but now with Charlotte - kicking and shrieking - pinned across his lap. He felt the voluptuous softness of her... saw the quivering-pink blancmanges that made up her bottom. "They were obviously too lenient. As I have been. A matter that will be remedied."

"Stooopppp! Ohhh stoooppppp! I'm so tender already..."

"Good!" Dennis was grinning lustfully. In swift succession, he slapped left and right cheeks. Then he laid an even harder slap across the centre of both. Charlotte yelled loudly and kicked and wriggled even more frantically. Much to Dennis's pleasure. Taking a firmer grip on his victim, he began to smack the luscious young bottom, helpless before him, just as hard as he could. Left, right and centre!

Left, right and centre!

Moreover, he went on doing so until the palm of his hand was burning hot.

* * *

"Dennis Romsey?" Dennis recognised Eric's voice at once.

"Yes. Nice to hear from you, Eric. Thanks for accepting me as a Member."

"Think nothing of it, old boy. You could scarcely fail with your 'Contribution', you know!"

"I see you gave her a good strapping."

"Ah, so you took a look, did you?"

"I did indeed." Dennis was finding it increasingly easy to talk about such matters without any embarrassment. "What can I do for you?"

"A Member has been enquiring if Charlotte would be free next week-end. We'd have her picked up on Friday night about six. Back on Sunday afternoon."

Dennis felt a slight tingle of his nerves. It was beginning. "Oh yes, I'm sure she will be free," he replied. "In fact, I'll make sure she is!" He paused and was about to ask a question when Eric answered it for him.

"Thanks, old man. Of course, you'll be sent a 'Replacement'. That's one of the Club's Rules."

"Ah... I see..." Dennis felt his throat tightening up a little. There were many questions he wanted to ask and again Eric answered before he could put them.

"Her name's Abigail, she's seventeen and a half and has been on our 'books' longer than most. So she's quite experienced. Still needs a firm hand though, if you follow me."

"I do, Eric, I do!"

"Have you got a cane, by the way?"

Again Dennis felt that tingle but more strongly. "Er... no... not actually... not yet..." Foolish of him not to have got himself properly organised.

"I should get one before the week-end," said Eric with a laugh. "If you have any difficulty, I'll get Abigail to bring one with her."

"That... that might be better," said Dennis quickly. He had just realised he did not quite know how to go about acquiring such a thing in this day and age.

"Right then," said Eric. "She'll be along early Friday evening. 'Bye for now, old boy."

"Goodbye," said Dennis. His hand was trembling slightly as he put down the receiver.

* * *

Dennis paced the room nervously. Night was falling fast and Mrs Dodds, his Housekeeper, had already been in and pulled the long velvet curtains. She would be gone any moment now, he thought. How kind of him to give her the weekend off! Hopefully, she would be having quite a few of those in future. Time for a good stiff Scotch, Dennis told himself. Since it was six o'clock on a Friday night, he deserved one. Needed one, too!

As he drank it at unusual speed, he distantly heard the front door close. Alone at last, he thought with an inner smile. For the moment, anyway. Dennis poured himself another Scotch and, seating himself on a couch, drank this one more slowly. His nervousness was fast ebbing away to be replaced by excited anticipation.

The front doorbell rang and the sound seemed to tingle through his nerves. He went along a thickly carpeted hallway and opened the heavy oak door, hearing a car driving off as he did so. There, in the light of a mock stagecoach lantern, stood a quite enchanting sight.

"I'm Abigail," said this vision with lustrous, doe-like brown eyes. She carried, Dennis noticed, a long canvas case which probably normally contained hockey sticks and the like. But now?

"Come in, Abigail," he said, inclining his head... and still not quite believing it was happening.

The girl, half-smiled, stepped in and at once removed her round school hat and a dark green raincoat. Dennis saw that she had deep brown hair plaited in a single pigtail. He also saw that Abigail had retained her school uniform. Perhaps that is de rigueur on these occasions, he thought. The uniform consisted of a white blouse, a skirt the same colour as her raincoat, calf-length white socks and black slip-on shoes with buckles. There seemed to be a lot of white limb-flesh beneath a remarkably short, pleated skirt and the tops of those white socks.

She turned to him, pale, unsmiling, yet not lacking in self-assurance, it seemed. "Which way, Sir?" she enquired decorously.

Dennis nodded towards the half open door of the sitting room. "Through there," he said. "Better bring your bag..."

"Ah yes." Abigail bent, with an elegant sideways movement of her knees, and picked it up. Then, hesitant yet determined, she moved towards the door.

Once in the sitting room, Dennis had a far better view of his 'replacement' ... and was well pleased. This Abigail looked rather older than her seventeen and a half years, with breasts high, firm and rounded thrusting through her blouse, dark nipples being clearly visible. Surely, she must be wearing a bra, Dennis told himself. Perhaps a half-cup one. He'd find out soon enough.

"Sit down," he invited, indicating a wooden, straight-backed chair. He himself took the sofa. Abigail's skirt rose high, one thigh crossed slowly over another, giving Dennis a quick flash of triangular pale green nylon.

"I understand I am to stay her until Sunday afternoon."

"That is correct. Normal procedure, I believe?"

"Yes," nodded Abigail. She bit her lower lip.

"In there?" He pointed at her canvas case.

"My night things, Sir. Toiletries. Things like that."

"Anything else?"

Abigail swallowed hard. "Er... yes, Sir. A strap... and a cane."

"Ahh.... yes... I think you ought to get those out." Dennis's anticipatory excitement was mounting. "Most gentlemen have their own," said Abigail, unzipping the canvas bag.

"I am a new Member of the Club," announced Dennis and immediately regretted giving any explanation. On the table beside her, Abigail placed a strap of pale brown leather, some eighteen inches long and an inch and a half wide. It was no thicker than an average wooden ruler. Alongside it, she put down a smooth, yellow, hook-handled cane, typical of the ones used in schools.

There was a silence. To be honest, Dennis did not quite know how to proceed. What excuse could he find for using those implements? The girl, newly arrived, had committed no fault. Perhaps he would have to bide his time.

"Would you like to go and tidy up, Abigail?" he asked.

"Thank you, Sir," replied the girl politely. She rose from her chair and left the room with demure obedience. Dennis felt prickles of sweat under his armpits.

Abigail was back within five minutes. Now she looked paler and more tense. She came and stood directly before Dennis's chair.

"I... I'm sorry, Sir," she said, "while I was in your bathroom, I broke a small vase carrying potpourri. It was most careless of me."

Dennis felt his pulses beginning to pound again. Had it been an accident or was this girl deliberately setting herself up? Since he was new to all this it was difficult to be certain. On the other hand, Eric had told him that Abigail had considerable experience. Surely he should be leading and she following; yet it seemed to be the other way round. Did it really matter though?

"Yes, that was very careless Abigail," said Dennis slowly. The tension was increasing within him. "That was a gift from my dear, late Mother. Much treasured."

"Oh I'm really sorry," said Abigail. She looked it, too.

"I'm afraid you'll have to be punished for such an error."

"Yes.... yes... I deserve to be," said Abigail. Incredible, said Dennis to himself. Why was she agreeing not protesting?

"I am going to have to cane you..."

A little gasp... a nervous twitch of the lips. "Y-yes, Sir... if you must."

"I am afraid I must," said Dennis. He got up from his chair and took hold of the hook-handled cane. How supple it was, how easily it swung! What a thrill it gave him simply to hold it in his hand. "You will kneel and bend over the sofa arm, Abigail," he heard himself saying.

"Yes, Sir... oh p-please, don't be too severe on me. It really was an accident."

"You will then pull up your skirt and take down your knickers."

"Yes, Sir... if you say so, Sir..."

"I do say so," intoned Dennis, blessing the day he had first been put in touch with the Club. He watched almost ecstatically as this shapely young creature knelt at one end of the couch and pulled up her skirt high. A most curvaceous bottom was revealed, the skin exceedingly white, most minimally covered by a pair of pale green nylon briefs. Oh God, what beauty, thought Dennis! Superb! Whilst Charlotte was plump with puppy-fat, this girl had womanly development, even at so young an age. How quite, quite charming!

"Take those knickers down..." Naturally, there was no need for Abigail to do so. Such a flimsy item offered no protection. Yet, they must come down. The girl must be fully exposed. Fully shamed. Was it not all part of her punishment? Abigail pushed down the briefs to her knees. Nakedly her bottom curved, thrust up and out by the end of the couch. A perfect posture for a caning!

"P-please, Sir... not too hard," came a whimper. Abigail's face was buried in a cushion, her clenched hands gripped the edges of it.

"I am giving you half a dozen, Abigail," announced Dennis.

"Oh Sir... no.... ooo.... please.... please..."

"You deserve nothing less for such carelessness," said Dennis firmly.

"Beyond that, I have been told you are experienced. If you were new to discipline, it might be different."

"Oh... oh... Sir..."

Dennis tapped the soft white flesh with the tip of the cane. It quivered, then it twitched with sudden dread. Oh what a joy to see! Suddenly he realised he did not know quite how hard he should lay on the cane. Very hard? Hard? Medium? Mildly? His knowledge of such degrees of severity was minimal.

Ultimately, he decided on something between hard and medium. To start with, anyway.

Carefully he measured Abigail's delicious bottom, sawing the cane to and fro. Then, suddenly, he raised it high and brought it whistling down. Sssswwwiii..... iiipppptttt.

There was a muffled half-gasp, half-cry from the velvet cushion and Abigail's bottom performed a series of quick, juddering gyrations. Yet she remained in her kneeling posture over the couch's end, hands gripping the cushion more tightly, knuckles white. Dennis contemplated the thin, pink-red, twin tracked weal he had just raised with infinite satisfaction. It ran across, virtually halfway down Abigail's bottom, encircling most of the left cheek and all of the right, leaping the cleft between that lush curvaceousness. Yes, he thought, this girl must be experienced. Most youngsters would have leapt up after a cut like that.

Unhurriedly, Dennis sawed the cane across Abigail's soft white buttocks... and was delighted to see them give a convulsive twitch of dread. He was sawing about an inch above where he had laid on the first stroke. Slowly Dennis withdrew the cane, raised it high... Ssswwwiii... iiippppptttt!

The cane zipped down and fell just about exactly where Dennis had aimed it. That was most gratifying. So were the even more urgent gyrations of Abigail's bottom, during which her long thighs splayed a little to reveal some delightful girlish secrets even more openly.

"Ooww.... aaaggghh.... oh p-please not so hard, Sir!"

Was he laying it on too hard, wondered Dennis? Being himself inexperienced in such matters, he had no means of knowing. It was very possible, however, that the girl was pleading in this fashion in an attempt to induce him to go easier on her.

"I think, Abigail," he said, finding his voice rather thick, "you had better take your knickers right off. Otherwise you'll very likely rip them."

He paused, flexing the supple cane with relish. "You deserve to be caned hard for such carelessness. And you're going to be." Dennis watched as Abigail first knelt erect, then stood to let her knickers slip down over her knees and down her calves. She stopped to remove them from around her ankles and, once more, Dennis was favoured with a delightful view of most personal possessions.

Were Club Members permitted? The thought flashed through his mind. He should have asked Eric; even though the man might have thought him a fool for being so naive. There was plenty of time. A whole weekend lay ahead. More than likely, he thought, the girl herself would give him some lead.

Once more Abigail knelt and draped herself over the sofa-end.

How provocatively her bottom seemed to thrust up at him! Heart pounding, Dennis measured it once more, now aiming an inch below the first weal. This time, he told himself, I'll give it to her just as hard as I can. Then she'll realise I take no notice of her pleas.

Ssssswwweee.... iiiiipppptttt. Making an extra effort, Dennis was not quite so accurate. The cane caught only less than half of Abigail's left buttock cheek, all of the right, with the tip zipping round and biting into her soft flank. "Yeeeooowwww!" This time Abigail's head jerked up off the cushion and her cry of pain was loud and genuine. Her bottom squirmed left and right, left and right, juddering violently. Dennis heard the blood singing in his ears. That really got to her, he thought. Still, I mustn't overdo it. 'P-please, Sir... p-plee... eeease not so h-hard..." came the muffled beseeching as Abigail's head went back into the cushion.

Dennis once more sawed to and fro. An inch lower, since it was now his intention to work down the buttocks to the overhang. That was where the last stroke was planned to fall.

"Do you think you'll be more careful in future, Abigail?"

"Yes, Sir... oh yes... Sir!"

"Good..." Up went the cane again... and down it whistled once more. Hard, but not quite so hard as the previous time.

Sswwwwiiiii..... iiiipppppttttt! Abigail not only squirmed and jerked as her head thumped up and down on its cushion, her long limbs kicked out, thighs splaying once more. Delightful! Quite delightful! Dennis looked at the four encircling weals, so bright against such white skin. Two more to be raised yet. To and fro... to and fro... sawed the cane. Twitch and quiver... twitch and quiver... went the flesh.

Sssswwwwwiiii..... iiiipppppttttt! Number five buried itself momentarily deep into the soft flesh, then the cane sprang away again. Oh how it made her yelp! Oh how it made her squirm! Round and round, back and forth, belly thumping on the curve of the couch arm.

One more to go. Lustfully Dennis sawed the cane across the very tops of Abigail's thighs, just where they joined the fulsomeness of her young bottom.

"No.... oooo.... please..." Abigail's head was up and twisted round. He saw tears shimmering in those doe-like eyes; observed the half-open mouth, lips wet and quivering. He had indeed lighted upon a most sensitive area, it seemed; even while Abigail's head was still turned he raised the cane swiftly and brought it whistling down precisely in the target area. Thus he was able to glimpse the shock and pain on those pretty features before, with a shriek, Abigail jumped erect and, hands clasping urgently to the lower part of her bottom, performed a pavane of pain around the couch. Dennis's hand shook slightly as he replaced the cane on a table nearby. His pulses were pounding and his throat was dry. That, he told himself emphatically, was just about the most exciting experience of my life!

"Go and wash those tears away, Abigail," said Dennis blandly. "And, this time, while you're in the bathroom, I should be rather more, careful."

"Y-yes ...mmmfff.. yes, Sir..."

Dennis watched the girl move from the room in that way of hers, hands still pressed to her bottom. I guess, he thought, smiling faintly, that cold flannel will not only be pressed to reddened eyes but to far warmer areas as well!

When she came back, Abigail looked brighter, though still pale. In her hand, she carried her knickers, fiddling with them with nervous fingers. He wondered if she was perhaps waiting for permission to put them back on, how charming, such consideration!

Wanting to think about this first encounter with one of Eric's girls - that was how he thought of Abigail, since he had not yet met any other Club members - Dennis said she could take her case upstairs and unpack.

"Yes sir", she said, and fiddled with her knickers and looked uncertainly at him until he had to ask her what was bothering her.

"Um - I was just wondering which room, sir. The little room at the back or the big one at the front."

The room at the front had a double bed; Dennis said she could put her things into the back room for the time being. Abigail nodded and went upstairs lugging her case and Dennis turned to the telephone trying to remember Eric's number.

This he would have to check up on - suddenly he realised that Charlotte would have arrived at her weekend destination by now, and might very well be in much the same situation as was his own visitor - yes, he'd better check with Eric right away –