Story from Uniform Girls 11.
The apple store was redolent with the scent of summer. Too sweet and heavy to be pleasant. Yet it was now late Autumn and the apples stood in serried rows upon the benches around the narrow, brick-walled room. In fact, more like a large cupboard than a room. Whitewashed brick; a bare floor.
'It is the only place I can think of to lock you into, for the moment,' he had said. 'Until I decide what to do.'
Janet had never been so frightened before in all her life. What a terrible thing to have happened! If only she could turn the clock back and be the untroubled girl she had been earlier that afternoon.
A moment of temptation. A moment of weakness.
Whatever would Miss Baxter say? She was her Captain; the head of her Troop. She could almost hear it already. 'You are a disgrace to the Guides, Janet. An absolute disgrace. And you are dismissed!' Janet smoothed the navy blue skirt of her uniform. She had wanted to do so well; be a really good Guide. And now this!
But it might be even worse. Janet trembled. Supposing he went to the Police? There was no reason why he shouldn't. The disgrace! Her parents! Oh, she thought, I'd do anything to get out of this! Perhaps he was phoning the Police at that very moment. Even if he hadn't locked the door, there was no point in running away. They would always catch up with her.
Oh, why didn't he come and put her out of her misery? At least, she would know the worst.
She had come to the Barn House with the best of intentions. All part of the 'Help the Elderly Week' the Guides had organised. But, she soon discovered, old Mr and Mrs Fletcher had gone off to seek some sun for a week or three... and it was their son who was in residence.
'I'm not exactly elderly,' he had said, smiling, 'but I could do with some help. Housekeeper's sick. How about cleaning up all the downstairs? Say for a fiver?'
'Oh yes... Mr Fletcher... that's most generous...' Janet had been delighted. Whilst most of the others in the Troop would be picking up 20 or 50p, she would have made £5!
'I like your uniform, Janet,' young Mr Fletcher had said, looking at her intently. 'Very smart.'
'Thank you, Sir.' She had coloured faintly at this unexpected compliment. It made her feel far more grown-up than 16. Then she had set eagerly off to work. Hoovering, sweeping, dusting, polishing. Not all that hard work, really. Then, quite accidentally, she had come upon the ring. She had lifted the corner of a carpet, and there it was. A lovely big emerald. Obviously genuine. Even she could see that. Almost without realising what she was doing, Janet picked it up and slipped it inside her jacket. No one will ever miss it, she said to herself guiltily. That must have been lying there for years. It had felt cold against her skin.
She had never done anything so dreadful in her life before. What had made her? After all, she was a good girl at heart. But she had succumbed to temptation. No point in denying it.
Mr Fletcher had given her the fiver, standing close, smiling again. Then he was suddenly looking at her intently. Concentrating upon her breasts, it seemed. She had backed away guiltily, colouring. Could that ring be showing through? Her uniform blouse was very thin. What stupid place to put it. Her shoe would have been better.
'What are you hiding in your blouse, Janet?' he had asked, quietly but firmly.
Janet had burst into tears. It was all over in a moment. She had put her hand in, taken out the ring, and handed it back. 'I didn't mean to,' she said weakly. 'I'm so sorry.'
He had nodded understandingly but, all the same, he had locked her in the apple-store. 'This is a family heirloom,' he had said, 'worth thousands. A most serious matter, I'm afraid.' The door had closed, the lock had turned, Janet had been left alone.
'I've made up my mind,' he said, immediately he came back into the store. Janet must have been left alone for at least an hour, nerves jangling constantly. She felt like a jelly as she stood there before him.
'It... it was s-so silly of me... I didn't m-mean...'
'Very silly,' he interrupted. 'Not an act I would expect from a Girl Guide.'
'I've never done anything like this before!' she cried out in protest. 'I... I must have been mad!'
'But you did it, Janet.' He paused. 'I have decided not to tell the Police.' Janet swayed, almost collapsing with relief. Oh what a kind man he was! But surely, he would tell Mrs Baxter. That was bad enough. 'However, you must be punished.'
'Yes...' Janet found herself genuinely agreeing. It was only right. She had been most wicked.
'I have decided to cane you,' he said in a quiet voice.
Janet recoiled in dismay. In disbelief. Cane her? But she was grown up now. And... and... girls weren't caned any more! 'You don't mean it...' she whispered.
'Of course I mean it!' He was sharp, looking angry. 'You're damn lucky I'm not taking you down to the Station and laying charges. You could get six months for this!'
Janet quailed. What he said was perfectly true. But... a caning... oh that would hurt! It was something out of another age. Barbaric, almost. 'I... I...' she began.
'Do you agree or not? You know the alternative, girl.' Sharp again. Horrid. Janet was suddenly aware she had to agree, no matter how much it went against the grain. No matter how much it was going to hurt.
'Alright then,' she nodded nervously. Oh this was terrible, terrible! All happening on one quiet Autumn afternoon. Her simple world had turned quite upside-down. With dread she saw Mr Fletcher taking a cane down off the top shelf. How did it happen to be there, she suddenly wondered? They had other things to worry about, for Mr Fletcher was forcing her over the bench on which the lines of apples lay. 'You will keep bent over there while I cane you, Janet,' he was saying. 'And the better you behave, the fewer strokes you will get.' Apples pressed into her belly and breasts as he pushed her over roughly. I must endure it... I must, she told herself. Then, to her utter shame, she realised he was pulling down her uniform skirt.
'Stop it... stop... you mustn't!'
'You don't imagine you're to be caned over your skirt... and knickers... do you, girl?' said Mr Fletcher with a laugh. And with that, Janet found her small white briefs pulled down as well. The shock of such immodest exposure seemed to half paralyse her and she could only lie there, over the bench, sobbing.
Then a cane tapped her bottom. 'Oh... no... no... no...'
'As you're so young, I shall not be too severe,' announced Mr Fletcher. He recalled some of the quite severe canings he had handed out in the past — usually to maids employed by his Mother. He always employed the same old 'Ring Trick', as with this youngster. It had worked surprisingly well.
A wristy cut. Not too hard to start with. A gasping-squeal and the girl's head jerked back. It amused him to note that she still wore that charming little Guide's uniform hat. No knickers, but a hat. How sweet!
Another cut. Another squealing gasp. She wriggled nicely. Young Fletcher paused. 'You admit you're a very naughty girl, don't you?' he demanded, seeing the young pale flesh twitching apprehensively.
'Y-yes... ohh... yes... I'm so sorry...'
Two wristy cuts in quick succession had the girl squirming even more. Crying out despairingly. Throwing back an arm and hand. 'Oooowwww... oh please stop...'
'Take your hand away, Janet... you wicked thief!'
Janet took her hand away. Oh how long was this going on. The shame... and the pain? It was too, too awful!
The next cut harder. Janet shrieked, almost twisted off the bench. Another, similar cut. 'Aaaiiieee... no... no... stop!' The apples were rolling about beneath her she twisted and bounced. They, in their own way, hurt too.
How many should he give her? Perhaps just a couple more would do. He didn't want her running off to show her mother what a savage he'd been. 'Stick your bottom out, girl... you deserve this, you know!'
Amazingly, that bottom was thrust out. Her conscience must certainly be troubling her! A swishing cut. The hardest yet... and the most violent writhing over the bench. 'Yaaaaghhh... yyyaaaaagh... no more!'
'One more,' said young Fletcher firmly. Then gave it to the girl even harder still.
* * * *
It took quite some time for the sobbing and weeping to subside.
'You may stand up now, Janet,' he said. The girl got up stiffly, wincing.
'Oh... oh it hurts...' she moaned.
'What else would you expect, you stupid girl? A cane is meant to hurt! No... don't pull your knickers up. Just stand there, as you are.' She had a trim little bush, he noted. Pity she wasn't a bit older; like some of those maids had been. Still, he could have a little fun, all the same.
'C-can't... mmmf... can't I go now, Mr Fletcher... mmmf... mmmfff...?' Janet sobbed.
Obviously the fact that she was standing in front of him with her panties around her thighs... showing him all, as they say... was concerning her no end. Well, she was almost certainly still a virgin.
'Not yet, Janet,' he answered. 'I'm afraid I shall have to find out whether or not you have any more valuables on you.'
'I... haven't... I haven't!'
'So you say!' Brusquely young Martin unbuttoned the uniform jacket... and a pair of apple round titties was revealed. Soft, warm girl-flesh. That delightful golden hue. He fondled it. Loving the feel of it. She shuddering away. 'Keep still, girl... I've got to make sure there's nothing else concealed here!' He squeezed and fondled, parting the young fruit. In that room, there was fruit everywhere. On the shelves; now in his hands.
'Don't... p-please... don't...' she begged pathetically. But he went on taking his enjoyment. Oh what lovely young tits!
'Doesn't seem to be anything here,' he said at last. 'Nothing concealed inside you, I suppose.' She went scarlet. Of course, he knew there wasn't, in this case. But on previous occasions, he'd had to make sure. With Mabel. With Lizzie. With Doreen. And many more. He patted the girl's bottom. 'I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, Janet,' he said.
The relief on that young face was a sight to behold!
'Can I go now... please... please!'
'Not just yet, Janet.' He smiled at her. 'I want you to stay here for a while... and think of your wickedness and where it has led you. No... don't argue about it. Also, I want you to recover something of your composure. Can't face your Troop Leader, or your mother, with a face looking like that. They'd want to know what had happened, wouldn't they.'
'...and you wouldn't want to tell them, would you? Not what you did? Nor what I did?'
Janet nodded again.
'Because then the whole story would have to come out, wouldn't it? And neither of us want that, do we?'
This time, Janet shook her head vehemently.
'Right then... another hour. To think things over properly. And, perhaps, pray that you do not let yourself do anything so stupid again. No... don't pull your knickers up. I want them down there for the whole hour. As a reminder. Also, put your hands on top of your head.'
Obediently, Janet did so. She simply wished he would go away. Leave her alone. Oh what a terrible afternoon it had turned out to be!
He finally left. Janet stood silent but tearful. A disgrace to my uniform — or what she had left of it on her body — she thought miserably. After a while, she felt hungry and reached out for an apple. No! That would be stealing! And Janet had already resolved she would never steal again. Not as long as she lived.