Story from Uniform Girls 21.
Wednesday Practice
High in the church tower the bell tolls out the hours: One... Two... Three... Nine O'Clock. An owl hoots in accompaniement: a warning to small creatures to lie low, stay close to their nests. As we may assume most human inhabitants of the village are staying close to theirs. The telly of course; the lives of most of them nowadays will revolve around the telly. The Nine O'Clock News. Some others will naturally be in the pub, The Cock Pheasant, but for those individuals, most of them, this will be their normal evening habitat. But one or two are not at home or in the Pheasant.
Delia Greenaway for one.
In spite of her spouse's protests. 'Your choir night's Mondays. Why every Wednesday as well?'
The Greenaways, Delia and Raymond, 21 and 23 respectively, have been joined in holy wedlock for less than a year. It is perhaps little wonder therefore that Raymond, no chorister himself, feels some annoyance at this loss of connubial evenings. He complains but of course he knows the answer.
'You know why, Raymond. I need the practice. You know Mr Plummer says I've got talent and it needs developing. I wish you wouldn't try to make me feel guilty all the time.'
The talents of Delia which interest Raymond lie in another direction: though if he says something along these lines he will be accused of being crude and never thinking of anything else. 'And anyway...'
Anyway those talents are displayed, practised, in the Greenaways solid double bed and Delia is not reluctant in that respect. It is only that Raymond does like to refer to it in a way Delia finds embarrassing, and does seem always to be thinking about it. There are other things to be thinking about. The choir, singing, for instance.
So on this Wednesday evening Delia is not at home, Summertime Cottage, where a disgruntled Raymond is glowering alone at the Nine O'Clock News presenter. Delia is at Mr Plummer's. Mr Plummer, Oswald, is choir-master at St. Margaret's.
They are in the cosy sitting room. Just Delia and Mr Plummer. It is of course a private lesson. Others in the choir are not deemed to need this extra tuition. But then others do not look like Delia. Not at all. Stunningly yellow-blonde, violet-blue eyed, with handsome, firmly chiselled features. And of course the rest of her. A stunning figure too, mouth-watering, which no doubt at this moment, were she at home at Summertime Cottage, Raymond the insatiable spouse would be grappling to get at even though it is only nine o'clock and what he wants is not proper for the lounge sofa (even, such is Raymond's depravity, the lounge floor) at nine o'clock in the evening.
This stunning form is not clothed as when Delia left home this evening. No, it is not in that neat blouse and skirt she was wearing when saying goodbye to irate Raymond ('I won't be late.') It is not actually an outfit Raymond has seen. Raymond, Delia is quite sure, would not understand. It is... well, it is just a little thing between chorister and choirmaster. A jokey little thing you could say. Well, a sort of joke. Mr Plummer said it was his little joke when he first produced it. Because it is a sort of variant of the normal chorister's robe — but this particular variant is not one a young lady chorister would think to wear in church. Or anywhere else in public. For the skirt of the robe is extremely short. The hem mid-thigh high. To show off sexy white, lacy-patterned stockings. Proper stockings, not tights, their tops fastened to the slim straps of a white suspender belt. The skirt of the chorister's robe is sufficiently short that these suspender straps, and bare thigh, can be seen in any slight bending movement Delia makes.
Not that Delia is bending at this moment. She is standing at Mr Plummer's side, in the white high-heeled courts which are also part of this outfit, while Mr Plummer discusses something: one of the works they are to practise. As Mr Plummer speaks...
One hesitates to say this, especially when one is mindful of Raymond Greenaway back at their home morosely watching the news. But still, he is not likely to find out and what the eye does not see, etc. Mr Plummer, then, has his hand up Delia's skirt. Up the back of that short skirt and it is fondling Delia's bottom which is clad — more accurately partially clad — in a vestigal pair of cobwebby white knickers. (These knickers are part of Mr Plummer's special outfit too.) The hand is fondling Delia's partially bare bottom and she is not struggling to get away; she is standing there accepting it.
All of this — Mr Plummer's groping hand and Delia's apparently meek acceptance of it, and also her special chorister's outfit — is quite a surprise. It would certainly be a surprise to Raymond Greenaway or to any of the young Greenaways' acquaintances who know Delia as a somewhat prim and proper young woman. Hands up skirts? How can this be? How can Oswald Plummer have managed to get to this stage — and indeed he has got further. If the evening progresses as most recent Wednesday evenings have we shall see him go further. How...?
It is all to do with the singing lessons. And with a certain gullibility on Delia's part. She has fallen first of all for Mr Plummer's line that she has a gem of a voice, an un-cut diamond which he can cut and polish if Delia will only place herself in his hands. In fact Delia Greenaway's voice is nothing special. Pleasant enough but it can only become special if you consider the rest of her: the face, the dazzling hair, and of course that womanly shape. (For Oswald Plummer it is Delia's bottom that is of especial interest — as evidenced by the fact that his hand is at present handling it — but we will come to that.)
So gullibility and credulity get Delia to Mr Plummer's house on Wednesday evenings and once there he works even further on her credulity. Oswald Plummer might be an ordinary looking gentleman but he has a persuasive way with him. Persuading Delia to accept... well, first of all this outfit. 'Of course you won't wear it anywhere else, Delia dear. Only here at our private lessons. It is merely my little joke. I'm sure you won't begrudge an old gentleman his little joke.'
No, not when this old gentleman is telling her she has what is basically one of the most marvellous voices he has ever heard. It lacks only work and training. Mr Plummer incidentally is not that old. In his 50s. Old enough, though, and sufficiently innocuous seeming for Raymond Greenaway easily to dismiss any thoughts he might harbour that there could be an ulterior motive in the Wednesday singing lessons.
Once Delia has accepted this unexpected outfit which Mr Plummer produces the choirmaster's next move is not that difficult. His hand up the back of the short skirt. Delia has unfortunately shown that she is gullible. And that she can't, or won't, oppose his will.
'Stand quite still, my dear. I want you to show you can concentrate. Put other distractions out of your mind. All the great singers have the ability to concentrate.'
It is of course awful for Delia. Her mind knows that Mr Plummer is doing an outrageous thing. His hand stroking the bare flesh high up on her thighs. It is the sort of thing that Delia's straight-laced mind utterly rejects. Mr Plummer is feeling her up in a particularly disgusting manner. Her mind screams that at her. In any other circumstances... but now... well, it is Mr Plummer. Who has got himself into this very special position. Her private singing instructor. She can't object. She can't slap his face, spit out that he's a dirty old man. As she did when old Mr Merrydrew, another village worthy who has eyed Delia, attempted the same sort of thing one evening in a corner of the Cock Pleasant. No...
So for several Wednesday evenings now, at least, that hand of Mr Plummer's... lessons in concentration. He does not necessarily make her sing whilst he is doing it, though. He mostly does it while he is talking. So really that business about learning to concentrate on her singing... No, Delia knows really that Mr Plummer simply likes doing it. As Mr Merrydrew would like doing it if he got half a chance. This totally abhorrent thing. It makes her perspire to think about it. When she is at home with Raymond for instance. Delia can scarcely believe she can do this: stand here and let Mr Plummer do it. But she can, she does. And this is not all. Oh no. There is the rest of it.
Unbelievable but there is more. Which is even worse. In fact very shortly now... Mr Plummer will say... he will take his hand away from Delia's bottom, which is something, but it is only a temporary respite, and he will say...
'Let me see then, Delia dear. Lift up.'
Yes. Today is no different.
At home, reliving this awful business in her mind, Delia tells herself that next time she won't. She will speak simply but firmly to Mr Plummer, not getting excited... 'Look. Please Mr Plummer. I really don't think this is necessary. I can practise concentration and discipline in some other way. This doesn't help me, it simply makes me nervous, so that I can't sing properly.' And Mr Plummer will say, 'Yes, you're probably right. OK. We'll stop all that business.'
But today, as on those other days, Delia cannot make herself say this. Even if she could she knows that Mr Plummer would probably take no notice and make her anyway. So she doesn't speak. Trembling from that hand at her bottom Delia meekly does what she has to. It is another test: supposedly self-discipline rather than concentration this time. She must raise her skirt, up round her waist. Standing quite still and straight, high heels together, she must lift the short skirt up to her waist and thereby display what is underneath. Which is only that suspender belt plus the brief web-like knickers.
Could Raymond or Delia's friends imagine this?
How many times has she broken out in little beads of perspiration at the very thought!
It is dreadful — but there is more. For these last three Wednesdays there has been more, diabolically so, and there is to be tonight. Delia's bottom, which from the very start Mr Plummer showed an especial interest in. Those delectable rear divisions which he has had his hand on up her skirt. Yes...
'Very good, my dear. And now we will do the other. After that you can try the first piece.'
Yes, any actual singing on these evenings takes second place to these other exercises. Correction; discipline, etc. This final exercise is also in the interests of disciplinary training according to our choirmaster. It is nothing less than a hard and stinging spanking of Delia's bare bottom.
Over his lap. Chorister's robe pulled high over her back. Brief little knickers slid down to the region of her knees. (Mr Plummer sometimes requires his pupil to reach behind her when she is in place on his lap and take them down herself). Legs extended, knees kept straight. And then... but perhaps we should pass over the final desperate, humiliating business in silence.
Not that Oswald Plummer's sitting room, curtains drawn against the soft and vibrant evening world, is silent. The sounds are of flesh sharply meeting flesh. And consequent feminine yelps and half-muffled cries. Well, a girl does her best not to cry out.
Delia is not late back. Not later than normal, certainly. Her lesson with Mr Plummer occupies two hours, which has come to be the norm. Part of this time has been spent in singing. 'Making excellent progress,' is the verdict of Delia's mentor.
It is of course time for bed when Delia gets back. A cup of cocoa first and then bed. Bed at least takes the edge off of Raymond's acute annoyance. And as it happens Delia is more responsive than usual after an evening with Mr Plummer. Thinking of it, the enormity of it, that she can allow herself to be party to such a thing, and moreover the heart-stopping possibility that perhaps Raymond might find out... All of this does tend to make a young woman more active and responsive in the marital bed. Sex is a release, a relief, after all.
Wednesday Practice
High in the church tower the bell tolls out the hours: One... Two... Three... Nine O'Clock. An owl hoots in accompaniement: a warning to small creatures to lie low, stay close to their nests. As we may assume most human inhabitants of the village are staying close to theirs. The telly of course; the lives of most of them nowadays will revolve around the telly. The Nine O'Clock News. Some others will naturally be in the pub, The Cock Pheasant, but for those individuals, most of them, this will be their normal evening habitat. But one or two are not at home or in the Pheasant.
Delia Greenaway for one.
In spite of her spouse's protests. 'Your choir night's Mondays. Why every Wednesday as well?'
The Greenaways, Delia and Raymond, 21 and 23 respectively, have been joined in holy wedlock for less than a year. It is perhaps little wonder therefore that Raymond, no chorister himself, feels some annoyance at this loss of connubial evenings. He complains but of course he knows the answer.
'You know why, Raymond. I need the practice. You know Mr Plummer says I've got talent and it needs developing. I wish you wouldn't try to make me feel guilty all the time.'
The talents of Delia which interest Raymond lie in another direction: though if he says something along these lines he will be accused of being crude and never thinking of anything else. 'And anyway...'
Anyway those talents are displayed, practised, in the Greenaways solid double bed and Delia is not reluctant in that respect. It is only that Raymond does like to refer to it in a way Delia finds embarrassing, and does seem always to be thinking about it. There are other things to be thinking about. The choir, singing, for instance.
So on this Wednesday evening Delia is not at home, Summertime Cottage, where a disgruntled Raymond is glowering alone at the Nine O'Clock News presenter. Delia is at Mr Plummer's. Mr Plummer, Oswald, is choir-master at St. Margaret's.
Not that Delia is bending at this moment. She is standing at Mr Plummer's side, in the white high-heeled courts which are also part of this outfit, while Mr Plummer discusses something: one of the works they are to practise. As Mr Plummer speaks...
One hesitates to say this, especially when one is mindful of Raymond Greenaway back at their home morosely watching the news. But still, he is not likely to find out and what the eye does not see, etc. Mr Plummer, then, has his hand up Delia's skirt. Up the back of that short skirt and it is fondling Delia's bottom which is clad — more accurately partially clad — in a vestigal pair of cobwebby white knickers. (These knickers are part of Mr Plummer's special outfit too.) The hand is fondling Delia's partially bare bottom and she is not struggling to get away; she is standing there accepting it.
All of this — Mr Plummer's groping hand and Delia's apparently meek acceptance of it, and also her special chorister's outfit — is quite a surprise. It would certainly be a surprise to Raymond Greenaway or to any of the young Greenaways' acquaintances who know Delia as a somewhat prim and proper young woman. Hands up skirts? How can this be? How can Oswald Plummer have managed to get to this stage — and indeed he has got further. If the evening progresses as most recent Wednesday evenings have we shall see him go further. How...?
It is all to do with the singing lessons. And with a certain gullibility on Delia's part. She has fallen first of all for Mr Plummer's line that she has a gem of a voice, an un-cut diamond which he can cut and polish if Delia will only place herself in his hands. In fact Delia Greenaway's voice is nothing special. Pleasant enough but it can only become special if you consider the rest of her: the face, the dazzling hair, and of course that womanly shape. (For Oswald Plummer it is Delia's bottom that is of especial interest — as evidenced by the fact that his hand is at present handling it — but we will come to that.)
So gullibility and credulity get Delia to Mr Plummer's house on Wednesday evenings and once there he works even further on her credulity. Oswald Plummer might be an ordinary looking gentleman but he has a persuasive way with him. Persuading Delia to accept... well, first of all this outfit. 'Of course you won't wear it anywhere else, Delia dear. Only here at our private lessons. It is merely my little joke. I'm sure you won't begrudge an old gentleman his little joke.'
No, not when this old gentleman is telling her she has what is basically one of the most marvellous voices he has ever heard. It lacks only work and training. Mr Plummer incidentally is not that old. In his 50s. Old enough, though, and sufficiently innocuous seeming for Raymond Greenaway easily to dismiss any thoughts he might harbour that there could be an ulterior motive in the Wednesday singing lessons.
Once Delia has accepted this unexpected outfit which Mr Plummer produces the choirmaster's next move is not that difficult. His hand up the back of the short skirt. Delia has unfortunately shown that she is gullible. And that she can't, or won't, oppose his will.
'Stand quite still, my dear. I want you to show you can concentrate. Put other distractions out of your mind. All the great singers have the ability to concentrate.'
It is of course awful for Delia. Her mind knows that Mr Plummer is doing an outrageous thing. His hand stroking the bare flesh high up on her thighs. It is the sort of thing that Delia's straight-laced mind utterly rejects. Mr Plummer is feeling her up in a particularly disgusting manner. Her mind screams that at her. In any other circumstances... but now... well, it is Mr Plummer. Who has got himself into this very special position. Her private singing instructor. She can't object. She can't slap his face, spit out that he's a dirty old man. As she did when old Mr Merrydrew, another village worthy who has eyed Delia, attempted the same sort of thing one evening in a corner of the Cock Pleasant. No...
Unbelievable but there is more. Which is even worse. In fact very shortly now... Mr Plummer will say... he will take his hand away from Delia's bottom, which is something, but it is only a temporary respite, and he will say...
'Let me see then, Delia dear. Lift up.'
Yes. Today is no different.
At home, reliving this awful business in her mind, Delia tells herself that next time she won't. She will speak simply but firmly to Mr Plummer, not getting excited... 'Look. Please Mr Plummer. I really don't think this is necessary. I can practise concentration and discipline in some other way. This doesn't help me, it simply makes me nervous, so that I can't sing properly.' And Mr Plummer will say, 'Yes, you're probably right. OK. We'll stop all that business.'
But today, as on those other days, Delia cannot make herself say this. Even if she could she knows that Mr Plummer would probably take no notice and make her anyway. So she doesn't speak. Trembling from that hand at her bottom Delia meekly does what she has to. It is another test: supposedly self-discipline rather than concentration this time. She must raise her skirt, up round her waist. Standing quite still and straight, high heels together, she must lift the short skirt up to her waist and thereby display what is underneath. Which is only that suspender belt plus the brief web-like knickers.
Could Raymond or Delia's friends imagine this?
How many times has she broken out in little beads of perspiration at the very thought!
It is dreadful — but there is more. For these last three Wednesdays there has been more, diabolically so, and there is to be tonight. Delia's bottom, which from the very start Mr Plummer showed an especial interest in. Those delectable rear divisions which he has had his hand on up her skirt. Yes...
'Very good, my dear. And now we will do the other. After that you can try the first piece.'
Yes, any actual singing on these evenings takes second place to these other exercises. Correction; discipline, etc. This final exercise is also in the interests of disciplinary training according to our choirmaster. It is nothing less than a hard and stinging spanking of Delia's bare bottom.
Over his lap. Chorister's robe pulled high over her back. Brief little knickers slid down to the region of her knees. (Mr Plummer sometimes requires his pupil to reach behind her when she is in place on his lap and take them down herself). Legs extended, knees kept straight. And then... but perhaps we should pass over the final desperate, humiliating business in silence.
It is of course time for bed when Delia gets back. A cup of cocoa first and then bed. Bed at least takes the edge off of Raymond's acute annoyance. And as it happens Delia is more responsive than usual after an evening with Mr Plummer. Thinking of it, the enormity of it, that she can allow herself to be party to such a thing, and moreover the heart-stopping possibility that perhaps Raymond might find out... All of this does tend to make a young woman more active and responsive in the marital bed. Sex is a release, a relief, after all.
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