Story from Blushes 19.
Gentlemans American relish
The voice over the phone had that very special British quality that can really do things for the American ear. The female American ear primarily. Indeed do things to other parts of the female anatomy as well. An unmistakably upper-class British male voice. A commanding drawl, redolent of rolling English acres and perhaps the odd castle or two. Gentlemen riding to hounds in red coats – though in their British way they called them pink. Oh yes, Louise Sorenson felt quite weak at the knees – and possibly just a little moist at another part of her anatomy. As she listened, doing her best to concentrate, to what this marvellous voice was saying.
A gentleman's companion... An English gentleman's companion... This summer. Well, wasn't it just too marvellous.
Not for herself of course. Although Louise, a well-preserved and handsome young matron in her late thirties (actually just turned 40), could easily picture herself as an English gentleman's companion. But no, it was of course Bobbi-Jean. Louise and Al Sorenson's elder daughter, just turned 18. A very lovely girl, a beautiful brunette, tall and with a truly lovely figure. Who was due to start her first semester of college in the fall and wouldn't it be just too wonderful for Bobbi-Jean to spend the summer in England. A gentleman's companion. Associating with the British aristocracy and thereby getting some of that marvellous English upper-class poise.
Louise had heard of this marvellous possibility from a friend of a friend. Someone who knew someone at the Embassy. It had seemed too good to be true – but now here was this wonderful plummy Englishman's voice telling her that yes it was true. There were English gentlemen happy to take a personable young American girl into their lovely English homes. For an educational and cultural stay.
But... there was of course competition. As you could imagine many, many American girls were desperately keen to be accepted. Places were necessarily limited. So it was very competitive. There had to be a screening process. Naturally. That stemmed the euphoria for a moment. But only a moment, when a mother had a daughter like Bobbi-Jean. A truly lovely girl who was talented and so personable as well. Bobbi-Jean was bound to pass any screening test. Once she was first advised as to how she should conduct herself: eager to please, and project herself. In a ladylike way of course.
* * *
Bobbi-Jean smiled winningly, if a little nervously. Eighteen-year-old American girls do have poise and confidence but nonetheless she was naturally somewhat nervous. Sitting now in this Englishman's lovely lounge. Not in England, not yet, but here in the States still for the screening. Mr Edward Hatfield's lovely house here in the Maryland countryside. Staying here for the weekend with Mr Hatfield to see if she was suitable for one of those marvellous, marvellous English visits. A gentleman's companion. A truly marvellous month in August. If Bobbi-Jean did well at this screening. So naturally she was just a little nervous.
'Bobbi-Jean,' Mr Hatfield said. 'You American girls have such pretty names.'
Bobbi-Jean smiled attractively again. Her full, ripe American mouth, adorned with Pink Gloss lipstick but not too much, parting slightly to show the fine, even pearly white teeth. Sitting opposite Mr Hatfield with the afternoon sun slanting in through the high windows. Mr Hatfield who was tall and good-looking in an English aristocratic way. In his country tweeds and those English mirror-bright no doubt hand-made shoes.
Bobbi-Jean had similarly chosen for the occasion (or rather her mom had) an attractive tweed skirt, and Scottish plaid mix of greens and blues. Plus a form-fitting sleeveless blouse and, a more sophisticated touch perhaps, a pair of black leather high-heeled courts. Louise Sorenson had driven her daughter over but was now departed. Leaving Bobbi-Jean alone with Mr Hatfield, for the duration of the weekend. To be put through her paces as it were. Yes, it was just a little daunting.
'A pretty name for a very pretty girl, eh?' observed Bobbi-Jean's host. At which the pretty girl produced another of her winning smiles, also a demure and becoming blush, modestly replying, 'Oh I don't think so.'
Edward Hatfield's cool grey eyes appraised. A lovely girl alright. That ripe mouth! And a lovely figure. With those firm tits thrusting out the front of the fitting pink blouse. And the delicious nyloned knees modestly showing at the hem of the plaid skirt. Oh yes, a really splendid example of the teenage American female. Which was so much in demand in certain quarters back home.
Yes, Bobbi-Jean Sorenson was exactly what was wanted, Edward Hatfield could tell that right now. No need for any testing. Not really. Except of course that one had to be sure. One had to take this business seriously. Because it was conceivable that even the prettiest girl with the most exquisite bottom and boobs might not suit. If she turned out to be entirely uncooperative. An entirely uncooperative girl would not do at all. Generally speaking of course American girls were not entirely uncooperative: not with a British gentleman. But one could not assume that. That was the purpose of this weekend. To determine cooperativeness. And also, naturally, to provide a little pleasure for Edward Hatfield. One of the perks of his position, his role. Which he was very pleased to accept.
Edward Hatfield proceeded with general, reassuring chat. Plus also a nice bottle of white wine, a couple of glasses of which can also reassure a somewhat nervous girl. Reassurance was needed because of the tests. Which shortly had to be broached. Discipline for one thing.
'Discipline Bobbi-Jean. That is a subject we need to discuss. We British do I suppose have more of a thing about discipline. Discipline for girls we are talking about. English schools I should say practise discipline to a greater extent than American schools. Which I get the impression tend to be more free and easy. Would that be the case?'
Bobbi-Jean said, 'Uh... yes.' Not too sure about this talk of discipline. Mr Hatfield's rather intent grey eyes were keenly on her. On the firm thrust of her impressive boobs it seemed. Bobbi-Jean knew she had impressive boobs.
'Corporal chastisement, Bobbi-Jean. None of that? You haven't experienced anything of that? Being spanked. On your bottom. With your skirt off and your knickers as we would say, your panties, off. You've not had that?'
'No!' Bobbi-Jean's pretty cheeks were distinctly pink now. At the thought of it. Edward could picture it too: voluptuous cheeks of Bobbi-Jean's splendid bottom equally pink. Or even bright red. With his right hand belabouring them. Bobbi-Jean's knickers – panties that was – down around those delightful knees and that plaid skirt up round her waist. The thought was stimulating in the extreme.
'Ah. Well an English gentleman would need to know a girl was disciplined. We believe it is character forming. An English girl has her character formed at school. As she gets her bottom spanked, Bobbi-Jean. And the cane too. Have you thought about the cane my dear?'
'No! No, we don't... do any of that.'
'No need to worry. I'm sure we can do something about it. A little later. If you really want one of these visits and I'm sure you do. Now then, the other thing is fitness. Being in shape. That's a big thing nowadays. Probably no problem there I imagine. I mean that is something you're keen on over here.'
'Right. Yes.' Bobbi-Jean happier with this. Not at all sure about that discipline talk but certainly happier with this. Yes, she was in pretty good shape she told her host. Tennis, swimming, all that stuff. Aerobic dance.
'That's very good. You certainly look to be in shape,' Edward Hatfield smiled. 'And have a lovely shape, eh Bobbi-Jean? Would you like to show me?'
Because of course it was now time to move forward. The lovely girl had had a glass of wine and should be somewhat relaxed. It was time to get things going. To Bobbi-Jean's quizzical look Edward Hatfield explained.
'Take your clothes off, my dear. I would say you were in marvellous shape but I do need to check that. Our people do want fit girls. To get the full benefit from a visit. A fit body means a fit, alert mind, that's the thing.'
Take her clothes off! That was a bit of a stunner. Though Mr Hatfield had seemed to be looking with some interest at her boobs and legs. Al least she had good boobs and legs, Bobbi-Jean knew that. Just about everyone said so. Dr Kreutz their family doctor, and Mr Cerucci her school principal (ex-school now of course) and... well just about everyone. And of course Bobbi-Jean's mom had advised her to do just whatever Mr Hatfield wanted. If she wanted one of these great trips, which Bobbi-Jean really did, you bet. But.
What did Mr Hatfield want? What would he want? Exactly. To look at her pretty good body for one thing. As Mr Cerucci had looked at it – and of course Dr Kreutz too, though he was of course a doctor. Mr Hatfield wanted that. And then? Well, she couldn't pursue that line right now. Right now... Bobbi-Jean had to do it. What Mr Hatfield wanted. Take her clothes off.
Standing up. A slightly embarrassed smile but Bobbi-Jean isn't shy. Not really. She hadn't been shy for Mr Cerucci when he wanted her to take her clothes off. Out on that picnic, just the two of them, when they'd had the serious chat about college etc. Mr Cerucci had wanted Bobbi-Jean to take her clothes off, in that secluded spot out in the woods, and Bobbi-Jean had. It was smart to be nice and cooperative with your school principal if you hoped to get good grades at the end of the year. Especially your senior year, with college etc. And similarly with Dr Kreutz. Bobbi-Jean had taken her clothes off for Dr Kreutz without being shy. Several times. Everything off and then up on his examination couch. Dr Kreutz's hands checking that there were no problems with a girl's special regions. Those special parts of her anatomy. Dr Kreutz was very keen on that. That checking. So...
So no real shyness as Bobbi-Jean unzipped her skirt and slipped it down. And then her waist slip. Oh my! What truly marvellous legs! Revealed right up to their origin where the pale, silky thighs start from the very briefest pair of semi-transparent pink panties. The marvellous limbs clad in shimmery white stockings, the tops tautly fastened with the slim straps of a white garter belt... the stockings and belt come on the advice of Bobbi-Jean's mom, guessing that English gentlemen, like the typical American male, greatly prefer such underpinings to pantiehose. Had Louise Sorenson guessed that it might be necessary for her daughter to reveal something of herself?
'Truly delightful!' is the expressed opinion of Edward Hatfield. As he beckons Bobbi-Jean close. The lovely girl meekly obeys. 'Yes truly delightful.' His hand gently caresses the nude backs of her thighs above the stocking tops.
And now before requesting that she strip further Edward Hatfield softly voices a certain question. A most intimate query. Not that it will make a whole lot of difference regarding the hoped-for visit. Whether Bobbi-Jean is or not still as they say virgo intacta. Either way is really OK. Because while some gentleman will prefer a girl who is still in that style others are not so choosy – or indeed may rather have a girl with a certain amount of experience.
'Uh... no. Not exactly...' is Bobbi-Jean's reply. Shivering slightly at the stroking hand – because where Mr Hatfield now has it, high up on the under-thigh and indeed with the fingers sliding onto inner-thigh flesh... is a most sensitive region.
When Bobbi-Jean says 'not exactly' she means no. She is, as one might say, several removes away from being a virgin. There is her boyfriend Carl for one, an on-going relationship. On-going sexual activity therefore. And others too. Mr Cerucci for another one. Bobbi-Jean's ex-school head. He has also... more than once. Although Carl doesn't know that and nor, certainly, does Bobbi-Jean's mom. But a girl needs to be cooperative with her school principal. What with college etc. The first time was on that picnic.
So 'not exactly' means no. As Edward Hatfield elicits. It is not a problem he tells her. 'Some gentlemen will be very happy with that.'
'Uh... yes?' The lovely girl hadn't actually thought it was a consideration. Had she? She gives a little surprised whimper. The hand has slid right in, between her legs. And up. To the skimpy crotch-spanning strip of the diaphanous pink panties. Mr Hatfield's fingers suddenly right at the ripe bulge of Bobbi-Jean's business. Bobbi-Jean's cunt. 'No, that's not a problem at all,' he repeats. And then, removing his hand, Edward Hatfield suggests that Bobbi-Jean now remove the skimpy panties. And they will go over to the table.
His very lovely polished round table. An English antique without any doubt. But Bobbi-Jean's thoughts for the moment cannot be on this splendid item of furniture. Not when she is removing her panties. To leave herself in just the tight pink top and stockings and garter belt. Plus of course the elegance of her black high heels. A stunning vision certainly. And now...
Bobbi-Jean is having to get up on the table. On this glorious polished surface in which one can see one's face with the clarity of a mirror. In which now one can see various parts of this lovely American girl reflected with a similar clarity. For from a sitting position Bobbi-Jean has to get on her back. Lying on her back with her knees raised. Those very smart high heels sacriligously up on the marvellous surface. But perhaps it is not sacriligous, when they belong to, are part of, this work of art which is Bobbi-Jean Sorenson stripped down to her shimmery white nylons and garter belt.
There are two things now for the table business. For Bobbi-Jean on her back on Mr Hatfield's lovely table. The first is very reminiscent of those visits to Dr Kreutz. One his up-on-the-table examination visits. The other, which will follow, is in the area of discipline. Girl disciplining.
But for the first it is very like a visit to Dr Kreutz. With Mr Hatfield saying he would like to check things out. Just relax. Etc. What he wants to check is the same thing that Dr Kreutz always wants to check. Bobbi-Jean's thing in fact. That plump furry item nestling between Bobbi-Jean's marvellous thighs. Which are now parted, knees raised, on the table.
What exactly is Mr Hatfield investigating? Apart from clearly, Bobbi-Jean's pussy. It is not likely that he doubts her claim to be no longer a virgin. No. Perhaps... he simply likes investigating... for its own sake... With no object in view beyond the sensual pleasure of handling this wondrous part.
That is the first bit of this table business and it does continue for a little while. With Bobbi-Jean inevitably getting more and more involved.
Aroused in fact. Until, yes, she does actually come. Not wishing to, but a girl can't exert a lot of control over these things. If she gets to the point where she is going to come... well, she comes. It is something which simply happens. With the usual threshing about, shuddering yelps, etc, that one gets. Perhaps this indeed has been Edward Hatfield's object all along: to bring Bobbi-Jean off.
With this accomplished, or at least when it has happened, he proceeds to the second matter. Disciplining. That area in which American girls are so lacking in experience. With his clothes brush. Which he is going to use on upside-down bare bottom is fully exposed. 'It is of course a splendid positioning; there is no better position to have a girl in to receive a lesson in chastisement. Because she is so exposed and so aware that she is exposed. That sense of utter vulnerability. Not just her bottom of course but... all the rest too.
Bobbi-Jean is told to grip her raised knees; to hold herself firmly in this position. And not to move. When the back of the brush.
* * *
'How did you like that, Bobbi-Jean? Your first taste of it?'
Edward Hatfield has just come into this cozey room: his den where Bobbi-Jean has been left to wait for him. She is standing by the fire with her hands on her head in a pair of pink pyjamas. Or rather is wearing the bottoms of a pair of pink pyjamas, in a pretty flower pattern. Bobbi-Jean's splendid torso from the waist up is bare. Those magnificent full, firm tits (which Mr Cerucci and Dr Kreutz and quite a few others as well as boyfriend Carl all so much admire) are gloriously nude.
Bobbi-Jean shakes her glossy brunette head. Because she hasn't enjoyed that experience at all. She has been told to wait like this, with her hands on her head. After her shower. Which Bobbi-Jean had after that business on the table. No, she didn't enjoy it at all. That brush! Which went on and on whacking into her poor bare bottom. And being in that awful position! Upside-down. Showing just everything. Is that the sort of thing a girl can expect on her trip to England? If she gets the trip. Mr Hatfield, though, has said she should. Because she is such a lovely girl and she did do well in that first test, with that awful brush. Upside-down on that super table.
Edward Hatfield, moving close, slides his hand over Bobbi-Jean's boobs. They really are magnificent. Jutting right out in her hands-on-head position. Glowing pinkly from the shower. This big nipples are quite erect, carmine coloured. So inviting. Inviting you to take a delicious suck; and to do all kinds of other things to Bobbi-Jean Sorenson as well. Oh yes, there is no doubt at all that this girl is the very tops. What pleasures are in store for those lucky gentlemen awaiting in England! And what pleasures still for Edward Hatfield. Tonight! And all of tomorrow. Sunday night as well. He will certainly have to pace himself. Before the glorious girl is returned to her mother with the Approved label very firmly in place.
'I think we'll do a little more of the discipline,' Edward murmurs, gently stroking the lovely tits still. 'You did so well that first time. But we do need practice, don't we? So... can you slip the pyjamas down my dear?'
'Yeah...' Bobbi-Jean grateful at least to be able to lower her arms. Ease her aching shoulders. 'OK Mr Hatfield.'
Is he going to want to fuck her? Or is it just going to be this disciplining? Jesus. She doesn't want that brush again. No thanks. But it's in a good cause, isn't it? This trip. As long as any English gentleman she is a companion to... isn't only interested in whacking the daylights out of her ass.