Valerie – as promised

Story from Blushes 07.

Valerie – as promised

The continuation of the story of Valerie's 're-education' at the hands of a certain Mr Fultonby.

THE NEW GIRL MEETS MR MIGGINS

'Hey! No touching, Mr Miggins. Anyway your hands must be quite filthy messing about with those pots.'

In the potting shed in the corner of Mr Henry Fultonby's extensive gardens Cynthia Harlow was still sitting on the bench with one foot raised high to display the full extent of two slim and shapely legs, but as she spoke she pushed her skirt firmly down between the tops of her thighs thus closing off from view what Mr Bert Miggins had been raptly gazing at and indeed what he had now, lurching forward, attempted to get his hands on. What to be frank, Cynthia had been deliberately displaying to Mr Miggins' aroused eyes, namely that very essence of her young girlhood, that split peach, adorned with soft brown curls and with its outer lips parted by her spread-legged posture to reveal delectable and quite irresistable coral pink inner parts. All this, quite bare due to the absence of knickers was now abruptly covered up by the skirt.

But the chances were that this most delicious part of Cynthia would soon once more be revealed and indeed made available. For she calculated that Mr Miggins was now sufficiently on the boil to be prepared to open his wallet and pay for certain esoteric pleasures. Naturally, though, a girl did not want hands which had come straight from cleaning out old plant pots to be in contact with that most intimate of parts.

Hot-faced, Mr Miggins went to his sink and made a big show with soap and water, and then with a reasonably clean towel. Breathing somewhat like a panting dog he came back to Cynthia who made a quick inspection of the scrubbed hands.

'I don't know that I should let you,' she pronounced coyly. 'And also you shouldn't want to do such things.'

'Come on, young Cynthia,' urged the aroused gardener. 'You know you love it.'

Cynthia would not admit to 'loving' it, certainly not to Mr Miggins, or indeed to that new girl Valerie or to Mr Fultonby who in any case were not privy to the fact that she permitted such intimacies from the gardener. But it did give her a nice tingle of excitement letting a member of the lower classes get his work-gnarled hands on her. The thought of what Mummy would think was really quite a turn-on.

'How much're you going to give me?' she inquired sweetly. It is an unfortunate fact that some girls can get to know the value of what they've got at a very early age.

'A pound,' ventured Bert Miggins, though not too hopeful that this would get him very far.

'You've got to be joking, Mr Miggins; you won't get much of a feel for that I can tell you, I am not one of your common village girls, you know.'

'Two pounds for the whole works then. With me 'and, I means.'

Mr Miggins had better mean only his hand, he certainly would not be allowed anything else. Anything else could only be permitted to a proper gentleman, e.g., Mr Henry Fultonby. But yes, for £2 Mr Miggins might be allowed quite extended manual manipulations.

'Let's have it first,' Cynthia stipulated, aware that if she waited until after Mr Miggins had had his pleasure he can easily claim to have no money on him.

Two one-pound notes were handed over. Clutching them, Cynthia lay back on the bench and drew both legs up with raised knees spread in an abandoned manner. Mr Miggins, bending over her, pushed Cynthia's skirt back to her waist and slid an eager hand between silky thighs. Cynthia emitted an urgent gasp. Fingers explored and entered and then commenced a very expert massage. In no time at all Cynthia was grunting rhythmically and rocking her crotch against the busy fingers.

A visitor from Mars, say, might be excused for asking why it was that Mr Miggins was paying for something which would seem to be at least as much for Cynthia's enjoyment as for his own – but that, happily or otherwise, is the way it can be with desirable young ladies. Cynthia's orgasm was not long in coming, for she had a short fuse when expertly handled and though Mr Bert Miggins might be a common gardener, nevertheless in certain areas he knew exactly what he was doing. Perhaps that is they mean by having 'green fingers.'

When she was finished Cynthia pushed Mir Miggins' hand away. But Mr Fultonby's sturdy retainer was not yet ready to call it a day, complaining that he had not had his full £2's worth. He would, he said, finish up by giving Cynthia a little spanking.

She protested but not too desperately as he moved to his chair and pulled her over his lap. Having your bare bum spanked by a member of the proletariat was also a turn-on, even though it could hurt. Cynthia wriggled and yelped, feeling Mr Miggins' throbbing bulge pressing urgently against her soft belly. The hand kept coming crisply down; and then by way of variety slid firmly in between her hot thighs.

She gave a strangled yell, and immediately started thrusting rhythmically against the hand in much the same way as she had five minutes earlier when on her back on the bench. Cynthia climaxed, for the second time, just before Bert Miggins reached his own satisfying conclusion.

Meanwhile, in the house, Henry Fultonby had also just finished his first disciplinary session with the new girl, Valerie. The cane vigorously applied to her pertly pretty 16-year old bottom and then what, if you weren't used to it, was an equally breath-stopping massage afterwards. With a dismissive smack to her bottom, Valerie was told she could go outside until lunch time; she would probably find Cynthia somewhere out there. Quite devastated by what had happened, Valerie was only too eager to go. At least she would be away from Mr Fultonby.

They met on the lawn, Cynthia feeling nice and sprightly, thank-you very much, and Valerie decidedly the worse for wear. Cynthia asked brightly about the caning which she knew the new girl would have had. 'When you're not used to it it can really make you feel sick, I know.'

Valerie did feel sick. They sat under a magnificent copper beech tree. In the distance Mr Miggins was now to be seen dutifully trundling his wheel-barrow. Everything looked quite idyllic and it was really difficult to believe that those horrendous happenings had just taken place in Mr Fultonby's study. Considerately Cynthia offered to rub Valerie's bum for her. It would ease the soreness, she said. But Valerie said no thanks.

'I 'spect he'll give you another one, before tea or just after,' Cynthia said helpfully. 'The softening-up process, like I said.'

'Softening up for what?' asked Valerie.

'Oh you know: it! What every man wants from a girl. Beasts, aren't they? Not Mr Fultonby of course, he's not a beast. But most of them. Mr Miggins for instance. Mr Miggins has very beastly instincts.'

For the moment Valerie wasn't too worried about Mr Miggins and his instincts. It was Mr Fultonby. 'What about Mr Fultonby; what does he want?'

'It. I told you.'

Valerie's eyes widened as understanding dawned.

'Yes,' said Cynthia. 'But like I say I wouldn't call it beastliness with Mr Fultonby. He's really super. You'll like it. Why, haven't you done it before?'

'No!' gasped Valerie, who truly hadn't done it before; she hadn't even thought very much about doing it. Like Mummy said, as she conveniently forgot her own little lapses with 'Mr Smith' and others, doing it was for marriage and should definitely be kept for your husband.

'It's very good for you,' stated Cynthia. 'Stops you getting spots or anything else. Yes, a girl should really be doing it by 16 for her health. It's a natural function; Mr Fultonby will tell you that.'

Valerie could well believe Mr Fultonby would tell her anything to get what he wanted. And anyway she didn't have spots, her fair skin was quite free of any blemish. Cynthia's was too but what did that prove? With any luck Mummy would respond in a day or two to her plea to come home. But before then...?

They went into lunch, a salad prepared by Mrs Douglas who asked brightly, 'Had a good morning, girls?' Henry Fultonby greeted both his young guests by squeezing their bottoms, then said something to Cynthia which Valerie didn't catch. Cynthia licked her lips in a sexy way. Over lunch Mr Fultonby said he wanted to see Cynthia afterwards. Valerie, recalling what had just been said outside and also that sexy look of Cynthia's, felt her face colouring. Was Mr Fultonby going to do it to Cynthia again?

Whatever he was going to do at least it wouldn't be her and so she was spared a bit longer from another awful caning. Mr Fultonby said Valerie was to help Mr Miggins. When their host left the table for a moment Cynthia rolled her eyes in a most suggestive way. Afterwards, before going off with Mr Fultonby, she managed a whisper, 'Remember: Mr Miggins has got very beastly instincts!'

Valerie gulped out that surely he couldn't be worse – or even as bad – as Mr Fultonby, gentleman or not.

'You'll probably find Mr Miggins in the potting shed, I shouldn't wonder,' advised Mrs Douglas.

It was over in a far corner of the grounds screened by some shrubs. In less than 24 hours at Mr Fultonby's establishment Valerie had noticed the potting shed but had had no reason to go there before. A nice secluded little hidey-hole for Mr Miggins where he could do more or less what he wanted. Like, as we have seen, get his hands on his employer's young ladies. Now, after his lunchtime sandwiches, Bert Miggins was seated comfortably in his chair puffing at his pipe and serenely contemplating life – including the morning's encounter with Cynthia – when Valerie knocked at the door.

He got smartly to his feet. The tentative nature of the knock made it unlikely to be anyone other than the new girl – whose acquaintance Bert Miggins had not yet made though he was eager to do so. Yes indeed! 'Come in!' he welcomed, a large and rustic-looking spider confronting a delicious young fly. 'Come in, Missy. You must be our new young girlie.'

Valerie explained that she had been told to help. She stood hesitantly just inside the door. Here she was alone with this man who according to Cynthia had 'very beastly instincts', while she for her part was free of knickers under her dress – a fact which Mr Miggins could be very well aware of.

Bert Miggins was indeed aware of this, for Mr Fultonby always insisted on the 'no knickers' rule when girls were about the house. He licked his lips: she was another very tasty specimen. You had to hand it to Mr Fultonby, he certainly knew how to find girlies.

There was only one chair in Mr Miggins' hideaway – perhaps designedly so. He told Valerie he would have to explain what had to be done. He sat heavily down again on that one chair. And then told Valerie to sit on his lap.

Valerie went red. 'Thank-you,' she stammered, 'I... I can stand.'

'Come 'ere,' growled Mr Miggins in his most aggressive tones. 'You does what I tells 'e and no 'oity-toity nonsense, or Mr Fultonby'll 'ave 'is stick to that pretty bum again.'

Unwilling to contest such an argument Valerie moved unhappily forward. Bert Miggins pulled her onto his lap – at the same time holding up her dress at the back. It was therefore Valerie's bare bottom which made intimate contact with Mr Miggins' somewhat work-grimed flannel trousers. She gave a startled yelp. This was dreadful! Mr Miggins pushed and pulled, getting her just right – so that the considerable bulge which had rapidly appeared in the front of his trousers fitted nicely to the declivity between bottom cheeks and tops of thighs.

'Please!' pleaded Valerie weakly. It was all a bit overwhelming. At close quarters like this Mr Miggins had a very strong odour of pipe tobacco which if not entirely unpleasant did rather take your breath away. In addition to this there was what was happening – whatever it was – beneath her bottom. And in addition to that was the fact that Mr Miggins had straight away cupped two large sinewy hands round Valerie's pert breasts, protected as they were, if protected was the word, only by the thin material of her summery frock.

Mr Miggins was saying something about plant pots but Valerie's head just wouldn't take it in, what with everything else. His hands were really squeezing her breasts and Mr Miggins was sort of rocking about. Then he abruptly pushed her to her feet, getting up himself as well. Still clutching her tightly from behind he propelled Valerie the two steps to the work bench. His hands left her breasts for a moment to reach for a flower pot and put it in Valerie's hands. These pots had to be cleaned out, it seemed. Valerie's head was still spinning round and round and it seemed that Mr Miggins' voice had a breathy excited edge to it now.

As Valerie took hold of the pot Bert Miggins' hand went behind her and did something to the zip of his trousers. And then some other fumbling action in the same area. Red in the face, he again came tight up against Valerie's back where her dress was still up round her waist. Leaning over her, describing the pot cleaning operations, Mr Miggins' hands seemed to be everywhere, almost it seemed in front and behind at the same time. He seemed to be rocking himself against her again but Valerie's mind was still not working properly, almost as if the powerful tobacco odour had narcotized her, and she just wasn't sure what was happening. Then it seemed Mr Miggins made a sort of groaning sound and after that he let go of her and went over to the corner of the room where a sink was.

With her mind clearing now, Valerie realised her dress was all rucked up at the back. She pulled it down, conscious that her bottom was bare. As she did so she felt she was all wet and sticky. It was hot in the potting shed and she must have been perspiring, she thought. She carried on cleaning out the pots as Mr Miggins had showed her. Miraculously he seemed to have suddenly stopped all that groping and rubbing up against her.

* * *

In Henry Fultonby's bedroom the heavy curtains were drawn against the bright early afternoon sunshine but a slight gap in the centre near the top allowed a narrow shaft of light to enter, splitting the soft gloom. The ribbon of light crossed above the broad bed, where figures could dimly be seen in measured rhythmic motion, to produce a bright pool of light on the far side. The patch of light moved slowly with the earth's rotation but at 2.30 or thereabouts, when Valerie was being instructed in horticultural duties in the potting shed, it was impinging directly onto Henry's bedside table. Thus by chance brightly illuminated on the polished rosewood surface were a small jar and a little foil packet, broken open. Next to the table on the floor, but out of the bright beam of light and therefore not to be clearly seen, were a girl's crumpled summer dress and a pair of white high-heeled sandals. Also some items of male apparel.

A girlish giggle from the centre of the broad bed. Then a likewise girlish voice: 'When's Valerie going to get this treatment, Mr Fultonby?'

Henry Fultonby did not stop what he was doing. 'Don't you worry about Valerie, if you please, young lady.'

* * * * * * * *

THE NEW GIRL LEARNS WHAT LIFE IS ALL ABOUT

Four o'clock and the sun was still high in a cloudless blue sky over Lower Grindleham in the county of Suffolk. The two girls were once more lying on the grass in the shade of Henry Fultonby's splendid beech tree but the rest of the garden, shimmering in the heat, seemed deserted.

'Old Miggins should be watering those plants,' pronounced Cynthia. 'Look, they're all wilting.'

'No, I don't think you're supposed to water them in the hot sun,' said Valerie. 'It's too much of a shock. You wait till the evening and then do it. That's what my father told me.'

Cynthia considered this information for a moment. 'I bet old Miggins doesn't water them in the evening either. Lazy old sod. He's only interested in one thing. Did he do anything particularly beastly to you in the potting shed?'

Valerie's memory of events in the shed was a bit hazy. He had certainly made her sit on his lap and had squeezed her breasts in a not very nice way. And then at the work bench...

She broke off her thoughts to listen to what Cynthia was saying. Describing what Mr Miggins had tried to do to her. Got her up against the work bench and pulled her skirt up at the back. She didn't have any knickers on, of course. Valerie listened in increasing horror as Cynthia went on to describe in graphic detail exactly what Mr Miggins had then attempted. She now saw her own experience in a new light; as if someone had suddenly wiped away mist from a window. Mr Miggins' hands, which had seemed capable of being both in front and behind Valerie at the same time... And that stickiness... Valerie felt suddenly sick.

'Of course I pretty soon made him cut that out,' stated Cynthia primly. 'But that's what a lot of these men like Mr Miggins are like. Wanting to do all kinds of things to nice middle-class girls. You have to be on your guard.'

Valerie felt like weeping. 'Should soon be teatime,' said Cynthia. 'I'm starving.'

'D...d'you think that I... could have a bath?' queried Valerie doing her best to keep her voice firm.

'Why not? Anyway tea might be a bit late if Mr Fultonby's taking a nap.' Cynthia gave a coarse laugh. 'Resting after the enjoyment of his pleasures.'

Valerie certainly did not feel like pursuing that line of discussion. She got up. 'I... I think I'll have a quick bath. I feel all... all sticky,' she finished weakly.

'It is sticky with all this heat,' Cynthia agreed. She lifted her skirt, flapping it up to her waist. 'But I'm also starving. Doing a certain thing makes me really hungry.'

After tea, when Cynthia certainly showed a very healthy appetite, Mr Fultonby said he wanted to see Valerie again. Cynthia gave another eye-rolling performance behind his back. In his study Henry said, 'Time for another little disciplinary session I think, young lady.'

Valerie protested that she hadn't done anything. Henry smilingly agreed that this might be so but the discipline was required for general improvement and was not aimed at a specific fault. 'Over these next few days you're going to need it quite regularly, my dear. After that, well, we'll see. But don't worry, it's quite normal.'

Don't worry! All Valerie had to hang on to was the desperate hope that Mummy's letter might arrive tomorrow saying that she could come home and all this awful business would just be a bad memory. She clutched at this thought whilst she did as Mr Fultonby told her. Not up on the desk on her back this time, but almost as bad if not as bad. Kneel on a leather-covered stool, about 14 inches high, and put her hands down on the floor and then lower her body until her head was down on the carpet as well. Valerie was upside down with her bottom high in the air. Mr Fultonby flipped her dress back so that it fluttered down about her head. Cringingly she knew that her high-arched buttocks were quite bare.

Henry reached out his hand gently to stroke the pale moons which still bore marks from the morning's caning. A choice young lady with a delectably choice bottom and Henry really could hardly wait for the full enjoyment of her. Indeed it had been the excited arousal generated by his morning caning of her which had necessitated calling Cynthia to his bedroom for that extra afternoon session. According to that young Miss Valerie was somewhat shy at the moment and that did seem to Henry to be a reasonably accurate assessment of the situation. But shyness, as he knew from much experience, could be overcome and then the pleasure was that much the greater. The cane was an extremely effective agent in overcoming shyness. The cane followed by a nice show of affection for the distressed recipient.

And so in the pleasantly cool confines of his study Henry proceeded to apply his long thin rattan; to those firm pale globes and to the upper rear surfaces of the slimly rounded thighs. Nice fresh red stripes to go with the darkening ones of the morning. The delectable bottom jerked and bucked, not at all happy with what was happening to it, while from the blonde head down on the carpet came unhappy sounds. Sharp shrill yells and cries, and sniffling sobs. Henry's study had naturally seen and heard all this, or something very like it, many times before.

With the rattan's work completed Henry pulled Valerie to her feet. The flowered dress fell back into position to cover that smarting bare bottom and at the same time reveal the tearful face. Henry drew the exquisitely distressed girl to him. Arms went round the shaking slim shoulders. Firm young pointed breasts, confined under the single thin layer, squashed deliciously against Henry's shirt front. One hand slipping down to gently play with those quivering rear quarters, Henry uttered words of comfort and solace.

Later that evening over a game of scrabble, Cynthia asked, 'How's it going?' Mr Fultonby was in his study doing some writing. Valerie knew what Cynthia meant, not the game but the caning. She made a face. Her bottom still hurt horribly and she knew that for two pins she could burst into tears again.

Cynthia said, 'Let him know that you're ready for it, then he'll stop caning you all the time. When he comes in to say goodnight give him a nice big sexy kiss. Stick your tongue in his mouth. Then he'll get the idea.'

No doubt Mr Fultonby would get the idea but Valerie could not possibly see herself doing that. She had never kissed anyone like that, not man or boy, and the thought gave her goose-pimples. And besides she wasn't ready to do it. Mr Fultonby was not unattractive, for an older man, but the thought of doing it, even if it did stop the canings, was quite outside Valerie's orbit. Her only hope was that Mummy's letter would arrive tomorrow. She couldn't tell Cynthia that, though; she might tell Mr Fultonby.

'I couldn't possibly do that,' Valerie said, meaning put her tongue in Mr Fultonby's mouth. 'And I don't want him to think I'm ready to do it because I'm not.'

Cynthia shook her head. 'When you've had a few more canings I bet you change your mind. Anyway, doing it is what life is all about, isn't it? And you are old enough!' Smiling, she reached over and squeezed Valerie's knee. 'Would you like me to rub some cold cream on your bum? I've got some in my room.' Flushing, Valerie said no thanks.

Mr Fultonby did come in to see Valerie later, coming into her room with a cup of cocoa when she had just got her pyjamas on and was about to get into bed. He said he had looked in to see if she was all right; then he made Valerie take her pyjama bottoms off again. For a moment she thought she was going to get her third caning of the day but that didn't happen as Mr Fultonby said he wanted to inspect Valerie's bottom. He sat on her bed and made her get over his lap, face down, as he had after that caning in the morning. Mr Fultonby ran his hand gently over Valerie's bare bottom, stroking it. And then he did what he had also done in the morning after the caning – put his hand between her legs and took hold of her.

Valerie started crying. Not that what Mr Fultonby was now doing hurt because it didn't, but it was just too awful having his hand there and on top of everything else it was simply too much and all she could do was cry. As she cried Mr Fultonby's voice, soft and understanding of young females, told her to be a good girl and open her legs nicely. It was quite devastating what he was doing but it was also a relaxation from all the tension and Valerie couldn't help herself; she started reacting to it, her hips automatically rocking against Mr Fultonby's hand. She couldn't stop herself and that made it even worse and made her cry even more. She was sobbing and gasping as Mr Fultonby brought her to a climax.

After she'd finished he stood her on her feet and put his arms round her. 'There, that was what we needed, wasn't it?' Mr Fultonby said. Valerie just went on sobbing.

Mr Fultonby made her drink the cocoa he had brought and somehow she managed to get it down without choking. After that he helped Valerie into bed, then bent down and kissed her on the mouth. She remembered what Cynthia had said. Stick your tongue in his mouth. Valerie didn't do it but instead Mr Fultonby did it to her. Pushed his tongue between the soft trembling lips and right into her mouth. Valerie didn't resist, but for a moment thought she was going to choke just like with the cocoa.

Valerie intended to get up early and get the post but she slept soundly – perhaps her body feeling it needed rest after all the excitement – and she was only woken at 9 o'clock by Cynthia bursting in shouting, 'Hey! A letter for you, lazy dog!'

It was from Mummy all right, Valerie could recognise the writing. She grabbed it with trembling hands and tore it open. The words were at first a blur, her eyes reluctant to focus after the abrupt awakening. Then it cleared. Her mind put the words together. Valerie's heart started thumping. She re-read it.

Dearest Valerie,

Just a note. I don't know if you have written by now but as you see from the address I am not at home but staying with Mrs Carrington. I really felt I needed a short break, to relax. Anyway I expect you are having a really super time with Mr Fultonby who I believe has another girl staying, is that right? If so I expect the two of you can have a really splendid time. As regards Mr Fultonby I am writing to him separately to see if he would mind having you for three weeks. I really do need a rest, darling, as I said, and I am hopeful that Mr Fultonby can oblige. I understand he is usually very accommodating in such matters. Quite a Godsend actually.

Mrs Carrington is not on the phone, dearest, but you can of course write and I shall look forward to that. Be a good girl for Mr Fultonby, won't you, and do just as he tells you. And I'll look forward to seeing you in three weeks.

Love and kisses,
Your very loving Mother.

It was impossible; quite quite impossible! The words again became blurred, this time because Valerie's eyes had filled with tears. The tears brimmed over and started trickling down her cheeks.

'What is it, Val?' asked Cynthia sitting down beside her on the bed. Blubbering, Valerie managed to convey the horrendous news. Cynthia pushed her back onto the pillows and came down on top of her. 'Don't cry' she commiserated, and a pretty pink tongue came out to delicately lick away the salty tears from Valerie's face.

'But now you'll have to be nice to Mr Fultonby,' Cynthia told Valerie between licks. 'I mean you can't take that sort of caning for three weeks.'

Valerie's distress, confronted with this bleak prospect, became decidedly worse.

Henry received his own missive from Mrs Hartnall by the same post and perused its contents with considerable pleasure. He would, naturally, be delighted to oblige, as he always did in such circumstances. Shortly afterwards he had a word with his delightful Cynthia and from that young lady learnt of Valerie's distress. It seemed the unhappy girl had been hoping to be summoned home immediately rather than hear of this proposed extension to her stay. Henry assumed a thoughtful air – while his hand absent-mindedly fondled Cynthia's bare bottom. Some further thought was accompanied by continued bottom fondling, an excellent stimulus to the mental processes. Finally Henry made a 'hmm' sound which might indicate a decision had been made, and gave the bottom a conclusive slap.

'Send Valerie to see me, would you, Cynthia dear?'

The girl was evidently shocked and distressed and it seemed to Henry that the proper course of action was encompassed in the time-honoured saying: Strike while the iron is hot. 'Strike' in this instance could be taken very literally.

A smiling Henry informed the pretty young girl of the contents of her mother's letter. He would naturally be only too happy to oblige. Valerie looked as if a fresh flood of tears would appear at any moment. 'Among other things,' said Henry, 'three weeks will provide a nice extended period for your training – if that proves necessary of course.'

'Now then,' he went on in brisker tones, 'I rather think it's time for another little session, don't you? Get up on the desk, my dear; on your back. Then lift your legs up and grip your knees, as you did yesterday.'

Henry fetched the cane and, following the old adage, duly struck. Six nice crisp cuts to the up-ended bottom. There was a stimulating show of quite extreme unhappiness from the youthful recipient. An hour and a half later, after his coffee, Henry delivered a second dose of the same medicine. Six more. Another very arousing display of distress. As Henry Fultonby saw it, that old saying would better have been: Strike, strike and strike again while the iron is hot.

With the second dose well and truly delivered he sent Valerie out into the garden to sit and contemplate her unhappy lot. After ten minutes of such contemplation Cynthia was told to go out and have a quiet word,

'You know what I mean, Cynthia. Tell her she doesn't have to suffer.'

'I already have, Mr Fultonby,' said a bright-eyed Cynthia. 'But I think it will be different now she knows she's here for three weeks. I think it will sink in more.'

Valerie was sitting morosely under the beech tree. She didn't answer but made some sniffing sounds when Cynthia flopped down and asked how she was.

'Well, you don't have to have it, Val. He doesn't cane me all the time.'

There were more sniffs and then a quiet, hesitant voice said, 'It's really awful, you letting Mr Fultonby do that.'

'Who says so?' demanded Cynthia. 'I'm 16, you know, I can do it legally if I want.'

'What about your mother,' asked Valerie. 'I bet she'd kill you if she knew.'

'My mother can't talk,' Cynthia replied spiritedly. 'She does it with whoever she wants. One time at a party at our house she did it in my bedroom on my bed! With this man. I opened the door and there they were and I had to shut it again pretty quick. While my father was downstairs pouring the drinks. That's what mothers do, Val. I bet your mother's just the same.'

Valerie said her mother didn't do that but as she said it the whole thing crystallised in her mind. Those horrible thoughts she had had the first night here. Three weeks was how long Daddy was going to be away. All at once Valerie was quite certain that Mummy wasn't with Mrs Carrington, she was with that Mr Smith somewhere. Letting him do it to her. For three whole weeks presumably.

Cynthia said, 'I bet your mother does, if you knew. They all do it, whenever they get the chance. When our fathers are out of the way, at work or something. And then they tell us we must be so good and pure and not even think about it. But why shouldn't we do the same as them?'

Valerie had stopped sniffing, the pain in her bottom and indeed her whole general misery much less intense with the excitement of this new insight. And really, if Mummy could be beastly and abandon her just so she could do it with Mr Smith, perhaps Cynthia was right. Perhaps she should do something to pay Mummy out – and at the same time avoid Mr Fultonby's sickening cane. She gave Cynthia a wary look.

Cynthia said encouragingly, 'It's not against the law, you know. You should be doing it. It's what life is all about when you're grown up.'

Hesitantly Valerie asked, 'What... what is is like? Doing it, I mean.'

* * *

'I don't want to be caned any more,' Valerie stated, doing her best to control the emotion in her voice.

Mr Fultonby smiled. 'I don't suppose anyone wants it, Valerie.' It was still morning, about 12.30, and Henry was intending to strike once more before lunch. And then continue striking through the afternoon and evening.

Valerie said, 'What I mean is I want to be like Cynthia. Whatever you... you do to her. But I don't want those canings all the time. Please.'

She couldn't actually bring herself to say any more than that but Mr Fultonby seemed to get the message. He put his arms round Valerie in an affectionate way. She knew what to do now and, knowing about Mummy, she was ready to do it. She kissed Mr Fultonby; a real grown-up kiss, pushing her tongue firmly into his mouth. It felt funny all right but also sexy. Valerie didn't know anything about such things and just trusted to instinct. She pushed her tongue in as far as it would go and then slid it in and out. This seemed to be the right thing for she could sense Mr Fultonby getting quite excited, his hands really gripping her and then one hand going down between her thighs. She opened her legs to allow free access because obviously there was no sense trying to hold back now as she had made her decision. Actually Valerie found she was getting excited herself – all wet between her legs for this thing.

Valerie wondered for a moment if Mr Fultonby will do it to her right there in his study. On his settee perhaps. But after getting her all excited like that he stopped and said it would be better if they continued after lunch. For one dreadful moment Valerie thought that might mean another caning first as he hadn't actually done it yet. But Mr Fultonby, rather red in his face, said no. So that was all right.

They went into Mr Fultonby's bedroom right after lunch. He had a big double bed, for everyone else it seemed. How funny, being in bed in the afternoon, and also not having the clothes on, not even pyjamas. Valerie was scared, quite naturally, it being her first time, but it turned out OK. It hurt a bit of course but you expect that in first time. It was a tight fit but Mr Fultonby managed. Mr Fultonby got very excited indeed, grunting and groaning. He didn't take long to finish which was just as well as it was very tight and also hurting. And as Cynthia said the first time was bound to be tight but after that you were opened up and ready for it.

While Valerie was in Mr Fultonby's bedroom getting her initiation into what life is all about Cynthia and Mr Miggins were in the potting shed again. In that cosy sanctuary Bert Miggins was angry opening his wallet as Cynthia, once more, told him firmly that you certainly couldn't to expect that sort of things for free from a nice girl. It was getting to be quite a drain for his resources and he thought that he might have to cut bargain something – perhaps pipe tobacco. And there was else that other girl. Valerie. Once the two of them got talking together Bert knew she'd want paying for it too. Still, this is the life and, like a child in a sweet shop, he found such delight impossible to resist.

END

We believe we predicted this would happen, didn't we, in Blushes number Six? Well, there's no telling some people – at least she has the grace to blush for letting herself get into this position – or was it him who put her into this position? One can never be quite sure in these cases, can one.

I'll Never Forget Auntie!

Story from London Life Vol.1 No.7

I'll Never Forget Auntie!

Reading the magazine "London Life'' prompted the following story sent in by one of our lady readers. She has asked us not to publish her name, and we respect her wish. In her covering letter she tells us the following:

'When I first saw ''London Life" I thought it was just another sex magazine with emphasis on the female bottom! My dear husband is bottom mad, believing it to be the most attractive part of the female anatomy; every time I bend down he gives me a wolf whistle... and I am middle-aged! However, when I started to read "London Life" the memories came flooding back to me. My husband often spanks my bottom for fun... and sexual pleasure — I told you he was a bottom "fiend". But I remembered another occasion, when I was sixteen and boy mad. The story I have sent you is mainly fiction, though some of it is factual. I got great pleasure in writing it, and my husband enjoyed reading it, as I hope you do. It amazed me how certain events clicked into my mind once I got on my typewriter, forgotten incidents flooded back to me, the events that led up to my ultimate punishment, even how I felt at the time. I do hope you find it suitable for your magazine.'

We did find it suitable, Mrs K., and we have pleasure in publishing it, more or less as you wrote the story down.

* * *

Auntie Gladys wasn't really my auntie, she was an old friend of my mothers who lived in Nottingham. I'd always called her auntie from being very small, as most children do to special friends of the family. I must have had a dozen aunties and uncles, just like other children. But Auntie Glad was someone special to me. She lived alone in quite a large house just on the outskirts of Nottingham, a place called Mapperley Park, and I used to visit her for a few weeks during the school summer holidays. She was kindness itself to me, playing with me in the garden when the weather was nice, or draughts with me in the large room when it was raining. I think I loved her almost as much as I loved my mother. As I grew up she would advise me, especially warning me about boys! This amused me more than anything. She had been married, but lost her husband early in the marriage. I only vaguely remember Uncle Sid, as a man who bounced me on his knee while singing: 'This is the way the ladies ride'.

At sixteen it was to be my last long holiday with Auntie Glad, I was going to start work at an office in September. I could have started earlier, but I wanted a few weeks rest before joining the rat race of the outside world... there was also a boy in Nottingham I was sweet on! I'd met him the year before, when I was fifteen, and although we hadn't exactly made love, we had been very near to it. He could excite me, and work me up more than any other could, and I had already made up my mind that if he wanted to go the whole way with me, I would let him. Girls of sixteen are very impressionable, and I had been reading a lot of books loaned to me by other girls, and making love was depicted as the most beautiful experience in the world. The books are right of course, making love is beautiful, but what they ommitted to say was, to a girl of sixteen it can be a traumatic experience, and rather frightening. However, my seduction by Billy is not the main part of my story, although it does play a part!

I arrived at Auntie Glad's on a glorious Saturday morning, the sun shining down from a cloudless sky. Auntie met me at the station as she always did, and we took a cab to her home.

Nothing bad changed, it never did, the same furniture that had been there since I was quite small. I unpacked my suitcase, then telephoned Billy to tell him I was once again in Nottingham. He was older than me, at least eighteen or nineteen, I forget his exact age. Auntie heard me talking to him of course, and when I put the 'phone down she looked at me very seriously.

'You're getting to be quite a young woman Maureen, I suppose you have a lot of boy friends?'

I told her I had a few, but I liked Billy the best of the lot.

'You want to be very careful of Billy,' she said. 'I see him quite a lot, and he always has a different girl with him. I don't want you to do anything that would upset your mother, I am responsible for you during the next few weeks. I realise of course that you will want to go out dancing and to the cinema, and you won't want me hanging around you all the time... not like you did when you were a child. Heavens Maureen, I still look on you as a child, and here you are, a young woman on the threshold of her life!'

I told auntie I would be a good girl, but thought what a silly old frump she was getting to be!

'I hope you will be', she murmured, 'I'd hate to have to spank you, like I did when you were small!'

I laughed. 'I don't believe it auntie, I don't remember you ever spanking me.'

'Oh yes I did, when you were small. I used to give you a slap when you were naughty. Why, once when you threw your dinner onto the floor in a rage I took your knickers down and smacked your bare bum.'

'Well I'm too old for that sort of thing now,' I giggled.

'You're never too old my dear,' said Auntie darkly. 'Now, what do you intend doing tonight?'

I told her I had arranged to meet Billy, but I had no idea where we were going.

'Don't go into any public houses my dear, you're not old enough.'

I didn't tell her that was the intention... I looked older than my sixteen years, biggish bust etc. I didn't go drinking a lot at home, just the occasional glass of cider or shandy.

I put on my fancy underwear, some that my mother had never seen, a friend of my sister's had given them to me. Black frilly panties, and a bra with two holes cut in the front for my nipples to peep through. I felt delightfully wicked and grown up wearing them. I smoothed my hands over my body, wondering what it would be like if Billy did that! I didn't put much make-up on, somehow I felt that Auntie would frown at me wearing make-up, that would wait until later.

Billy had arranged to meet me at seven-thirty outside a public house on Mansfield Road, and he was late and I felt very embarrassed standing outside. All sorts of men tried to chat me up and invited me in for a drink. I was very grateful when I saw Billy. He had another boy with him and a girl, Mark and Sheila. Sheila was eighteen and ever so nice, she made me feel comfortable straight away. I told Billy I had promised auntie I would be home by eleven o'clock.

'A right little Cinderella,' he laughed, 'home before the last stroke of midnight!'

'Last stroke of eleven,' I corrected. 'She will worry if I am home late... anyway she has promised me a spanking if I am a naughty girl.'

That made them all laugh!

Later Mark and Sheila went off on their own, intending to go to the Palais. I would have loved to have gone, but it would make me very late, and I didn't want to upset auntie on my first day. I felt a little bit tipsy when we left the public house, I'd had a lot of cider, and I had to cling onto Billy's arm as he walked me home.

We stood in the porch kissing and cuddling. He caressed my breasts over my jumper at first, then he slid his hand up while kissing me. When he felt my nipples through the holes he kissed me more passionately.

'You're very sexy,' he panted, obviously very worked up. I could feel him throbbing against my leg. He then put his hand up my skirt and between my legs. I started to breathe heavily, the way he touched me was beautiful. He took my hand and placed it between his own legs, he had taken his penis out and it felt very hard. Oh but I wanted him to make love to me, but not there on auntie's front porch, it was too dangerous, I knew she was still up, the light was on in the lounge. I made him stop it, but he insisted I play with his penis while he caressed me. This I did, until with a groan he ejaculated.

It was just turning eleven when he went.

'Enjoyed yourself dear?' asked auntie when I got in. 'Where did you go tonight?'

I told her that we had just walked around the town, seeing as it was a warm evening. I sat down on the sofa, and I noticed auntie staring at me thoughtfully. Then I remembered my skirt, there was a damp stain where Billy had ejaculated. I hurriedly covered it with my hand, muttering that we'd had a glass of lemonade and I'd spilt some. She just nodded, thin-lipped. When I went to the bathroom I sponged the stuff away!

I had just taken my jumper and skirt off when auntie came in my bedroom with a cup of Horlicks for me. I'd forgotten, she always brought me a nightcap to bed. She took one look at me in my fancy underwear and nearly dropped the cup in her astonishment.

'Does your mother know you have such underwear?' she wanted to know.

'Oh yes auntie,' I lied, 'she was with me when I bought them.'

She put the cup of Horlicks on the bedside table. 'Well I think they are positively disgusting, and please don't wear them again while you are staying with me. Girls who go on the streets wear such underclothes, not sixteen-year-old girls. Now drink up your Horlicks, you can have a lie-in tomorrow. I'll bring your breakfast to you in bed, then we'll go to church for the morning service.'

Auntie Gladys was a devout church-goer, that was the only thing I hated about staying with her, going to church every Sunday morning... the Vicar had clammy hands! I lay in bed that night thinking about dear Billy, and what we had done. I had never touched a boy before, not down there anyway, and it had given me a great thrill. I felt all itchy thinking about it, so I opened my legs and played with myself until I had an orgasm. I don't think I did anything wrong by masturbating, most girls at sixteen do such things.

We sat next to Mr and Mrs Underwood in church, and their son, Ken, the same age as me.

'Now there is a nice boy,' whispered auntie. 'Well brought up and very polite.'

Personally he made me sick, always had done. When small he would cry at the slightest thing, and he was a cheat and a tell-tale. Once when pinching some apples when I was fourteen he had told auntie and she had been cross with me. So I was very cool to him. To make it worse, auntie had invited Ken for Sunday tea.

'I'm going out with Billy again tonight,' I whispered in alarm.

'Well you'll have to ring him up and say you can't make it,' she said. That put me in a bad mood straight away.

Sunday afternoon I went for a walk with auntie around the park. She spotted Billy before I did. 'Look, go and tell him you aren't coming out tonight.'

At least I would be close to him, if only for a few seconds. Billy told me not to worry, he would see me tomorrow night, his parents were going out. I would be able to spend the evening alone with him. My heart beat wildly in my chest, alone with Billy in his home, we would be able to make love properly, no-one to disturb us.

Ken was his usual obnoxious self, though auntie fawned over him like a long-lost son. I decided to have a bit of fun with him, see if he had any natural feelings in his body. I deliberately hitched my skirt up before crossing my legs, knowing he would be able to see the tops of my stockings. At first he ignored me, then his eyes kept flickering across. I pulled my skirt higher and parted my legs. Now he would be able to see the gusset of my white knickers. Suddenly he asked to be excused and went to the toilet. I smiled to myself. Now what had he gone to the toilet for... to play with himself? When he had left the room auntie glared at me.

'Maureen!' she snapped. 'Please pull down your skirt, most immodest. You are making Ken feel embarrassed, showing all your legs.'

'Sorry auntie,' I murmured, and pulled down my skirt to a more modest level. Of course, a few minutes after he came back, looking flushed I thought, it managed to ride high again. I was turning a boring evening into quite a pleasant one. When it was time for Ken to go, auntie suggested I walk part of the way with him. Heavens, he only lived around the corner, on Lucknow Drive.

Just around the corner he gave me the surprise of my life. He pushed me against the wall, kissing me hotly and trying to run his hand up my skirt. I pushed him away, telling him to behave himself.

'Let me touch you Maureen, just once, honest. I won't try anything else.'

'Indeed I won't,' I stormed. 'I'm not that sort of girl!'

'Please,' he panted, 'you've been teasing me all the night, making me want to touch you, showing me your... your legs.'

He pushed his hand up my skirt again. This time I smacked him across the face. 'Stop it Ken, or I'll scream!'

That frightened him to death, he kept away from me. 'I'll bet you let Billy play with you,' he muttered.

'It's nothing to do with you what Billy and I do... anyway he's older than you are!' I left him then and went home. Auntie was surprised.

'You're back quick,' she said.

'I do not like Kenneth Underwood,' I said. 'He... he is sloppy and coarse, and anyway his hands are sticky!'

That amused auntie for a few moments, then she said: 'You were teasing him tonight Maureen, something a girl of your age should never do. Ken is just growing up, and staring at your legs all night made him act the way he did.' She half smiled. 'I used to tease the boys when I was young, but not as young as you! Now run off to bed like a good girl, Ken will be feeling very ashamed of himself at this moment.'

In a way I felt quite gratified that I had teased Ken into making a pass towards me. He wanted me, and Billy wanted me. Maybe after I had let Billy make love to me, I would let Ken touch me where he wanted.

The following morning I stayed with auntie, helping her to clean her large house. Mrs Underwood came around and invited me to go for tea on the Wednesday, and stay for a few hours.

'Ken has some lovely records he would like you to hear. You can sit in the lounge, we won't disturb you!'

This was getting to be a conspiracy between auntie and Mrs Underwood, trying to pair us off.

'She'll be glad to come,' said auntie, for me. 'I'll send her around about four.'

I was getting my dates made for me!

I put on my fancy underwear before going out to meet Billy; I was talcumed and perfumed, ready for anything. Auntie didn't like the idea of me meeting Billy again, and she gave me a bit of a lecture before I set off.

'Just slap his hands and leave if he does anything you don't want him to.'

I promised I would, but I couldn't see him doing anything I didn't want him to.

We had a few ciders first, waiting for his mum and dad to get out of the way, then went to his home. He played a few Frank Sinatra records as we cuddled on the sofa. He got very excited of course, and so did I, and I made no objection when he pulled my knickers down. How can a girl describe the first time she makes love all the way? To me it was two things, painful yet exciting. I was so in love with the boy, I adored the closeness of his body, and after it was all over I told him I loved him very much. A little later he made love to me again, and it wasn't as painful, more like the beautiful experience I had read about.

It was when I got back that it really got to me!

I lay in bed shivering, worried to death. What if I had a baby? Would auntie know what had happened by looking at my face. I clambered from the bed and stared at myself in the long wardrobe mirror. My breasts looked a bit different, a bit swollen, and there was a mark on the right one where Billy had sucked me in his excitement. I examined between my thighs. I didn't look any different there, only felt a little sore, which was natural after what had happened. Then I had a good cry. I don't know to this day whether I cried because I was sorry to lose my virginity, or whether it was a cry of relief!

I went with a heavy heart to Ken's house for tea. I was dreading it, I felt sure that he would try it on with me again, and I didn't want that. I was in love with Billy, and I couldn't bare the thought of Ken mauling me about. We had a nice tea, and afterwards we went into the lounge to listen to records. I didn't mean to tease the boy, but I must have done; he kept staring at my legs. Everytime I caught him, I would push my skirt down over my knees. Anyway, the inevitable happened, he started messing about. I told him to stop, but he wouldn't; kissing me, trying to slide his hand under my skirt, and pawing my breasts.

In the end, this constant pawing aroused me, and I relaxed, returning his kisses and letting him feel me about. I was surprised that I could feel sexy with Ken, when so in love with Billy, but I was, and was ready for anything he wanted to do. He had my jumper pushed up around my neck, kissing my nipples, his hand between my legs, under the knicker elastic, his finger pushing in and out of my vagina. The lounge door opened and there stood Mrs Underwood with a tray in her hand. She gasped, and I hurriedly pushed down my skirt and straightened my jumper.

'How disgusting!' she said. 'Maureen, I think you had better go back to your aunties at once. My husband will see you home.'

Mr Underwood took me home in silence, and at the gate he took my hand.

'I'm not angry,' he said, with a smile. 'I was once sixteen!'

When I went in auntie was waiting for me, a stern expression on her face. 'Mrs Underwood had just phoned and told me why you are home early. She is most distressed that this has happened. Ken doesn't go out with many girls, he is shy and reserved, yet a few moments with you, and well... it was disgusting.'

'It wasn't my fault,' I protested. 'He started it, I couldn't stop him!

'I saw the way you behaved on Sunday, showing him your legs and knickers. No doubt you did the same thing this evening, leading him on, making him act the way he did. You wanted him to... to touch you. I am annoyed with you Maureen, Mrs Underwood is a good friend of mine, what is she going to think now? You gave that boy immoral thoughts.' I sat down and sulked. It was so unfair, he had started it; if he had behaved himself it would never have happened, anyway I was in love with Billy. I told auntie that. Her face darkened. 'I see. If you are in love with this Billy I dread to think what you get up to with him! I'm going to teach you a lesson Maureen. A long time ago I spanked you for being naughty. Now I am going to spank you again. I am sure that your mother would agree were she here.' She sat down on a hard-back chair. I stared at her.

'You must be joking!' I exclaimed. 'You can't spank me, I'm sixteen.'

'I don't care how old you are. You have misbehaved tonight, caused Mrs Underwood a great deal of distress. No doubt she will punish Ken in her own way, and it is only right that I should punish you. Now come over here and lay across my lap.'

I hesitated, the colour flooding to my cheeks. At sixteen I was very conscious of my body, and showing my bottom, even to my auntie, would cause me embarrassment.

'I told you to come here Maureen,' said auntie, in a tone of voice I had never heard her use before. 'If you insist on disobeying me I will have no alternative but to send you home with a letter explaining why. I am going to spank you, then I can tell Mrs Underwood that you have been punished for your disgusting behaviour.'

'It wasn't disgusting,' I muttered. 'It was nice!'

I shouldn't have said that, I knew it the moment the words came out. Auntie's face went grim, her lips set in a tight line. I looked down at the carpet, knowing I would have to be spanked, it was the lesser of two evils. It would upset my mother if I was sent home under such circumstances. Slowly I got up.

'What do you want me to do?' I asked in a small voice.

'Pull your skirt up and lay across my lap.'

Thank goodness I hadn't my sexy underwear on, that would have made auntie even more angry. I lay across her lap, feeling very exposed, my skirt pulled up to my waist. It seemed ages before she started to spank me. She pulled at my knickers, making them stretch across my bottom, settled herself comfortably, then brought her hand down. Crack! It seemed to explode and I jerked as a dart of stinging pain went through me. Crack, down came her hand again, landing in exactly the same place. I wriggled and squirmed.

'Keep still,' commanded auntie, 'or it will be the worse for you.'

She gave me six hard spanks on my bottom, each one seemed more painful than the last, and when she released me there were tears in my eyes.

'Don't think I enjoyed that Maureen,' she said, 'because I didn't. I do not like punishing anyone, least of all a mature young woman. Now get off to bed and we'll say no more about it.'

I went to my bedroom and got undressed. My bottom felt to be on fire, but it was only slightly reddened when I examined it in the mirror. As I lay in bed I became aware of a warmth running through my loins. My bottom didn't feel as painful to the touch any more. I fell into a troubled sleep, my mind filling with strange thoughts. Billy was spanking me, on my bare backside while Ken watched, in a sort of gleeful fascination. Then it all changed. I was making love to Ken, not in the proper position, but with me on top of him, and all the time we loved, Billy was spanking my bare bottom. When I awoke I was covered in perspiration, my hand between my legs. My mind was in a turmoil, I couldn't get rid of the strange images in my brain. I lay in the darkness trembling with sexual excitement, my fingers caressing down below. Billy would never spank me, not like auntie did, so hard. His spanks would be caresses, loving caresses. Or would they? Would he get as excited as me when spanking me. Would I like to spank his bare bottom. I moaned to myself as an intense orgasm swept through me. Then I fell asleep again, and didn't dream anymore.

For the next two weeks I did behave myself, I only went out with Billy once, and all we did was pet each other. I saw Ken a couple of times and studiously ignored him. As for Mrs Underwood, every time she saw me she swept by me like a darn duchess! On Thursday nights auntie went to the whist drive. I had been twice with her, but didn't enjoy it. A whist drive isn't the place for a sixteen-year-old, having old men playing 'kneesie' under the table. Horrid I thought. So I arranged to meet Billy, telling auntie I had a headache. She nodded knowingly.

'I understand dear,' she said sympathetically, 'I had a lot of trouble when I was your age.' I didn't bother to tell her how wrong she was!

Billy must have watched for her leaving, because he was in the house within a couple of minutes, jacket off, snogging and caressing me on the sofa! He had me half undressed before I knew, telling me how beautiful I was, and how much he wanted to take me to bed and love me properly. So we went to my bedroom and got on the bed. I didn't take all my clothes off, I kept my knickers on. This was even better than making love on the sofa, we could be more intimate with each other. Just as he was about to come over me, I asked him if I could come over him. He was very pleased, closing his legs so that I could sink down onto his erect penis. As soon as I felt his hands clasp my bottom I was filled with a strange urge.

'Slap me,' I muttered. 'Not hard, but just taps.'

And he did, not hard, but light stinging slaps that made me very passionate. I had an orgasm before he did, and managed to get away before he ejaculated. When we got up from the bed I just pulled my knickers on, then slipped my jumper and skirt over them. I wasn't going out anywhere, I didn't need my bra, and anyway, I wanted him to caress my bare breasts again before he left me.

We sat on the sofa, cuddling and kissing, and quite forgot the time, until the front door opened and in walked auntie. I just managed to get my jumper down and my skirt straightened before she came into the lounge. Her eyes raked over us, and I glanced down at Billy. His flies were undone, and he hurriedly covered them with his hand.

'I thought you had a headache Maureen?' asked auntie.

'I had, but it's gone now.'

'I can see that.' I didn't like the tone in her voice. 'I think you had better leave young man, it is getting very late.'

Billy got up and put his jacket on.

'Good night,' he murmured, red in the face.

When he had gone auntie sat in the chair and gazed steadily at me. 'You must think I am an idiot Maureen. Tell me, why haven't you got a bra on?'

Instinctively I looked down. My nipples were jutting the front of my jumper, making it obvious I was braless.

'I am beginning to think you are becoming somewhat of a slut,' she said, evenly. 'My spanking the other night didn't do anything for you. Don't try and interrupt me. You lied tonight when you said you had a headache. You were expecting that young man to call. Why didn't you tell me?' I didn't answer, I stared down at the rug. 'I suppose you have been doing with him what you were doing with young Ken. I am not having it Maureen, even if I have to spank you black and blue. Go on like this and I'm going to have every boy in town hanging around my front gate looking for you. This time I am going to spank you very hard, last time was not hard enough, you haven't learned your lesson.'

'Weren't you ever young auntie? Didn't you ever have any boy friends who... who wanted to... touch you?'

She took a deep breath. 'The only boy I ever had was your Uncle Sid, and we waited until we were married before we did anything like that. Come across my knee young lady.' I sighed heavily and got up. If it would satisfy her she could spank me. I lifted up my skirt and lay dutifully across her knees, and thinking about what Billy and I had done in my bed earlier.

She spanked me three times over my knickers and I didn't make a movement. I hardly felt anything, and anyway I was concentrating on Billy. Then, to my chagrin she put her hand in the waistband of my knickers and drew them down to the backs of my knees. My bottom was bare and vulnerable! I felt awful on her knee in that position, knowing what she could see of my body.

The blow landed and I cried out. 'Ouch, auntie, that hurt!'

'It is meant to hurt,' she said grimly, 'I'm not giving you love taps.'

Her hand came down again with a slap that seemed to echo around the room. It was terrible, I could feel my buttocks quivering and burning. Her hand came down again and again, slap, thwack, slap, thwack, until I felt to be on fire. I started to sob, but give her more vigour.

'I'll teach you young lady,' she growled, laying her hand into me fast and hard. 'Before I have finished with you, you will be sleeping on your tummy.'

Tears were streaming down my cheeks, blinding me. All I could see was the blur of the carpet. When she stopped I tumbled from her lap and sank to the floor, crying bitterly. Her face streamed with perspiration, and I got a little satisfaction when she rubbed her hands, as though they hurt her. They ought to, the number of times she had spanked me.

'Now get off to bed, Maureen. If you do anything like this again I will more than spank you, I will cane you!'

That put the fear of God in me. I had once been caned at school, and the memory will live with me forever!

I stumbled up the stairs and got ready for bed. I tried to bathe my sore bottom, but even luke-warm water was painful. She was right. I couldn't sleep on my bottom, I had to sleep on my tummy.

It was three days before I felt any-think like. Needless to say I behaved myself for the rest of my stay, never being alone with Billy.

Now to something that may surprise you. For a few years I didn't visit auntie, going on holiday with friends, until I was twenty-two and went to stay with her for a week. I met Ken again that week; we made love on our second date. We fell in love, and now he is my husband. He told me that his mother had spanked him the night she caught us petting. We spank for pleasure, not punishment, we are both stimulated by the act. I don't get a very sore bottom, not like when auntie spanked, more a pleasant tingling that sets my loins on fire. There is a huge difference between being spanked because you are naughty, than being spanked for fun.

Persuading Sarah

Story from Swish Vol.5 No.2

Persuading Sarah

Even at twenty, Sarah had never had her panties off for a spanking. It was time she learned – the hard way, maybe, but she learned to love it.

* * *

When the doorbell rang, Vivienne Masters went herself to open it. Blonde, stately and five feet ten tall, she carried herself like a model, as she had once been. Her firm, heavy breasts jiggled beneath a white nylon blouse. Beneath her short, tight black skirt her bottom cheeks rolled sensuously.

"It's Sarah, isn't it?" she asked as she opened the door and stepped back, weighing up with a quick professional eye the slim and pretty girl who stood there hesitantly. Sarah nodded and would have remained frozen where she stood had not a large male hand impelled her gently in to the wide hall of the private house. "How old are you, Sarah?" Vivienne asked gently. "Tw...tw...twenty," the girl stammered. She wore a neat oatmeal costume, dark tan high heels and a fawn and frilled blouse.

"You look younger," Vivienne murmured and, before Sarah could move, had taken her soft hand. "She always did," the middle-aged man with Sarah said and ran his hand lightly over her bouncy hair. Sarah said "Yes" and blushed. "Well – we'll go in," Vivienne said comfortably and led them through into a large drawing room where another tall and shapely girl sat, attired as Vivienne was save for black, gleaming boots which stretched up over her rounded knees.

"Lana will get you a drink, Sarah," Vivienne announced, taking Sarah forward. Lana got up smiling and extended her hand in turn. Loosing her gentle hold on the girl, Vivienne turned to the man and said quietly, "We'd better talk." He nodded and, while Sarah turned her head and gazed at them wonderingly, they moved into a small side room where Vivienne closed the door. "Tell me about her," she whispered, "I know we spoke on the phone, but.... yes.... I see. For how long? Uh-huh. Yes, they can be difficult. Give me a few days. It may even be less. Call me tomorrow evening. She won't know. We're always VERY discreet. Best if you go now or she'll wonder."

"O.K." he nodded and swept his eyes so obviously up and down Vivienne's glorious figure that she smiled. "No – that's extra. Costs lots more," she said teasingly and took his elbow, guiding him out. Sarah, seated with Lana on a sofa, made to jump up. "You're going?" she asked anxiously. "Not for long," he said. Vivienne stepped towards her. "Sarah – you're in good hands," she murmured and watched the girl's woebegone expression as the three of them were suddenly alone. "Sarah, you're not a child – take your jacket off," Vivienne said.

"B...b...but I'm not staying. I thought he had a meeting with someone here. I don't understand!" Sarah wailed and ran to the window just in time to see the Rover departing. "Sarah – come here!" Vivienne said sharply, bringing a startled "What?" from the pretty girl's quavering mouth. Lana stepped towards her and she backed away, bumping her hip against the window sill. Wildly, Sarah fended her left arm back but it was taken. "I d...d...don't understand!" she blurted. "Vivienne wants you," Lana said, "don't be silly now, Sarah."

"I w...w...want to go!" Sarah wailed. She made a sudden run for the door, found it locked and jerked despairingly at the handle, bringing a laugh from Vivienne. "I'll SCREAM!" Sarah threatened, bringing Vivienne and Lana both over to her. "Will you?" Vivienne asked quietly, "but HE'LL say you wanted to come – asked to come. Wouldn't that sound a bit silly now? You fight too much, Sarah – that's your problem. A girt has to know when to give it, and when not to. We'll teach you both."

"I d...d...don't understand!" Sarah wailed. They had both taken an arm and were leading her towards the sofa again. Her feet dragged in vain, heels scouring the thick carpet. "Darling, you WILL – you soon will. It's only a little training session, nothing more. All right, Lana, get her over the arm, head down. I want her in her spanking outfit."

"NO-OH!" Sarah screeched madly. In a flash the upper half of her body was bent over the high rolled arm, her legs at full stretch so that she was forced on to her toes. "YES, Sarah!" cut in Vivienne's voice, "skirt off usually, isn't it? But ONLY your skirt to date, apparently." Sarah's arms flailed wildly but caught only empty air. With Vivienne's hand clamped firmly over the nape of her neck she was powerless to rise and let out a high-pitched shriek as she felt Lana unzip her skirt and rip it off.

"How DARE you, how dare you!" came her sobbing cry. Vivienne with her free hand stroked her hair. "Oh, we dare, Sarah, we dare. How many spanks d'you get normally?" – "I do-oh-on't! Are you mad? Stop it. YEEE-ARGH!" the cry forced out from Sarah's lips as a hearty SMACK! landed on her pert bottom whose ripe, tight cheeks gleamed through her white semi-transparent panties.

"Yes, I can see the problem you are, Sarah," Vivienne murmured, giving a nod to Lana whose palm swept in right under the delicious globe, bringing an outraged shriek from the girl who tried frantically still to rise. "AND she makes such a noise. It must ring through the whole house," Lana laughed, running her palm lovingly over the wriggly orb whose cheeks showed faintly pink from the two big smacks.

"She can't be allowed to fib as well, though," Vivienne said almost sadly, "so go on smacking her adorable botty, Lana, until she confesses that she IS spanked. How silly of her to deny it, anyway." – "No, no, I'm not, YEEE-EEEK! Oh, stop it! It stings, oh it st...st....stings!" Sarah howled, jiving her hips madly to try and throw off the blasting smacks that burned right through her nubile bottom. "OOOOH-HOOO-HOOOOO! No!" came her despairing cry as another caught her exactly as before, right under the sweet bulge of her cheeks, bringing her up on to the very tips of her toes.

"Twenty years old and all this fuss, would you believe," Lana said chidingly and again ran a sensuously caressing hand over and around the heated hemispheres while Sarah sobbed on and jerked again. "Uh-huh, eighteen months of spankings and she's still like this. I think we'd best have her panties off," Vivienne said, controlling the would-be upward thrust of Sarah's quivering body. Blubbering as she was, Sarah managed just to cry out, "No! you can't!" before relapsing again into tears.

"They never have come off yet for a spanking, have they, Sarah?" Vivienne asked quietly. Sarah's flushed face moved wildly from side to side. "N...n...no!" she bubbled. If she fibbed again she would get another big spank, she knew, and she hated it, she always had. "I see. Get up, then – at least you've confessed that much. Sarah, get UP!" Vivienne snapped. With even just her skirt off, the girl was delicious to look at. Good legs balanced a good waist. Her boobs were smaller than Vivienne's or Lana's but firm and round like juicy pomegranates. Her bottom jutted beautifully when she stood as she did now, reaching blindly for her skirt which, however, had vanished.

"SIT! Lana, make her sit," Vivienne instructed, taking her seat on the sofa and calmly filling three glasses. Sarah jerked "OH!" as she was made to do so and immediately squirmed on her taunted bottom. "Drink this – you'll feel better and – Sarah – do NOT interrupt or the next spanking will be twice as hard and twice as long. DRINK it – it's only wine, silly. Don't you like wine?" Sarah sniffled and took the glass with shaky hand while Lana settled on the other side of her so that the thighs of both women nestled warmly against her own. Sarah opened her mouth to speak but then seeing the warning look in Vivienne's eyes wriggled again and relapsed into sulky silence.

"That's better," Vivienne said and sipped her wine smoothly. "Want a ciggy? No, all right, later then. I won't beat about the bush, Sarah dear. You're one of a number of girls who are sent to me for training. Yes, training. You should be past it at your age, but still. NO, Sarah – I've warned you – don't speak, just listen. You have been spanked regularly – we know that. Even better we know how you are when you are getting it – noisy and silly. Still.... spanking IS a bit much for a young woman of your age. If you promise me just one thing, Sarah, I'll not be too stern with you. Well, girl, speak!" Hand shaking still so that her wine almost slopped over the rim of her glass, Sarah asked "Wh...what?" in a quavering voice, her eyes misted with tears. "That you will be QUIETER, dear. I mean ALWAYS, in future. It's really very indiscreet of you to make such a noise. WELL?"

Sarah tilted her head back and drank quickly, more and more convinced that it was all a vivid dream. "Wh...what are you going to do to me?" she asked, making them laugh together. "Oh! so you CAN put the little girl voice on, Sarah, can you? Well, that's always an asset. Sarah, we're all women together. That's the first thing to remember," Vivienne said and slid of a sudden to her knees, running both hands up the girl's rounded silky thighs. Sarah quivered and bit her lip, aware that at any moment Lana might seize her hands. Lana took the empty glass from her nerveless fingers and laid it aside. "Sit still," she said softly. "It's true what Vi says – we're women together. We're going to teach you pleasure."

A startled "WHA-AAAH!" broke from Sarah's lips as without warning she felt her knees lifted swiftly up and over Vivienne's shoulders while Lana clamped one arm full around her from the front, imprisoning her arms. "Pleasure, darling – we will give it to you first – HE will give it to you afterwards," Sarah heard Vivienne say from below her. "NEEE-OH!" she screeched and made ineffectually to struggle as delicate fingers drew aside the crotch of her panties, baring the moist lovelips between which Vivienne's long pointed tongue slid and curled.

"B...b...b...b..." stammered Sarah. She tried to kick, but she couldn't. Vivienne held her legs as firmly clamped as were her arms. Seizing her chin, Lana's rich lips misted sensuously over her own. "Th...th...th...." Sarah stuttered quickly against Lana's mouth. No one had ever tongued her before – not down there. Vivienne's mouth was now deep into her fur and Sarah could feel herself swimming. Gliding her free arm down, Lana felt for Sarah's silky, stinging bottom which was just beneath Vivienne's chin and cupped it tightly.

"AH-HAAAR!" Sarah moaned. They had her firm between them now. Vivienne's tongue snaked in and out, sweeping its tip up to curl around her clitty. Lana's worked its way within her mouth. The breath hissed in through Sarah's nostrils. Catherine wheels were spinning and exploding in her tummy. Her spiky heels beat a wild tattoo on Vivienne's back, but Vi knew the signs. Rising quickly while Sarah quivered and moaned her frustration, she drew the girl's legs together high up so that her knees all but touched her forehead and her bottom bulged over the edge of the sofa.

"Wh..wh...wh...what?" babbled Sarah madly, doubled up as she was an unable to see what Lana – who had risen was doing. "YEEE-EEEH-EEEEH!" squealed Sarah as then without warning, and with her ankles held tight up together by Vivienne who sat at her side, a broad thick strap whistled in precisely at the bulge of her cheeks. "YA-AAAAAAH! NO!" Sarah screamed. "YES, Sarah!" she dimly heard Vivienne answer and then the strap come in again, on and on, burnishing and searing her half naked bottom that was so delicately poised until with a back-arching cry Sarah loosed a pelleting succession of orgasms such as she had never known before.

"All right," Vivienne said quietly even as Lana raised the strap again. Lana's arm relaxed while Sarah's legs – suddenly released – fell to the floor and she flopped sideways, mouth open, eyes closed, the crotch of her panties clinging so stickily to her that her lovelips showed clearly through the nylon.

Vivienne's arm snaked about Sarah's shoulders and drew her up again into a sitting position. "There, there – well put you to bed now," she coaxed, "Sarah have nice sleepy?" The journey upstairs to an ornate bedroom was not one that Sarah remembered except dimly. She was tired, drowsy, swimming – her bottom burned, but the glow now was different to that she had ever experienced from a spanking. Limp and sobbing quietly she let herself be stripped and slid under the sheet. "She'll sleep well," she vaguely heard Vivienne say, and then the closing darkness came upon her...

* * *

"Sarah, this is your regular evening uniform in future," Vivienne said to her two days later, adding with a smile: "By the way, your deportment has improved, too. You stride better instead of those silly hesitant steps. How d'you feel?" she asked softly, extending to Sarah a neat bundle. The girl took them, eyes wondering. It was like Vivienne's outfit except that the skirt was so short it would hardly cover her bottom. There were black self-supporting stockings and a white see-through blouse. "E...e...evening?" she stuttered.

"At least you're quieter – much quieter. You didn't howl at all this morning when Lana strapped you," Vivienne said with a smile in her voice. "Yes, EVERY evening, Sarah. You may put them on when you get back. You may have to be brought back here, you know, if you misbehave. You know that?" Sarah shook her head dumbly. "I don't want...." she began. A tear trickled down her cheek. "Don't want what? Don't want to leave? Silly, you can return now whenever you want – if you're obedient, Sarah. Are you going to be?"

"Yeth," Sarah lisped. They had pleasured her between them always before she was strapped, but it would be different now, when she went back, she knew that – and they had told her. She raised her face shyly to Vivienne's soft kiss. Their mouths brushed and lingered. "You'll be a good girl tonight, won't you? Promise? I don't want you back here tomorrow," Vivienne said, searching Sarah's eyes. Sarah nodded. "I 1...1...love you," she stammered quietly and began to cry. Vivienne stroked her hair. "I know. Come back tomorrow evening and tell me, huh?" "Yeth," Sarah mumbled, her eyes brighter with tears. She started as she heard a car stop outside. Vivienne laughed and gave her bottom a little pat. "Go on with you," she said, "and put your outfit on when you get there, right?"

Sarah nodded blindly, going into the hall where Lana in turn waited and kissed her. There were no panties with her outfit, she realised suddenly and felt her legs go wobbly as she entered the car and sank down. "You all right?" he asked quietly and she nodded blindly. "Wh...wh...what t...time is it?" she asked as the car sleeked forward. "Eight," he replied, "I booked a table. Well eat out."

"I'm not, I'm not hungry," she stammered. Cheeks bright red she stared away from him at the passing traffic. She wasn't going to be able to do it, she knew she wasn't. Stumbling indoors at last, she sat huddled on her bed, starting up as the door opened. "Put your things on, Sarah, and come down," he said. How she obeyed she never knew. Cheeks hot and flushed she descended at last, her thighs flashing white above the black stocking tops. Smiling he stood there, holding the strap.

"Well, Sarah, are you going to obey now?" he asked quietly. She gulped, staring past him. Her long legs quivered. The moment she bent over the arm of the sofa where she had so often been spanked, her naked bottom would show, rich and white between the black hem of her ultra miniskirt and her stockings. Blindly she turned and sank the upper half of her body over the arm, hiding her face.

"SARAH!" he barked. Biting her lip she eased her tightly-stockinged legs apart and turned her toes in, as Vivienne had taught her to. Behind her she heard the rustle of his clothing and closed her fingers tight. She could almost feel the heat of his huge cock as he neared her with the strap coiled ready. High-poised as she was, her bottom cheeks tightened and then relaxed. Tomorrow night she would see Vivienne again and it would be beautiful. "YEE-EEE-EEEE!" Sarah squealed as the first snaking caress of the leather hissed across her bottom. Her legs jerked, her torso twisted, and then she remained still again. HOOOOO! it burned!

"YA-AAAAH!" It had snaked in again, sending tongues of fire through her pert cheeks. Cupping her hands over her face, Sarah began to moan. She WAS being quiet, she was. "Rear your bum up and let him take you – you know he's going to, Sarah," Vivienne had said, "once he's got it up you, you'll want to." "WA-HA-HAAAAAR!" Sarah sobbed, but the noise was in her mind – the slap-cracking of the leather making her bottom rotate like a ball-bearing was the only sound now in the room.

"Now, Sarah, now – come on, give it!" she heard him growl after a seeming eternity. Her hips were uncontrollable now, her tummy bouncing and smacking on the rolled arm of the sofa, her legs spread wide, bottom glowing bright as a brazier. Sarah then heard her own voice at last ring throughout the room. "Yes, all right, yes – give it to me, put it up me – OOOOOH! Make me have it! AAAAAR!"

And miraculously Vivienne and Lana were forgotten, forgotten, in the breathless hot desiring of the night....

Jilly

Story from Janus 35.

Jilly
by Andrew Grantham

JILLY looked down at the flowers in the carpet. From her position, she had an excellent view of the closely-woven pattern. It wasn't the first time she had been in that position – with her blonde tresses brushing the floor and her fingertips touching the toes of her black, shiny, high-heeled shoes. It wouldn't be the last time either! Jilly's record at St Mary's High School was vastly different to that of her elder sister. Julie had made it all the way to the top and she had become Head Girl in her final year.

By sharp, and painful, contrast Jilly became known as the Bottom Girl – for the obvious reason! Here she was, about to have her arse scorched yet again by Mr Rogerson!

Her heart beat faster as she felt her skirt being raised and tucked in around her trim waist.

She knew it was going to be a bare bum caning. Mr Rogerson allowed a girl to retain her knicks only on the occasion of her first beating. After that, knicks were dropped to the ankles.

It wasn't that the thin material offered any protection. It was part of the deterrent – a bare bum caning being the ultimate punishment at St Mary's. Jilly felt his warm hands on her flesh as he took hold of the elasticated top of her skimpy briefs. Soon, they were fluttering down her legs to land around her ankles. Now she was all ready for another dose of the cane.

Mr Rogerson however, wasn't quite ready. He had a habit of preparing a girl by uncovering her bottom and then going to fetch the crook-handled cane which hung from a hook behind the door. Whenever an errant girl closed the door of the study she was immediately confronted by the sight of the cane swinging, menacingly, from its perch. Jilly moved her head slightly. She watched Mr Rogerson's feet as they progressed across the carpet, paused at the door and then returned to position themselves to the left of her posterior.

Even though she was about to receive the first stinging cut, she could not help thinking how clean and shiny Mr Rogerson's shoes were.

The feet swayed slightly. Jilly knew that the cane was high in the air. Any moment now!

Whoosh!

Whapp!

Jilly grunted as the cane landed in the centre of the rich moons of her arse.

That was a real stinger all right. Mr Rogerson could certainly lay it on when he wanted to. Jilly knew that he was really going to lay into her backside. Indeed, the Bottom Girl of St Mary's expected nothing less than a good hiding.

The cane dug into her bottom again after Mr Rogerson had judged that the earlier hurt was ebbing away. Suddenly, the pain rose sharply to a new peak.

Jilly's only response was a sharp exhalation of breath, although she could feel the hurt spreading through her. Before Mr Rogerson was finished with her, her young body would be totally engulfed by the searing hurt.

She didn't know just how many strokes she was in for. Gone were the days when she could expect a mere six!

'Oooh!'

The third cut made her cry out and she rocked on the balls of her feet. Her bottom stung like mad. She knew that the three stripes emblazoned across her buttocks would be spaced exactly two centimetres apart. (Mr Rogerson liked to joke about the distance between each stripe, saying that he had gone 'metric'!) There was still plenty of room on Jilly's lovely bottom for lots more strokes!

Crack!

'Youch!'

This time, Jilly's vocal reaction was just a shade higher. She screwed up her eyes as the flaming pain coursed through her body. Her bottom wriggled but she maintained her position.

She opened her eyes again and looked at Mr Rogerson's feet. Jilly was able to tell when the next blow was coming up. Whenever he raised the cane, Mr Rogerson dug his heels into the carpet.

He did just that and she clenched her bum cheeks as she awaited the next stinger from the slender stick. It stung all right. Her arse felt like it had been attacked by an army of wasps!

'Yowch!' she yelled out, her face now contorting with the pain from her rear. Still, she managed to maintain the required stance. However, two strokes later, her knees buckled and she let out a shrill scream. The pain was now acute.

The next cut had her fighting back the tears. She wondered why she wasn't like her elder sister? Eventually, Mr Rogerson's shiny shoes disappeared from her sight. She knew then that he was returning the cane to its place on the back of the door. Still Jilly waited, her bottom ablaze with pain.

Mr Rogerson always ended his sessions in the same way. Ordinarily, it would be just a pat on the bum. On Jilly's angry, corrugated rear however, it was quite a painful blow.

'Ouch!' she cried, waggling her wounded derriere from side to side. The slap caused her almost as much distress as one of the finale strokes of the cane.

'Up you get!' ordered Mr Rogerson brightly.

Jilly pursed her lips as she straightened up, aware that he was gazing at her tuft of pubic hair. She didn't mind in the slightest. He'd seen it lots of times before. And, during the course of her many canings, he must have seen much, much more!

Fully dressed again, Jilly smoothed out her skirt. 'Thank you,' she smiled graciously.

'You're welcome,' replied the teacher as he picked up her bag of shopping and handed it to her. 'Is your husband still working on the rigs?' he enquired.

Jilly nodded. 'He went away last night.'

Mr Rogerson rubbed his hands. 'I'll be seeing to you again before he gets back, I presume?' he asked her with a big smile.

'Yes please,' smiled back the former pupil of St Mary's. 'If you don't mind.'

Pauline's First Week

Story from Roue 15.

Pauline's First Week

The continuation of the story "Governor's prerogative"

It was Saturday morning, the end of Pauline Duncombe's first week at St. Angela's, and with some free time before lunch she was sitting on the garden seat near the tennis court. She was supposed to be reading her History textbook but found she was more interested in the impromptu game of tennis which three girls were playing in front of her. They had invited her to join them and she would have liked to, except that.... unfortunately she had no knickers on.

It is easy to laugh. Not again! those readers already familiar with Pauline Duncombe (Roue 12) will think. Surely Pauline not again without her knickers! But needless to say it was no laughing matter for Pauline. And indeed the whole of her first week at St. Angela's could fairly be described as no laughing matter. Ever since that first lesson from Mr. Fowler, on Tuesday, only her second full day at school.

Yes, Mr. Fowler who as we know had a thing about nylon knickers. And it may be recalled that Pauline's outfit, bought for her by the generous Mr. Grimsley, had unfortunately included nylon knickers and not the cotton ones which were the official St. Angela's wear. This had in fact been an honest error on his part: he was not deliberately trying to create problems for his new protegee. But he had forgotten that cotton was the correct type and possibly also was confused by the fact that one could in any case certainly come across nylon knickers in wear at the school.

So Pauline had arrived with five pairs of white nylon knickers but no cotton ones and had started wearing them in blissful ignorance. With any kind of luck she would have learnt of her mistake from another girl, but unfortunately she did not get that luck.

It had been her very first lesson from Mr. Fowler, on Tuesday, and he had asked her to stay behind at the end of the lesson intending simply to have a friendly word with the new pupil and certainly not suspecting anything about her knickers. Well, it was almost always the older girls who attempted to get away with it and Pauline, brand-new to the school and particularly innocent-looking, did not fit that bill. Not the type at all. But, as he liked to do when he had a girl standing at his desk and really it was quite an automatic response, he had, while they talked, slipped his hand up her skirt. To her bottom. And there quite unmistakeably was taut nylon where there should have been cotton.

Mr. Fowler had reacted like some minor volcano going up, his anger especially aroused by the thought of this young and apparently innocent girl now openly flouting the rules. Poor Pauline's tearful protestations of innocence fell on very stony ground. 'Be at my room at beginning of Prep this evening, young lady, and see that you're not one second late!' And when he'd got her there he made no allowance whatever for the newness and inexperience of the young transgressor. Girls had to be taught a lesson if they were unable to follow rules. 'Knickers down and get over the seat of that chair, if you please.' Wide-eyed, fearful, Pauline fumbled her knickers down and got over the chair. 'Further over! Head down and bottom up. That's better.' Her skirt pushed up round her waist. 'Now, legs straight and keep the bottom still, Miss.....' And Pauline's firm ripe rearquarters were given their first taste of the cane: six real stingers on the bare bum which left her sobbing wretchedly.

The nylon knickers were confiscated as was Mr. Fowler's custom. 'And you will go without knickers for a full week, my girl, that is 7 days from today, to complete your punishment. And just in case you cannot be trusted you will report to me here each morning before classes commence. So that I may check that you in fact have none on and are not cheating. Is that clear?'

Well it was all a terrible shock, both the caning and the confiscation of her knickers, on just her second day at school: and that night she just cried herself to sleep. And in the morning waking up to remember that it wasn't over, that she had to report back to Mr. Fowler first thing. She washed and nervously dressed, remembering to leave her pants off. 'What, no knicks!' quipped a dorm-mate, noticing, and on being told the situation, 'Oh, a visit to the Foul Fondler!' Which didn't make Pauline feel any better.

Yes, as any girl at St. Angela's could tell you, Mr. Fowler, sitting at his desk and beckoning Pauline to come and stand close at his side, would check on the absence of knickers in a very predictable manner, by sliding his hand up her skirt. And proceeding to fondle her bare bum while he unctuously spoke at some length of the need to abide by rules. Finally saying: 'Yes, that's how we become good citizens, Pauline,' he took his hand out of her skirt and stood up. Her ordeal was over, she thought thankfully. But then as she turned towards the door Mr. Fowler's hand suddenly, like a darting snake, came back up her skirt, this time at the front, running up the front of her bare thighs and just for a moment took hold of her between her legs, his hand on her bare private part, cupping it, for just an instant, and then darting out again. And Mr. Fowler, ignoring her involuntary gasp and looking as if nothing had happened, simply saying "Off to your classes then. Mustn't be late, must we?'

Well, it had been such a shock and he had done it so quickly that she found herself wondering afterwards if it had actually happened, or if she had imagined it. But the next morning there was no doubt as it had all happened exactly as before. The fondling hand at her bottom for some minutes and then as she was about to leave, and Mr. Fowler saying 'I wonder if it will rain today', his hand darting back up her skirt to briefly but firmly grasp her hair-covered mound. And the next day just the same. It was really awful but what could she do? She told a girl she had got to know a bit, Wendy Thomas, who was sympathetic but said 'That's just the kind of thing you get here, worse luck. But if you go to Matron she'll just send you to the Head for telling tales. And you don't want to go to him if you can avoid it!' Pauline agreed that she didn't, although not having been to the Head yet she didn't really know what he was like. He couldn't be worse than awful Mr. Fowler, she thought.

So what else? She would desperately like to write home asking to be taken away from this place: but her Mum would only say it was homesickness and she would settle down. And anyway you had to take your letters to your form-master, unsealed, so that he could check what you had written. So there was just nothing she could do about that awful thing Mr. Fowler did.

And what Mr. Fowler did was not the end of it. For apart from his daily assault on her person, which at least at 9 o'clock each day was over with, there was the more general humiliation of having to go without knickers all the time – all part of her punishment of course. And during the week several other masters had become aware of her predicament and had been making her stay behind after class, ostensibly to discuss some point of work but in fact to slip a hand up her skirt and fondle her bare bottom, like Mr. Fowler. That was unpleasant enough, although at least they had not tried to feel anything else yet, but it also meant that she would be in trouble from the master of the next class for being late.

Yes it was all an awful start to her new school, she thought dismally as she watched the other girls darting about on the tennis court. And none of it her own fault. And Mr. Fowler and the other masters with their nasty hands up her skirt had not been all: there had also been Miss Davies, the Gym Mistress....

It had started in Pauline's first gym lesson – a lesson she had looked forward to, not least because for once she would be wearing the same as everyone else, just the gym top and tight shorts under which no-one was allowed to wear knickers. And the lesson had been quite enjoyable except that from the beginning Miss Davies did seem to take a special interest in her. Perhaps it was just that she was a new girl, she'd thought. But then when the class had finished changing after the lesson she called Pauline back into her little office and to Pauline's surprise said would she like to come round to her room for tea after lessons that afternoon. Taken a bit aback Pauline stammered that she would and Miss Davies said 'Oh Good!' and had put her arm round Pauline's waist, squeezing.

Well it was nice to find someone being friendly – friendly, that is, without them wanting to put their hand up your skirt on your bare bum. Well, that was what she thought before she went to Miss Davies'....

She had given Pauline quite a nice tea in her rather cozy room, at the same time asking all about her, her home etc., and it was all very nice and friendly except, well, she had looked at her in rather a strange way, kind of staring with those bright eyes. She was quite attractive, Miss Davies: older of course but not that old – Pauline thought maybe late 20's. And she had a very good figure; shapely and firm, like gym mistresses did have with all that exercise.

But then when Miss Davies was showing her the pictures she had on the walls.... they were both standing looking at them, and she put her arm round Pauline's waist. And squeezing her she asked if she had a boyfriend. Pauline said No & well, she hadn't, and Miss Davies said, laughing 'I don't blame you. They're only after one thing anyway.'

Pauline had rather foolishly said 'What?' – if she had thought for a moment she would have realised what the gym mistress was referring to. But Miss Davies pulled her round so that they were half-facing and said 'This of course, silly!' And her other hand, not the one she had round Pauline's waist, went down to Pauline's you-know-what.... between her legs.... taking hold of it and squeezing....

The hand was outside her skirt, not on the bare like Mr. Fowler, but nonetheless Pauline had jumped like a scalded cat, it was so unexpected. The gym teacher hadn't kept her hand there, just the squeeze and then took her hand away: but she kept her arm round Pauline's waist and laughed a kind of forced laugh as she said 'Now don't be shy: its just between us girls.'

And then, as it must have dawned on her from what she'd felt 'Hey! Haven't you got any knicks on?' And Pauline had blurted out the whole Mr. Fowler episode, and feeling sorry for herself had sniffed a bit, though not actually crying. Well, at this Miss Davies was all sympathy, pulled Pauline round to face her again and then pulling her close, putting both arms round her, stroking and fondling as she made sympathetic noises.

She said 'Those awful men, they're always trying to pull something like that,' and before Pauline knew what was happening Miss Davies was kissing her on the mouth. She could feel the whole length of the gym teacher's strong body pushed hard against her – the firm breasts, and especially her pelvis which she started rubbing up against Pauline while holding the girl firmly against her with a hand cupping her bottom, squeezing. And the hand, really just as those awful masters did, then went down to the hem of her skirt and up again inside to now hold Pauline's nude bottom. Miss Davies was groaning and saying things like 'Oh, you're such a sweet kid' and then her mouth was back on Pauline's, this time pushing open the girl's lips. And Pauline felt Miss Davies' hot probing tongue invading her mouth....

But all this had been abruptly interrupted by a providential knocking at the door, arresting the gym mistress' ardour in full flight. She jerked her head away from Pauline with a rather desperate look 'Oh God! Of course, its Thursday....!' Shouting 'Just a minute.' she started frantically straightening herself up, then doing the same to Pauline. 'It's... it's an appointment which I completely forgot about. Look Pauline, you'll have to come round again, of course. I.... I'll let you know when I'm free...'

She went to the door where Tina Chidwick was found to be waiting: 6B and like Pauline a new girl, although naturally she'd arrived at the beginning of term rather than half-way through. And, well, she was rather similar to Pauline blonde, with a fresh innocent-seeming appearance. Miss Davies had greeted her with a rather guilty look and Pauline was sent on her way.

She was not sorry to go though, her head in a complete whirl from what had happened. She was pretty much innocent in matters of sex but she knew enough to realise that the gym teacher obviously 'fancied' her: although what that might fully involve was something she didn't want to think about. What had happened already was enough to make her knees tremble. But on the other hand, with her other problems at St. Angela's the fact that Miss Davies obviously liked her.... well, in a way that was nice. And what she had done wasn't really unpleasant.... In fact Miss Davies kissing her.... like that... hadn't been unpleasant at all. It was the first time Pauline had been kissed in that way – french-kissed – and it had been a shock, sending tingles all through her. But definitely not unpleasant. Miss Davies' tongue.... oooh...!

But for the gym mistress the path of true love (or desire at least) was not to run particularly smoothly. She had managed a fleeting meeting with Pauline yesterday, suggesting that today (Saturday) they could go for a drive in her car after lunch. But by then Pauline had been given another appointment so that fortunately she could not say Yes. Miss Davies' face, when she was told, had registered obvious disappointment. Still, perhaps she could take Tina Chidwick instead.

Yes Pauline had another appointment this afternoon alright, and as she sat there by the tennis court it was difficult to keep her mind from continually returning to its dread possibilities. For on her visit to Mr. Fowler yesterday he had said right at the end and after his now customary grope at her private region: 'Oh Pauline, I suppose you're free tomorrow afternoon?' There were no classes Saturday afternoon and girls were normally free unless something extra had been arranged. 'Good! Well, in that case I'd like you to come round here after lunch. I want to have a talk with you...' With an awful sinking feeling Pauline had said 'Yes, Sir.'

Yes, that was what was in store for her on this nice sunny day which otherwise after lunch she would have had to herself – or of course could have taken up Miss Davies' offer to go for a drive. Another visit to Mr. Fowler! And now she saw that the other girls were finishing their game: 'Time for din-dins, Amanda!' 'Ugh! Pigswill you mean!' And looking at her watch she saw that it was indeed almost lunch time. She would have to go although she was sure she could not manage to eat anything. Not the way she was feeling....

Pauline did manage to drink her soup but that was about all. And then at 2 o'clock sharp was outside Mr. Fowler's door, knees trembling. She had no idea what she had been summoned for but she was sure it was going to be unpleasant. Hesitantly she knocked....

'Ah Pauline. Yes.... come in, please.' She went in and the door was closed behind her. The sound, outside, of the key being turned in the lock....

-o-O-o-

Outside – outside Mr. Fowler's room with its locked door and, one would see if one walked by his window, its drawn curtains, for he was a master who liked his privacy – the afternoon progressed as a lovely sunny Saturday afternoon at St. Angela's might be expected to progress. Being Saturday the afternoon is 'free' – unless you have been unfortunate enough, like Pauline, to have its freedom curtailed for some reason or other by a member of staff – but other than that girls free to do what they wished. Some writing home or reading in a sunny or shady spot in the grounds. The tennis courts again in full use. A number of girls sunbathing, some in swimsuits, bikinis, others in uniform blouse and skirt but with these garments unbuttoned, pushed back, to expose youthful limbs to the hot sun. Some others, those with a Pass, have cycled into the nearby town to do some shopping or, over a Coke in the cafe, to complain, as schoolgirls will, of the iniquities of school life. And perhaps inevitably, it being St. Angela's, there is, about 3 o'clock, a caning in progress: in the Head's study Julia James bent over his desk with knickers lowered to mid-thigh, her bare bottom thrust reluctantly out to receive Mr. Payne's stinging cane. She has had four with a scheduled four more to come but the way her nicely rounded bottom is now wriggling and squirming, to Mr. Payne's annoyance ('Julia, will you keep that bottom still!'), this number could well be increased or at least be followed by a further spanking over his lap.

Yes, all this varied activity, some enjoyable and some obviously less so; and in addition one other which normally must not be mentioned in polite conversation, although we all know that inevitably it takes place in a community, such as St. Angela's, which contained a large number of girls and especially during a period of 'free' time. Inevitably on this afternoon there are girls doing it and others having it done to them. It? Yes 'it' – 'the stimulation of the genital organs to achieve sexual pleasure' as the dictionary has it, or in other words masturbation.

There is for instance Susan Rhodes in a quiet corner of the dorm, lying on her bed and thinking pleasurably of her boyfriend Kevin, her hand down the front of her knickers fondling herself.... There is Charlotte Lawson in a deserted changing-room half-lying on a bench with her knickers off, a rapt tense expression on her face as she uses that illicit instrument of pleasure, a vibrator. (It is quite definitely an illicit item at St. Angela's, possession of which, if found out, will bring immediate and particularly severe punishment. So you do your very best to ensure you will not be found out and Charlotte has placed a chair behind the closed changing-room door so that she will get sufficient warning if she is suddenly disturbed.)

Of course not all of these acts are solitary. For instance there are Paula Fletched and Anita Gray who have wandered off into the woods just south of the school grounds. They are known to be close friends but fortunately no-one – certainly no member of staff – knows just how friendly.... They are standing up against a tree-trunk, embracing and each with her hand up the other's skirt. Paula: 'Let's take our knicks off.....' Anita: 'Are you sure it's alright? I mean if we get caught with them off....' Paula: 'No-one's going to come out here.' And she starts slipping Anita's knickers down. Yes this would certainly rate along with use of a vibrator in the ranking of heinous crimes at St. Angela's.

And those familiar with St. Angela's will by now not be surprised to learn that there are also examples of this type of activity taking place involving members of staff. For instance there is Mr. Gray who just earlier has happened to come across Brenda Holmes sunbathing – in her uniform but with her skirt pulled up to reveal her knickers as she lies on her back in the sun. Brenda is inevitably getting aroused by what the master is doing although at the same time she does not like the fact that he is doing it: and there is also the possibility that someone could come along and see. Talking quietly, Mr. Gray is suggesting that they find a secluded corner where he could take Brenda's knickers off. Brenda does not want to, but she knows he could quite easily make up some excuse to take her knickers down for another reason – a caning. Of the two alternatives, well.... After a while they get to their feet and walk off.

Miss Davies, of course, is already in a secluded spot, out in the country, having driven down a quiet lane and then walked with Tina Chidwick across a field to where they will have their picnic. The picnic things are not yet unpacked and are placed, together with two pairs of discarded knickers, to the side of the blanket on which Miss Davies and Tina Chidwick are now lying side by side in close embrace. The gym mistress has her tongue deep in Tina's mouth and her hand between the girl's parted legs. Tina is moaning and shaking convulsively and is obviously moving rapidly towards an orgasm.

Yes, on this warm and sunny afternoon there was quite evidently a lot of it going on. So that what was happening in Mr. Fowler's room behind those drawn curtains was not particularly unusual; although to poor Pauline, sexually innocent, it was the culmination of an unbelievable week. For Mr. Fowler was doing 'it' to Pauline although, devious master that he was, this was under the guise, the pretence, of 'Sex Instruction'.

-o-O-o-

It had been a truly traumatic hour, ever since her hesitant knock at his door and his prompt 'Ah Pauline. Yes.... come in, please.' He had locked the door and then immediately gone to draw the curtains and turned on all the lights. And then....

'Yes. Well Pauline, I suppose you'd rather be outside on a day like this but I did think I should see you. Because all the other new girls had Sex Instruction at the beginning of term and, of course, you missed it. And at 16 it is important that you do not remain ignorant in these matters I don't suppose you had anything of this sort at your other school?'

Pauline shocked and stunned at what Mr. Fowler had said. Sex Instruction! 'N...No, Sir.'

'Hmmm. Many schools are very remiss in this regard. 'And then he did what he did every morning: his hand went up the front of her skirt and took hold of that hair-covered bulge at the top of her legs. 'No-one has told you anything about this?'

Pauline squirming, flushing: 'N...no, Sir.' This time it wasn't the quick in-and-out grab – his hand was staying there....

'Keep still, girl, there's no need to be shy with me.' The hand took its time, squeezing, feeling, before finally letting go.

'Yes, well then it is indeed high time you had some guidance. You seem to be a well-developed girl and certainly now quite capable of having a baby. And you will find that all kinds of unprincipled men, and boys too, are going to be after this now.' His hand back up to give 'this' another squeeze.

And then another bombshell: 'So, Miss, if you'll just take your clothes off....'

She just stood with a horrified look on her face as he repeated: 'Yes, your clothes please. Come along! Take them all off....'

Miserably, with no option, she had done as instructed: her blazer, her shoes and socks; then, turning away trying to hide herself, her blouse, her skirt, her slip, finally her bra. Mr. Fowler had a short towelling dressing-gown for her which she frantically got into. It only came to the tops of her thighs but she desperately wrapped it round and tied the belt: only to have Mr. Fowler immediately undo the belt and open the dressing-gown, to expose that well-developed bush and those equally well-developed pink-nippled breasts. His hands grabbing, groping, at both these regions as he said musingly: 'Mmm, you're certainly getting to be a well-developed young lady. All the more reason, of course....'

That had been the start, and then still in the opened dressing-gown having to sit with him on his settee and watch a short film on sexual intercourse. A short explicit film in which a young wife had intercourse with her husband, shy lying over the side of the bed with her legs spread and her feet on the floor – this position presumably adopted so that the action, and the actual penetration of the husband's large erect penis, could clearly be seen. To poor Pauline it seemed just enormous – how could it ever go in that young woman? And yet... it did, and quite evidently she enjoyed it.

'There!' said Mr. Fowler when it was finished and he had turned the lights back on, 'I'm sure that was most instructive. And when you leave school and get married you will now know exactly how it's done.'

And it was then, after the film, that Pauline had 'it' done to her. Mr. Fowler said that as a supplement to the film he was now going to do something which would give her some idea of what sexual intercourse was like and it was nothing to be nervous about; and then he made her lie across the settee with her thighs up over the arm.

Pauline's hand had automatically shot down to cover herself but that naturally was not what Mr. Fowler wanted. He firmly removed her hand ('Now then, we mustn't be shy!') and replaced it with his own. 'Now I'm just going to stimulate you a little....'

And that is what he did, in very much the same way that, about this time, Miss Davies was doing to Tina Chidwick and Mr. Gray was doing to Brenda Holm.