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Saturday, 7 December 2019

The Thursday Night Club

Story from Sapphire 14 by Lisette Ashton.
The door was opened by a naked woman. Tall, blonde and strikingly beautiful, she stood in the open doorway completely unashamed by her immodest display. Beth turned her face away, trying not to notice the dark cerise of the woman’s areolae or the fluffy golden curls of her pubic bush.
‘You’re Beth, aren’t you?’
Beth nodded. The opening lines that she had shaped and reshaped to introduce herself were forgotten as her checks turned a flustered red. She mumbled the word ‘yes’ but it was barely heard beneath the embarrassed rush of blood that pounded through her temples. Nervously, she tried to find a discreet corner of the doorway that she could study without having to look at the woman’s desirable curves.
‘Get away from that door and stop frightening the poor child, Suzie.’
This was a different voice. When Beth glanced into the shadows of the house she was touched by a wave of relief as she recognised its owner. ‘Carol,’ she whispered, as the woman pushed her way past the naked Suzie. Smiling at her work colleague Beth heaved a thankful sigh that there was a familiar face to stare at. Casting an embarrassed glance in the direction of the naked blonde, Beth said, ‘I thought I’d come to the wrong house at first.’
Suzie laughed, standing to one side and allowing Beth to enter the house. She didn’t move completely out of the doorway and Beth had to brush her body against the naked woman’s as she tried to step inside. Although she was trying not to think about, she felt sure she could feel the pressure of the blonde’s nipples stroking at her back through the fabric of her blouse. The sensation was intimate and disturbing and Beth refused to dwell on the emotions it generated. ‘You never know,’ Suzie grinned. ‘Before the night’s over, you might think you have come to wrong house.’
Carol and Suzie made a silent exchange and although Beth couldn’t work out what they were inferring to one another, she sensed that Carol was displeased with the naked blonde’s outburst. ‘Are you going to parade around in the nude all evening?’ Carol asked. ‘Or might we have the pleasure of seeing you in some clothes later?’
Suzie shrugged, her grin slanting to a coquettish angle. ‘You’ve never complained in the past,’ she purred. Carol’s frown deepened and even Beth could see that the blonde had overstepped the mark in some way. ‘I was coming to see you when the doorbell went,’ Suzie told Carol. Her tone was placatory and her words were rushed as though she was anxious to explain herself by way of an apology.
‘Why were you coming to see me?’ Carol asked.
Suzie turned to show her bottom to Carol and pointed a manicured fingernail to one exposed cheek. ‘I was about to go on the sunbed when I noticed this and I wondered if it would affect my tan.’
Beth couldn’t stop herself from staring at the peach-like orb. She was modestly proud of her own naked body but she knew it could never compare to the magnificence of Suzie’s curves. The blonde’s long legs were firm with well-toned muscles that accentuated the perfection of their shape. Her waist was painfully narrow, whilst her breasts were the size and shape of ripe melons. The cerise areolae were tipped with fat, pink nipples that seemed inordinately erect considering she was only undressed in readiness for a bout on the sunbed. However, it was the right cheek of Suzie’s backside where Beth’s attention focused. Against the pale skin there was a fiery red handprint, that made it look as though Suzie had suffered a punishing slap.
‘Is this going to spoil my tan?’ Suzie asked. ‘I’m going on the bed naked so I can become an all-over brown. I don’t want a white mark shaped like Helen’s hand on my right cheek. It would spoil the uniformity.’ There was a petulance in her voice that Beth couldn’t understand. The blonde did not seem to mind that her body had been marked in this way and her only concern seemed to be the effect it would have on her sunbed session.
Carol looked to be considering the problem seriously. She reached out and began to caress the flaming handprint with delicate fingers. Rather than performing a detailed study, Carol stroked her fingers lovingly over the bruised cheek and Suzie caught an excited breath.
Knowing that she shouldn’t be watching such a scene, Beth tried to snatch her gaze away but it was impossible to shift the focus of her attention. Suzie had such a pretty backside that Beth yearned to follow Carol’s example and reach out to caress the smooth flesh. Knowing that such behaviour would be unforgivably forward, she resisted the impulse and forced her gaze to study the hall carpet.
‘There’s only one solution if you want some uniformity to the appearance,’ Carol decided. Without another word, she raised her hand and brought it smartly against Suzie’s left cheek. The echo of flesh striking flesh sang from the hall’s acoustics like a faraway thunderclap. Beth gasped, thankful that her own cry of surprise was lost beneath Suzie’s squeal of shocked displeasure.
‘That bloody hurt,’ Suzie protested.
‘It makes you even,’ Carol said.
Beth had to agree that Carol was right. Suzie now bore two handprints on her buttocks and they were relatively similar in size, shape and position. She only dared to cast a meek glance at the sight, not sure that she should be witnessing any of this intimacy.
‘Now, unless you want a couple more handprints on your arse, I suggest you get on the sunbed and join us when you’re finished and clothed.’
Suzie looked as though she was going to say something else, then hesitated. She turned a warm smile on Beth and extended her hand, saying, ‘it was nice to meet you, Beth. I look forward to seeing you again, later on.’
Beth took the naked woman’s hand and shook it gently. She still felt painfully conscious of Suzie’s nudity but she forced herself to meet the blonde’s welcoming smile us though this was a normal way to greet people.
Once Suzie had left them alone, Carol made a half-hearted attempt to apologise for the incident. ‘You’ll have to excuse Suzie,’ she explained. ‘She has a gorgeous body and I think there’s a touch of the exhibitionist inside her. We’re a fairly informal group here at the Thursday Night Club and I sometimes think she shows off to make the others jealous.’
Beth nodded, as though this explained everything. Her cheeks were still crimson and her thoughts were racing as she tried not to ask those other vital questions that niggled at the back of her mind. She wanted to know who the mysterious Helen was, and why the woman had been chastising Suzie’s backside. She wanted to know what had possessed Suzie to allow such an indignity and why she had happily tolerated a second smack from Carol. Those were the questions at the forefront of her mind but timidity stopped her from voicing any of them.
‘Aside from the obvious reason, why is it called The Thursday Night Club?’
Carol shrugged, leading her down the hall towards a slightly ajar door at the end. ‘We all meet on Thursday Nights,’ she explained. ‘Here at the village Thursday is a traditional night out for the men. A handful of the girls and I decided it would be the best night for us to stay in and enjoy ourselves.’ She spoke as she walked through the door at the end of the hall and the tail-end of her explanation was heard by all of those in the back room.
A sullen brunette sat at a card table, nonchalantly sucking on a menthol cheroot. She studied Carol and Beth with a moody eye as they entered, trying hard to feign disinterest. In her free hand she held a fanned fistful of playing cards but her attention was riveted on Beth rather than the two women she was playing with. ‘Yes,’ the brunette agreed. ‘Welcome to the Thursday Night Club — the last bastion of reprieve from a world doomed by pathetic patriarchs.’
‘You’ll have to excuse Helen,’ Carol told Beth. ‘She tries to be intense and philosophical but mostly she just sounds pompous and dull.’
Helen made a rude sound. She turned her attention back to her cards, blowing a white plume of smoke against them.
Beth noticed that one of the other women was wearing only a skirt and a bra, whilst the other looked as though she was only dressed in a blouse. Trying not to attach any importance to this state of casual undress, she turned her helpless expression on Carol. ‘And what do you do here?’ Beth asked, forcing her tone to sound normal. ‘Here at the Thursday Night Club, I mean.’ Carol shrugged and looked as though she was about to respond when Helen spoke up.
‘We have a few drinks, we swim, we play cards and we try to think up games that will quell the endless ennui of village life,’ she intoned dramatically.
Carol glared at Helen, then exercised a wry smile on Beth. ‘Perhaps I should have told you a little more about our club before I invited you,’ she said carefully. ‘It was only with you being new to the village that I thought you might get a kick from meeting the girls this Thursday.’
Beth didn’t consider herself to be a suspicious person by nature but she could tell that Carol was keeping something from her. The idea of having a female only night out was exciting and it did promise to break some of the monotony that she had been troubled by since moving to the village. But Beth felt sure there was something more to this club than just a swimming pool and a sunbed and she felt even more certain that Carol hadn’t said what that something more was.
‘Like Helen said, we have a few drinks, we play a few games and we try to think of new ways to relieve the boredom of village life. I’ve got a sunbed here and a swimming pool, so there’s usually something to do and…’ ‘…and if that fails,’ Helen broke in. ‘We get out the slipper and the riding crop and…’ There was a wicked lilt to her voice and she looked as though she would have said more in spite of the weight of Carol’s furious glare. Before she could voice her unspoken words, the door burst open and Suzie burst into the room. She was still naked, displaying herself with no hint of shame in her posture.
‘Has anyone got some fast tan?’ she asked. ‘I need a “sunbed safe” accelerator, did anyone bring one?’
‘We all know what you need,’ Helen told her. ‘And it’s not a sunbed lotion.’
‘Stop being such a bitch. Helen.’
‘I’ll stop being a bitch when you stop being a tart.’
An icy silence thickened the atmosphere. Beth glanced from Helen to Suzie, aware that there was a tension between the two women.
‘Could you two show a little consideration for our new guest?’ Carol asked. There was an edge to her voice that defied argument. Beth had heard Carol use the same firm tone with the adolescent office girls but she had never imagined Carol could use it to such effect on women of her own age group.
‘What am I supposed to do when she calls me a tart?’ Suzie demanded.
‘Perhaps you should stop acting like one and stop calling her a bitch?’ Carol suggested.
Suzie scowled, an unpleasant expression that spoiled her pretty features. ‘That’s not fair,’ she said sullenly. ‘You always take Helen’s side. You’re a bitch Carol.’
Beth swallowed and turned from Suzie to Carol. She could see her friend’s expression turning thunderous and although Suzie looked confident enough to deal with the older woman’s temper Beth did not envy her position beneath Carol’s fierce gaze.
‘You have a nasty mouth on you some days, Suzie,’ Carol growled. ‘Some Thursdays I think you just come here for the punishment.’
‘No way,’ Suzie said. She took a step back and held out a defensive hand. ‘Helen started this, not me and I’m not going to suffer because of her.’
‘Go on, Carol,’ Helen encouraged gleefully. She had doffed her cheroot and placed her cards down forgotten as she cheered the two women on. ‘Use your slipper on the little tart.’
Carol rounded on Helen with a threatening finger. ‘I’ll use a slipper on both of you,’ she decided swiftly.
Beth saw Helen’s face fall whilst Suzie’s lit up gleefully.
‘You can’t be serious,’ Helen told her.
‘The pair of you have been acting like spoilt brats all evening and Christ only knows what poor Beth thinks of the pair of you.’
Beth wished that her name hadn’t been mentioned and she tried not to meet anyone’s eyes as the argument’s onus rested on her.
‘I want both of you,’ Carol said again. ‘And now,’ she hissed, ‘or you know the penalty.’
With a weary sigh, Helen eased herself out of her chair and went to Suzie’s side. She had grabbed a slipper from beneath the card table and she passed it to Carol with a truculent hand. ‘This isn’t fair,’ she mumbled.
‘Life seldom is,’ Carol told her. She turned to Beth and said, ‘don’t be too shocked by this. I’m sure that you’ll soon get gist of what happens here.’ Without another word of explanation she slapped the slipper against her open palm and said, ‘Bend over. The pair of you. Skirt up and knickers down, Helen.’
Beth tried to tear her eyes away from the scene but she couldn’t think of anywhere else to look. The two women who had been playing cards with Helen were both watching the scene with lascivious smiles. Carol’s attention was focused on the task in hand and Suzie and Helen were both facing away from her.
Making her acrimony known, Helen tugged her panties down, then flipped her skirt over her back as she bent forward. She was exposing a backside that was slightly larger than Suzie’s but no less shapely. Between the cheeks, Beth could see a cleft of dark pink that was coated with dense raven curls. However, it was the woman’s arse cheeks where her gaze lingered. Nestling on either side of the puckered ring of her anus, they were pale and smooth, broken only by the fading memories of earlier chastisements. The vague reddening of an earlier slipper’s sole bruised one cheek.
Beth swallowed, aware of the room’s anticipatory silence.
‘Stop drawing it out, Carol,’ Helen growled. ‘Just get it over and done with.’
She had barely finished the words when the slipper landed against her backside. Beth sucked air, only then becoming aware that she had been holding her breath.
Carol raised the slipper and delivered a second blow, this time to Suzie’s backside. Beth watched the shape of the sole brand a fiery mark against Helen’s cheek. The sound of the slipper striking flesh jolted her from her lurid study. Administering six blows between the pair of them, Carol raised the slipper again and again. She paused for an instant, snatching a greedy breath as she studied their reddened cheeks. Her smile slanted wickedly and she began to rain a further barrage of slaps. Surprised to find herself counting, Beth heard each girl gasp a dozen times.
Each crack was loud enough to make Beth flinch and she watched the backsides of both women beginning to glow. The peach-like orbs turned into a raspberry flush that darkened when the slipper was drawn away. Wishing she wasn’t watching so closely, Beth noticed that the dark curls at Helen’s cleft had become blacker. It wasn’t her imagination she realised, and that thought was confirmed when she saw the woman’s pussy lips split open. As shocking as it was to contemplate, Helen had gleaned a good deal of pleasure from the slippering and her labia were parting in an eager pout. Before Beth had a chance to peer any closer, Helen was brushing her skirt down and modestly putting her panties back on. When she turned to face the room her cheeks were rouged with the same rosy pallor that had blushed her backside. ‘I still say there was no need for that,’ she told Carol. Although she was trying to sound unhappy Beth could hear the husky inflection of arousal colouring her words.
‘You can kiss and make up now,’ Carol told the two women. ‘The pair of you can apologise to Beth later.’
Suitably dismissed the two women turned around and left the room.
Beth realised that there were a thousand and one questions she now wanted to ask but she couldn’t think of a way to broach any of them. A drink was placed in her hand and she was escorted to a chair at the card table, sitting next to Carol. A handful of cards were placed in front of her and she studied them blindly, still trying to think of a way to ask Carol about the slippering.
‘Does that sort of thing happen very often here at the Thursday Night Club?’
Carol laughed and shook her head. ‘Of course not,’ she said happily. ‘It barely happens three or four times a night.’
The first hand came and went before Beth had a chance to realise what was happening. Carol spread her cards on the table and said the words, ‘full house’, only to be treated to a chorus of groans from the two other players.
The woman wearing only the bra and skirt reached behind her back and unfastened the clasp of her bra. The other woman began to tug the buttons of her blouse open, revealing herself absolutely naked beneath. Beth stared from one to the other, then cast an unhappy glance in Carol’s direction.
‘Surely you’ve played strip poker before,’ Carol grinned. ‘Come on. Take your blouse off, Beth.’
Fearful of the retribution that might occur if she disobeyed, Beth began to work on the buttons. She tried rationalising the moment to herself, insisting that she was only displaying herself to other women and there was nothing wrong or untoward in what she was doing. Surprising herself, she almost found the inner voice convincing.
The deck was passed to the topless woman and she dealt five cards to each of them. Carol barely seemed to glance at hers before slamming them down on the table, face up. ‘If anyone can beat a royal flush, say now.’
There was another chorus of moans and Beth could see herself standing as naked Suzie before another two games were completed. Squirming with embarrassment at the thought, she took the offered deck of cards and clumsily passed out five cards to each of the players. Aware that she still had to remove some item of clothing, she modestly chose to remove her skirt. She did not know what good fortune had made her wear matching bra and panties for this evening. But she thanked the fates that had delivered her to the card table dressed for such a lewd match.
Not daring to meet anyone’s eyes as she placed her scantily clad bottom back at the card table, Beth tried to hide her embarrassed face behind a fanned fist of cards.
‘She’s got seven cards,’ one of the women screeched. ‘Look, Carol, she’s got seven cards.’
With her stomach lurching, Beth realised they were pointing at her. Through a hazy mist of embarrassment she saw that she had inadvertently dealt herself too many. ‘I’m sorry,’ she began. Her cheeks flushed crimson as she apologised.
‘I think you will be sorry,’ Carol agreed, easing herself out of her chair. ‘We have punishments for those who cheat at cards.’
‘I wasn’t cheating,’ Beth insisted. ‘It was an accident, honestly. Just an accident.’
Carol nodded. ‘I’m sure it was,’ she agreed. ‘But we have rules here and if we are going to have any sense of order, those rules have to be adhered to. You’ve already seen what happens. Bend over now, or suffer the penalty.’
Beth didn’t need to know what the penalty was to realise that it had to be horrible. For Suzie and Helen to have both chosen to suffer the indignity of a slippering rather than face the penalty, it had to be a consequence of the direst proportions.
‘This is so humiliating,’ she whispered.
‘It’s more than humiliating. It’s painful too,’ Carol laughed wickedly. ‘Bend over, Beth. This should teach you to take more care when you’re dealing cards.’
Blushing furiously, Beth did as she was instructed. She moved away from the card table and stood in the classic position to touch her own toes. Her mortified thoughts were saying a prayer of thanks that Carol had not asked her to remove her panties when she felt the woman’s hand on her back. Carol’s fingers teased along the elasticated band of her knickers and with her stomach folding over, Beth realised that the woman was going to take them off for her.
A sound at the door distracted everyone’s attention and Beth glanced up to see Suzie and Helen re-entering the room. The pair were holding hands and smiling at one another with an affection that ridiculed their earlier animosity. Although Beth had no way of knowing, she felt sure that the pair had genuinely been upstairs to kiss and make up. But she did not think that their reconciliation had ended with a mere kiss. Judging by the flustered pallor of Helen’s cheeks and the sodden hairs at Suzie’s cleft, Beth guessed that they had settled all of their differences.
The thought was no more than a passing fancy and was lost when she saw that the two women were studying her with mild reproof.
‘Has Beth been a naughty girl?’ Helen asked.
‘She’s just receiving a simple lesson about concentrating whilst dealing,’ Carol explained. Without another word she raised the slipper and threw it hard against Beth’s backside.
The indignity was one thing that Beth thought she might have been able to tolerate. Admittedly she was in a roomful of peers but none of them seemed to attach any shame or stigma to this demeaning punishment. However, there wasn’t just the indignity — there was also the pain. Her backside flared in a howl of protest and she longed to yelp, or scream, or give some release to the agonising sting that burnt her arse-cheek.
A second blow landed on the other cheek and the pain of the first was forgotten. She clenched her teeth and squeezed her eyes closed against tears of shame. For an instant she wished she had found out what the penalty was, then dismissed that thought, knowing it would have been a damn sight worse. The third strike knocked the wind from her and her arse felt as though it was burning. She heard herself hiss a protesting grunt, but there was no thought of moving herself from beneath Carol’s hand.
The fourth and fifth slaps struck in quick succession: one for each cheek. A distant voice — Beth thought it was probably Suzie — gave an encouraging cry and giggled cheerfully. Another voice, and Beth felt certain this was Helen, began to count each fall of the slipper. The sound rang in her ears as her arse-cheeks began to glow.
Beth told herself that she couldn’t tolerate this humiliation any longer. As two more blows struck her she repeated the thought like an incantation. She had almost come to terms with the indignity but each new slap rekindled the pain of her aching buttocks. Her legs trembled with the effort of standing beneath the punishment and her eyes felt sore with the tension of holding back tears.
‘You’re taking it well,’ Carol murmured.
If Beth could have thought of a response, she didn’t think she would have found the voice for it. She drew a shivering breath and spat it out when Carol struck her again.
‘Nine,’ Helen whispered.
Beth squeezed her thighs together, trying to dissipate the pain through her body.
Carol hurled the slipper down hard.
‘Ten.’ This time the rest of the Thursday Night Club sounded as though they were taking up the chorus.
Beth tried to shut their voices out, wishing that the punishment would end. She heard them all cheer the eleventh blow as it racked her frame and realised gratefully that they were nearing the climax.
The final blow landed and she was gratified to hear Carol tell her that the punishment was over. Before she had a chance to pull her panties back up, she felt feminine fingers stroke the reddened cheeks of her backside. The touch was soft and sensual. Against the searing flesh of her arse, the cool caress was like a comforting balm.
A casual finger brushed through the pubic hairs over her cleft and Beth held her breath as a tremor of excitement fluttered through her stomach. She felt her face turn purple and tried to hide the fact that a wave of euphoric pleasure was sweeping through her body. The effort left her trembling and the power of the climax, although subtle, was almost enough to make her fall to the floor. She was helped back to her seat at the card table and the other players tactfully said nothing about the incident. Swallowing a mouthful of wine, Beth turned hesitantly to Carol and said, ‘You mentioned a penalty — if I hadn’t chosen to be chastised.’ ‘That’s right,’ Carol agreed.
‘What was it?’ Beth asked. Her face burning bright red she knew that everyone was watching her rather than playing the game. Ignoring their inquisitive expressions, she asked, ‘What was the penalty?’
Carol grinned and placed a reassuring hand on Beth’s knee. ‘The penalty is expulsion from the Thursday Night Club.’ With a wicked smile, she added, ‘And I’m sure that you wouldn’t want that.’
Thinking about it, Beth had to agree that now she had discovered this group, expulsion from the Thursday Night Club would be the last thing she would ever want.

Friday, 6 December 2019

Letters from Blushes Supplement 1

From Blushes Supplement 1
Dear Sirs,
Your issue No. 4 of Blushes is breathtaking and I must congratulate you on it. It makes others seem inferior! Quite the best single issue of a magazine on the subject I have ever seen.
Just one request however and other pictures of ‘Sandra’ are stunning. She is great because she has such a provocative-looking face and sultry look! Could we have some more pictures of her — preferably this time with some better marks on her bottom?
I think she has got off too lightly so far. She is obviously (comparing pictures) one of the young girls in your last video but I would guess that she has escaped the full rigour of the cane and has not been punished as she should have been. (If she was she probably can’t take it as hard as Sally. Let me know and I will be tempted to buy the video.)
J.D. California

‘And when the days seem drear and long just think awhile on Shirley Strong’
(with apologies to Patience)
Armed with his ‘whippiest cane’, Blushes reader Tom G. lit quite an imaginative bonfire on the ‘lewdly stuck out, broad and solid backside’ of certain Blue Peter personality girl in No. 6. But then, having pleaded for a distinction ‘between fact and fantasy’, he goes on to solicit ‘favourite fantasies about female celebrities’ in a list headed by Shirley Strong, the new Golden Girl of British athletics.
Tom, my lad, you’re sailing perilously close to the wind! You and others can no doubt supply the fantasies in due course. Mark well, meanwhile, the purely factual background.
A thin vestful of big firm bristols bouncing triumphantly over the Olympic hurdles; the thinnest of tight running shorts, stuffed to bursting point with the biggest and firmest arse in female athletics; to say nothing of strapping young thighs, striding nakedly to victory in the Los Angeles sunshine — these delectable visions on your TV screen have diverted your attention from Fact No. 1 which emerged in various pre- and post-race interviews with the media: Shirley, Cheshire born and bred, passed all her secondary schooldays at Northwich Girls Grammar School in that County.
Fact No. 2, as freely owned by the silver medallist herself, she was locally accounted a particularly naughty girl. A naughty girl in Northwich might be a saint by Metropolitan standards, but all things are relative — and some headmistresses still have old-fashioned ideas about naughty girls. Shirley Strong’s headmistress obviously knew how to get right to the bottom of the naughty girl problem, as witness the following excerpts from a front-page article in the Northwich Guardian of 18 November 1976:
‘Headmistress Miss Janet Dines has been cleared of assaulting and beating a 14-year-old Northwich Girls’ Grammar School pupil last summer. A Northwich Magistrates’ Court case came to an abrupt end after… prosecuting barrister Mr Peter Hughes said he would offer no further evidence against Miss Dines and asked for the case to be dismissed. Miss Dines pleaded not guilty to assaulting Lynne Symmonds after she was caught eating crisps during a Maths lesson. Maths teacher Miss Hobbs had caught Lynne with the crisps and sent her to Miss Dines. She was told to go back after lessons, but it was 4.30pm before the Head could see her. Miss Dines told her she would have to cane her, told her to pull her dress up, bend over and lean against the bookcase, and gave her three strokes on her backside. Woman Police Sergeant Valerie Lowry was due to give evidence that she could still see the marks 10 days later. A (doctor’s) letter said Lynne had three red weals across her buttocks, two of them stretching around the hip region 14 inches long, and two marks on her knuckles. Lynne said she got the marks on her knuckles while holding her dress up, as Miss Dines had told her to. She had been wearing a blue summer uniform dress, navy knickers and tights.
Sister Cyril (of Jennifer Willis’s recollection in No. 6) wasn’t the only school whipstress who knew how to raise fourteen-inch bum-stripes under the seat of a naughty girl’s knickers, Tom! That Shirley’s old Head was a particularly experienced whipstress can be gleaned from the information, conveyed in the same Northwich Guardian article, that
when the police interviewed Miss Dines the day afterwards, she produced an ordinary three foot cane, which she said was an ‘official’ cane she had brought from her previous school.
When a columnist of the Sevenoaks Chronicle (1 December 1979) suggested that the cricket-field prowess of his own old public school headmaster might have assisted his skill with the cane, he elicited the following particularly graphic recollection of Miss Dines’s ‘previous school’ — and ‘ordinary three foot cane’! — from a lady reader who had evidently experienced both in statu pupillari! The Chronicle dubbed it, when headlining her letter, ‘A school where girls got six of the best’ — but six was by no means the limit:
In the early sixties I attended North Romford Secondary — I believe it was the first comprehensive to be established in Essex. In this mixed school, ‘female discipline’ was ably superintended by the young deputy-head, Janet Dines, who may even have had an edge over Jimmy Higgs-Walker of Sevenoaks School, the ex-Worcestershire fast bowler. In the fifties our deputy head had turned out regularly for Essex Ladies as an all-rounder, fast bowler and opening bat. I believe she also represented the county at squash! The instrument of our retribution would have done justice to any boys’ public school — three feet of really springy malacca, with correct crook handle. Shortly before my 15th birthday a morning’s truancy compounded by an unsuccessful attempt to justify same by a forged ‘absence note’ produced the promise of a thoroughly-deserved ‘six of the best’. I was rash enough to supplement, with a pair of strategically placed PT shorts, the rather minimal protection normally permitted on such occasions. The ruse was uncovered (in the most literal sense!) and I got two ‘penalty strokes’ for cheating — minus the extra protection, of course. The soprano yelps of one bending girl, in the upper register, made a lusty counterpoint to the smacking of one bendy cane taking the bottom part. Plus much frantic hopping and rubbing while my name was being inscribed in the school’s punishment book (‘truancy, lies and deceit: 8 strokes on the seat’).
Nor was this lady the only Romford recipient of a ‘JD Eighter’, as will be clear from another correspondent’s recollections published some time later in the East London Advertiser, 3 April 1981:
Some 20 years ago I was a pupil at North Bamford Secondary, School, where really naughty girls were generally dealt with by the deputy head, who was of course a female teacher. This lady habitually used an extremely thin and whippy cane with only light school knickers or tight gym shorts for protection. From painful personal experience I can vouch for the effectiveness of this method — it really smarted, and was humiliating — and yet the marks were gone in a few days. I had the stick twice at school for smoking. The first time, when I was 14, I received four strokes, and I found it just about bearable — indeed somewhat less painful than my mother’s hairbrush. On the second occasion, when was 15, I received ‘eight of the best’ with nothing but an extremely thin pair of summer pants between my seat and the stick. That was the last time I touched a cigarette. Nowadays, when I read the statistics for deaths from lung cancer, I can only feel devoutly thankful for a schoolmistress who was ‘man enough’ to make my bottom smart sufficiently to deter me from this pernicious habit once and for all.
The reality of a 15-year-old schoolgirl arse fatly straining the seat of ‘an extremely thin pair of summer pants’, and thus rudely proffered for the noisy attentions of ‘three feet of really springy malacca’, may well trigger speculation concerning the occasional fate of Miss D’s most famous Northwich pupil. Did any of those naughty teenagers at Romford, bending over in ‘tight gym shorts’ (as a permitted alternative to ‘light school knickers’), present the athletic young deputy headmistress with quite such flimsily-clad buttocks as Shirley flashed at the TV millions in the recent Olympics? Did the silver medallist herself, with legs right up to her bum in the Northwich study, ever produce ‘the soprano yelps of one bending girl, in the upper register’, as ‘a lusty counterpoint to the smacking of one bendy cane taking the bottom part’? Should a scarlet-faced Shirley, if truth were told, own to ‘much frantic hopping and rubbing while her name was being inscribed in the school’s punishment book’ in Miss Dines’ neat headmistressly hand?
History hasn’t yet recorded these details, so for the nonce they must be left to the fertile imagination of Tom G. and others. But we have already gathered that Shirley’s old headmistress, herself a noted athlete, gave short shrift to the tight gym shorts of any schoolgirl caught smoking. And we do also know — it was widely publicised following the Los Angeles triumph — that Shirley herself has never managed to kick the habit which she first picked up as a naughty schoolgirl, and remains a 20-a-day lass. Unlikely, you may think. that her headmistress never tried to cure her in the wonted manner — ‘three feet of really springy malacca, with correct crook handle’; and, of course, ‘only light school knickers or light gym shorts for protection’.
Where one of the Bamford schoolgirls could ‘only feel devoutly thankful for a schoolmistress who was ‘man enough’ to make my bottom smart sufficiently to deter me from this pernicious habit once and for all’, Shirley Strong seems to have been ‘the one that got away’. Over to Tom G. and his fellow readers for suggestions — remembering that this is a bad case; and such strapping young buttocks vulgarly proclaiming, as they plump out the seat of ‘a blue summer uniform dress’, their healthy capacity to absorb rather more than even the juiciest and most flimsily-knickered ‘eight of the best’. The Cheshire justices are a commonsensical lot, and there’s nothing about school knickers or gym pants in the County regulations. There’s nothing about bare bottoms, either — whatever the culprit’s age and sex! More power to your elbow!
Did Miss Dines really pass up this opportunity…?

Dear Sir,
As a woman in my mid-thirties, I was extremely interested in the lady correspondent’s letter (‘Gwynned’), which you printed in Number 5 of your magazine Blushes. My own particular point of view as regards corporal punishment as an erotic stimulus coincides with hers in several respects, but I must take issue with her in some areas.
First off, I must admit to finding Blushes an exciting magazine. Like the lady from ‘Gwynned’ I see them when my guy brings them over. I gather, too, that there are many more magazines produced monthly which feature girls and women being spanked and caned. I find this extraordinary. It must be a very popular subject. I wonder how many other women get to see them, and what they think of them?
Though to be honest I must confess to finding your magazine a bit disturbing (By that I don’t mean the marks on the girl’s backsides!) What I do mean is that all the girls in your magazine are younger and more attractive than me. My guy tells me not to be stupid and that I am just as pretty, but being a woman I just can’t help it! I wonder if ‘Gwynned’ shares these feelings? Let’s face it, Blushes is obviously designed by men, for men! Not that I’m ‘knocking’ that.
Another point I’d love to take up with ‘Gwynned’ is this. Quite honestly I find her descriptions of frequent canings at school highly unlikely. I honestly think if I’d been caned at school (which I wasn’t, sorry!) it would have put me off CP for life! Either that, or I’d have become a lesbian (no chance of that, I’m glad to say!). Seriously though, I do have doubts about the truth of ‘Gwynned’s’ canings. No woman I know was ever caned at school. I’ve even discreetly asked around my girlfriends, and they were all adamant that it never happened to them. And anyway isn’t there a law against caning girls? Besides, I think it’s really not on to cane a girl who’d reached puberty. I must admit I do fantasise now about being spanked etc while still at school (my guy and I often play ‘games’ where he’s the teacher and I always end up being ‘punished’). That’s OK and I love it, but I’m sure the reality of being really caned at school would have been a terrible shock to my system!
As I told you already, my own experience regarding CP is quite different. I was never punished as a girl by parents or teachers, in fact I was a model pupil at school. It only started a few years ago when I met ‘Steve’ (not his real name!).
I realised quite early on in our relationship that he had a ‘thing’ about my bottom because he was always slapping and pinching it, which I must confess I quite enjoyed. Then one night after we’d been out drinking he accused me of flirting with one of his friends in the pub. I felt really aggrieved because I was completely innocent of the charge. He got really angry with me (which I found exciting) and told me ‘he’d teach me a lesson which I’d never ever forget’. I hadn’t a clue what he meant, he put me over his lap (no mean feat because I’m quite a big lady, not fat, just nicely plump, Steve insists!) and then he spanked me literally till my behind was blazing red, and I was yelling and crying for all I was worth! Then he undressed me and made love to me. It was the most beautiful, most exciting lovemaking I’d ever had! I realised afterwards that it was the spanking that had made it so extra special.
It’s been like that ever since, always the same formula. I dream about it constantly and it just seems to get better and better! We’re sitting drinking coffee at home at the end of an evening. Then I (deliberately!) provoke him by saying something bitchy etc. He hauls me upstairs to the bedroom, makes me undress down to my knickers, he pulls my knickers down himself (he enjoys that the pig!) then puts me across his knee and wallops my poor bum for anything up to ten minutes. I always end up crying. Sometimes, I’m ashamed to say, I actually ‘come’ while being spanked. (Is that abnormal, I wonder?). Then he drags me to bed and has his wicked way with me. In short, delicious!!
The magazines etc came later. Steve started buying them and showing them to me because I was worried that I was a ‘masochist’. Steve says that the magazines prove that I’m quite ‘normal’, since a lot of couples must obviously be doing exactly the same as us. I’d like to know what ‘Gwynned’ thinks about this.
I’ve never been caned by Steve (do they still make them?) but must admit I have fantasised about it, but would be terribly frightened in case he really hurt me.
So there we are. Another ‘convert’ to CP, although I repeat I was never spanked as a girl. All I can think of is that my parents are Polish, when I gather from what I’ve heard and read that girls there were often physically punished. So perhaps it’s in my blood? All I know is, I like it, even though it makes me break down and cry!
You have my (and Steve’s) full permission to print this letter if you think it throws some light on this strange forbidden subject.
Yours sincerely,
Sonia, N.W.

Thursday, 5 December 2019

Seven Lessons for Knicker Watchers

An essay by Clement Gardner from the early days of Janus (2.03) when it was still a general fetish magazine rather than being fully dedicated to spanking.
For knickers to be properly significant in the life of a fully developed watcher, basic training must be undertaken at a very early age. In fact, most parents are fully programmed by their own upbringing to provide those subtle incentives necessary for success almost as soon as it is realised that ‘Baby’ is ready for reclassification as ‘Son’ or ‘Daughter’. Concurrent with this phase is a progressive transition of clothing from the practically indeterminate to the sexually recognisable.
Through the initial years, smocks must give way to dresses on the one hand, or shirts and trousers on the other; nappies and rubber or plastic pants are replaced by knickers or underpants. Underpants are usually concealed in a dressed state, knickers can be on view in careless moments, and motherly concern develops, fostered by the knowledge that her own generation is aware of the erotic overtones associated with a raised skirt. At pains, therefore, to stress the necessity of keeping knickers covered up in company, mother is soon able to generate interest in the question of why knickers, not functionally different from socks or vests or hats to the uninitiated, are somehow special.
To questions of why knickers should not be shown, especially to small boys, unsatisfactory answers are given — it’s rude, we just don’t do it, it’s naughty. It’s naughty? That at least is interesting.
Little boys are similarly admonished — don’t look, don’t ask to look, don’t touch! It’s naughty!
Following this fairly standardised introduction to the subject, the responsive pupil now has the following facts, one might say at his fingertips:—
(a) Knickers are a special and enviable prerogative of girls.
(b) Knickers are associated with an interesting adult reaction.
(c) To show, see or touch knickers is somehow naughty.
Information is useful, experiment is essential; soon the ardent young researchers are exchanging views as it were. Sensations, such as the feel of the puckered materials at knicker’s leg or waistband or the twang of elastic on bare legs, are discussed at length. For proper naughtiness, girls lie on their backs with legs kicking mightily, knickers fully on view, and boys up-end girls to ensure unrestricted visibility of the delights beneath the dresses.
During this early field work, or probably at least contemporary with it, a basic difference between boys and girls will be discovered. A further fact can now be added to basic information:—
(d) Knickers are special because they cover that which makes girls different from boys. Therefore, and since adults do not want knickers uncovered, knickers are exciting and should be investigated.
Looking back on experiences in this period, we more mature knicker fanciers must surely feel a pang of regret for the passing of black stockings from the school uniform scene. It is difficult to relate today’s tights and navy-blue stretch nylon briefs to the magnificence of the senior girls we used to love in gymslips and white shirts, black stockings, white suspenders and navy-blue knickers — a combination to stay the hearts of all who had graduated from Lesson 1.
It will be realised that the groundwork covered so far may have taken the student well into his schooldays. If the art of knicker watching has been developed progressively, and if sexual attraction is evident, your student whose roots lie in the era of stockings will recall the power of the raised gymslip as demonstrated by senior girls. He has been trained to recognise that knickers are attractive. He is now aware that his schoolgirl friends are attractive. His only possible conclusion is that attractive schoolgirls have doubly exciting knickers! Shapely young legs in black stockings, handstands in the playground, gymslips falling round the shoulders, stocking-tops black against white suspenders and plump white thighs, navy-blue knickers pinching the flesh with elastic at legs and waist, a strip of white skin at the waist and the gymslip fully inside out!
Schoolgirls at play, heaving up each other’s gymslips and holding them aloft, the victim giggling and twisting, thoroughly enjoying the thrill of having her knickers exposed even to the gaze of her own kind, or romps in the long grass behind the gym — tickling and spanking with the objective of keeping the knickers in view as long as possible. Sometimes the knickers and the gym-slips are green. Bottle-green knickers hold attraction for many, brown gym knickers for others. Whatever the colours, the raised gymslip and the stockings/stocking tops/white thighs/ suspenders/knickers combination is locked in at this stage, and remains basic material for any serious leg, bottom and knicker watcher.
If our knicker watcher is not at this stage aware of the delights of the can-can, he can nevertheless enjoy the school uniform version, for schoolgirls turn cartwheels with aplomb, allowing the gymslip to fly wildly. The can-can is devoted to the study of knickers against an exciting vibrant backcloth of cascading petticoats. The first feeling for the tumbling action is aroused by watching gymslips uncovering those delicious black stocking tops, the straining suspenders and navy, green or brown gym knickers. (Some observers have referred to coarse material and baggy bloomers — disparaging terms for garments which were in fact disappearing as early as the 1930’s. During the 1940’s the ubiquitous ‘Utility’ Makers introduced tighter materials based on cotton or later, synthetics, and although the gym knickers were a comfortable rather than a tight fit, one of the fascinations was the way in which the legs of the knickers overlapped the elastic in a gentle fold. If the wearer bent down or performed an acrobatic, one could watch these folds disappearing as the knickers tightened over the buttocks and reappeared as a standing position was regained. Also constant wear soon applied a satisfactory sheen which left them soft and smooth to the touch. The modern replacement of elastic in the legs by elasticated cuffs can only be regretted by the serious watcher.)
The message is slapped home, so to speak, by observing the spanking of schoolgirls. Caning particularly on the backside is, and was comparatively rare, but many have been able to witness the unceremonious hoisting of a gymslip by an irate mistress and to follow the raining of spanks on the writhing seat of gym-knickers alternately taut or creased as the victim wriggled delightfully. The erotic sight accompanied by the crack of the hand and the shrill squeal of the spanked schoolgirl is basic minor sadism and often has to be worked out in later life, but that is a different subject.
The above two lessons, if properly learned, are sufficient in themselves to qualify the watcher for the next stage. However, there are very likely to have been other basic and fringe experiences, to broaden what might be called the overall view of knickers. In childhood, whilst at play on the floor, a standard procedure is to peer up a variety of skirts and dresses without let or hindrance — opportunities envied by many more mature experts. This ensures broad familiarity with D.K.’s (Directoire knickers), French knickers, knickers with frills, plain white knickers in silk or nylon with elastic at thigh or waist. This is an important style since it is often acceptable to a D.K. fancier as well as to those with more eclectic tastes because the elastic and puckered material is in evidence and yet the legs end at the top of the thigh and not the knee. Thus stocking tops and suspenders are uncovered, but the knickers have the D.K.’s folds, creases and softness.
Outings and picnics will have taught the student to chase and surreptitiously trip the girls in their summer or party dresses, and he will have seen the frills fly as many colours and different styles, shapes and sizes of knickers are thereby presented to his gaze. He will have enjoyed the rise and fall of skirts and dresses in slap and tickle sessions, and have absorbed impressions from the dance floor. The value of dancing has diminished alarmingly since the mid-sixties, but older watchers will remember with quickening heartbeat the jive rock scene. Can-can-esque, skirts made from complete circles of material flow horizontally from the waist and, under mountains of frothy petticoats, the stockings and knickers could be fully studied from shoe to waist. Positive acrobatic steps often prolonged the exposure, as girls swung over men’s shoulders and with legs aloft, the skirts and petticoats poured inside out from the waist.
Other more physical experiences will have firmly established knickers as powerful sexual symbolism by this time. For a devotee, the role of knickers in arousal is unquestionable. Knickers are, therefore, exciting in their own right, and they also act as sexual triggers both for acts and memories of earlier days — days of security, warmth, lower stress and happy experiences.
The adult knickers expert is therefore, able to use sight or touch as a symbolic aphrodisiac. A husband at rest can be aroused by looking up his wife’s dress, or a wife can arouse a husband by raising her skirt. A boy may discover urges whilst wrestling in play with a fully-dressed girl and finding his eyes inches from dark stocking tops and knickers amidst petticoats in disarray. Quite unintentionally, the male mind is diverted from buses to catch and work to be done by capricious blasts of wind lifting dresses and buffeting a girl’s ears with the hem. Tired sheet-metal workers were revitalised some years ago when they realised that stainless steel judiciously laid about, reflected exquisite views of plump young thighs above the stockings and very clear details of the knickers beyond as messengers and office girls clicked by on high heels. Office workers time their arrival at the foot of steep stairs; assistant shop managers watch pretty young assistants climbing ladders to reach stock. The variants too numerous to list — but none of them is ever boring!
Which is just as well for some voyeurs. The spectrum of knicker watching ranges from a glance and faint uplift in spirit (about as faint a reaction as you or I observing tights under a miniskirt) to one hundred per cent reliance on the availability of knickers for any sexual release at all. In this case, the effects of Lessons 1 and 2 have generally been so impacting at an early impressionable age that knickers become the beginning, the middle and the end, and heterosexual development is halted right there. So the knickers become the sexual partner. The sex act is with the knickers, the satisfaction is because of the knickers, the lift must be to seek the variants mentioned above.
You may say that knicker watching is always entertainment, and we will discuss here Show Business and its contribution to the cause. For example, the can-can was the subject of a great film of that title. Fortunately, the dress depicted was biased for modern viewing, and frilly knickers left inches of naked thighs above the black stocking tops. The knickers were white, the dresses were red, and the whole panorama energetically revealed amidst enormous billows of frothing, swirling white petticoats. Other films not worthy of mention have included snatches of can-can with girls wearing net tights! But Carry on Cowboy was well worth seeing for the inclusion of a very pleasant version. Benny Hill helps a lot — his television shows have included nurses! There was also the famous mini-skirted lady fire officer sliding down the station pole wearing black nylons and black panties. An ascending lift stops suddenly but a girl’s dress doesn’t. Charlie Drake is another friend. One series included a schooldays’ number in which his pretty young ladies wore authentic school uniforms and demonstrated navy-blue knickers and black stockings to the full in cartwheels and other frolics ending bent right over with their backs to the studio audience. Even the Black and White Minstrels and the Good Old Days are worth a glance from time to time, with chorus scenes in Western saloons, or girls in gingham and petticoats doing acrobatics in a hoe-down. Catch old films sometimes — Gracie Fields of all people was once swung round by her ankles: fans of Directoire knickers would enjoy this sight. A cabaret once made the pretence that the lady in the acrobatic trio was unable to take her part. An apparent amateur from the audience was persuaded to take her place — in an ordinary dress! D.K.’s were fully uncovered as she swung by hands or feet from one to the other of the two men.
Soon after the 2nd World War a magnificent force was in use at some, notably seaside, fairgrounds. Dresses were long and usually worn with petticoats, stockings waiting to be exposed, and knickers to delight the heart just begging to be uncovered. As the girls came off the Helter-Skelter, or Cake Walk, or emerged a little blinded after the dark of the Ghost Train, they were asked by the operator if some article, possibly a purse, was theirs. As they stepped forward to see, a great blast of air was released below their feet and dresses and petticoats swept upwards in joyful abandon!
However, it is clear that students wishing to further their studies of the wonders of knickers should be selective in their television viewing, and it is only to be regretted that little which is meaningful can be recommended for home movies experts. Were we in the USA a series of correspondence courses with 8mm film illustrations could be recommended. Not, as far as is known, available in the UK, though why not is beyond imagination, there is in the States a branch of 8mm film sales known as ‘Raised Skirt’. These nubile young ladies simply raised their skirts. The activities are fairly straight forward, and the movements simply involve ensuring the skirts go as high as possible whilst the camera explores the nether regions from the tip of nylon-stockinged feet to the elastic waistband of the knickers. Although the American word for knickers is of course ‘panties’, the American garments worn in these films are very satisfactory. They are usually pure white, close-fitting, apparently nylon with elastic at waist and leg, and are also quite often completely plain and sheer. Acrobatics are performed — slowly so that the camera can linger properly on stocking tops and knickers — and often the girl helps by pulling up out of the way any lagging part of her dress or petticoat. Sometimes the skirts are just lifted high by the girl whilst the camera circles around. Then down she bends and the camera watches the wrinkling, creasing or tautening of the knickers in close-up. There is no time-wasting striptease of the clinical British variety and the films certainly add a great deal to the enjoyment of home movies for our Transatlantic cousins!
There is only one exciting way of presenting knickers in conjunction with tights. In this format, the mini- or micro-skirt becomes an asset. I had the good fortune to have time to consider this at some length whilst flying over the Atlantic. Our short-skirted air stewardesses wore white knickers over their dark tights, and one girl had to bend across two seats to free an obstinate seat belt in the third. From my position across the aisle, the view of twin knicker-clad buttocks wobbling in sympathy with the strenuous efforts of the arms — for quite three minutes! — decided me that flying really was the way to travel! Occasionally visual exploration of the mini reveals a stocking top or two, and the following points may assist progress.
Often, basic work begins at school. In my own case, I had the assistance of an iron spiral stair. Thoroughly lethal to those wearing high or thin heels, the openwork nature of the steps and risers ensured that to follow a sixth-former in gymslip and black stockings up the stairs was a real treat. One could follow closely enough to watch the thighs between stocking tops and knicker elastic, or one might stay directly below and follow (at some risk to one’s neck joints) progress straight up the front of the gymslip and navy knickers, or the back, or between the legs. Good timing enabled one to look up as a girl, gymslip flared out by the speed of her descent, came down with stocking tops, suspenders and knickers on view.
With similar backgrounds, many office workers will have checked their building for possibilities. Good timing is essential, and satisfactory results can often be achieved at the end of the lunch hour since girls will have gone out without coats and will be climbing the stairs in numbers which will generally offer several viewing choices. Again, the experimental voyeur will soon know which girls can be relied on to wear knickers over tights, and in the absence of the real thing will be happy to lift his eyes at the right time. Underground stations are worth a check — Charing Cross appears to be notably draughty — if two or more trains arrive at the various levels simultaneously, a positive gale can sweep up some stairs or escalators. I had the pleasure (with about twenty others) a few years ago of seeing two short flimsy summer dresses blow out horizontally from this effect. Stockings were worn, and blue knickers to my right with white knickers to my left were happily followed by the crowd for a few steps before the delightful owners discovered that their wayward skirts were afloat.
Earlier we referred briefly to ladders in shops. Watch out for ladies cleaning windows. Check your local supermarket — how far do the girls bend forward whilst emptying the carts at the cash point? A little research can pay big dividends, but if your best efforts appear disappointing, do not despair. If you can find an assistant, preferably female though not essential, please consider the following possibility. If your accomplice, with careful timing, just beats one of two pretty short-skirted girls to the stairway or escalator and ‘accidentally’ drops a suitable object your kindly girls will often bend quickly to grab it. The voyeur following behind will be rewarded as skirts shoot upwards knickers forgotten in the rush to help. Girls side by side on escalators are most vulnerable — there is little room for manoeuvre (we are indebted to a group of northern schoolboys who perfected this technique on the narrow stairs of school buses using wrapped sweets as bait).
Check your local restaurants too. An American acquaintance once took me for lunch to his favourite table in a US mid-West city. The mini-skirt was acceptable in the more conservative areas of the States quite some time before tights were, particularly away from the main coast cities. So in the late sixties it was still possible to enjoy the mini in the context of thighs, stocking tops and suspenders. The favourite table was so positioned, close to a raised section of the restaurant, that the eye-level of the lower was the thigh level of the upper. As my host anticipated, three young secretaries took a higher table less than ten feet away, and we happily watched stocking tops, thighs, knickers and suspenders as skirts rode up and down, legs were crossed and uncrossed and knees were parted and brought together. The girl in the middle sat facing me — I ate very little!
Early experiences will have pre-determined the way in which the watcher needs to view — for some the biggest kick comes from being in sight whilst the knickers are studied, for others a place of concealment is essential. At schools extensive use is made of boiler rooms, changing rooms, broom cupboards etc. A basement boiler room often has a window at playground or games field ground level and ranges of girls can be observed. Some will know this, and will show off their knickers to hidden watchers for the exhibitionist’s thrill this provides. Adjacent changing rooms have holes bored through the walls, the watchers see gymslips lifted over stocking tops, school knickers, bras and heads. Tennis clubs show summer dresses pulled up and off — and short white tennis dresses with pure white knickers put on. White ankle socks and pumps remind many of happy days.
Small businesses like shops and garages are fruitful viewing haunts for the fortunate — one may read of peep-holes and missing knots in planks in floor or wall to show the opportunities. I remember a young lad being invited into the stock room beneath a friend’s family shop. The rafters were bare, and the old floorboards of the shop above were warped, with eye-sized chinks between. We spent some happy hours in the dark on packing cases comparing the legs and knickers of the two pretty young assistants above us which ranged through the week from short white knickers with elastic at the leg to black wide French knickers with frills at the front.
Science can of course help us in our quest. Observing a gentleman lying on the beach through a pier-side telescope, I realised he was directing binoculars up the high cliff slope. He was intently following the descent of girls down the steep path and was enjoying the delights of summer dresses caught in the sea breezes. More ingenious is the use of a small concave mirror placed strategically at a crack in the garden fence near a bus stop. The ‘small end’ half of a telescope can then be used to focus the reflection of any knickers suitably positioned. The developer of this technique operated from a garden shed close to the fence, and whilst he conceded that the field of vision was lamentably restricted, he was able to count the stitches in the knickers of those owners who leant against the bus stop post.
Remote control cameras are also worth a thought. Choose a place where traffic noise or running water will drown the click of the shutter. Position the camera low down, reasonably hidden of course, short-focussed and pointing upwards and await a prospect. With your remote control device, operate the camera from a distance sufficient to indicate unconcern. Try a shopping basket rigged to operate the camera concealed amongst the groceries as soon as it touches the ground behind a young lady in a miniskirt. Much of interest here stems from developing the film — who can say what delights will be revealed. The true knickers man can of course be disappointed if no knickers were being worn.
The simplest simulation of a real-life situation is provided by glamour photography.
Views up skirts or dresses blown up by the wind or perhaps just skirts lifted high — and the full range includes shots of girls up ladders, lying down with legs raised, use of mirrors etc. etc. All these can give good coverage of the stocking tops and knickers theme, not to mention petticoats, thighs and suspenders. One could wish for more imagination and ingenuity in the posing of some shots, and one must also regret the failure of the glamour cine film makers to give more care to our subject.
For the serious student of knickers, however, nothing can take the place of a good woman versed in these matters. Her co-operation makes many things possible — the Janus features and letters contain many examples. Quite common is the spanking routine in which a girl wears a complete schoolgirl uniform. This gives a man the chance to repeat the thrill of once more lifting a gymslip’s hem over black stocking tops and thighs to uncover, as in his earlier days, the navy-blue or bottle green school gym knickers which played such an important role in his development. For the girl there is the thrillingly remembered embarrassment of having the gymslip lifted and the inevitability of the stinging spanks which follow. Items of dress are obtained by mail order and many are the shivers of anticipation as airline stewardesses, service ranks or can-can dancers appear to order in the bedrooms. Then what a hoisting of skirts, dresses and petticoats follows! What running of appreciative hands over the knickers of one’s choice, what a twanging of leg elastic or suspenders against bare flesh, what a panorama of stocking tops to the rescue of one’s frustration!
One aspect of the subject not mentioned in this article is the attraction for some of the uncovering of knickers by lowering trousers or skirts. Older readers will remember with affection the dear Land Girls in their breeches, but the attraction of dresses going up is surely virtually universal, the rustling of layers of petticoats irresistible to most, the fascination of dark stocking tops supreme as they gently grip the thighs, the appearance of ranges of colours and styles of knickers against an incomparable background!
Black stockings with heavy seams, white pleated skirts, pure white knickers, elastic leg knickers, black suspenders, summer dresses lifted so that everything from toes to bra is visible — whatever the combination desired it can be arranged. With the serious help of girlfriend or wife, it is possible for energies and urges to be released which otherwise will lead to despair and frustration.
As we have shown, our fetish is developed in us often without our assistance. It creeps up on us — we’re stuck with it — we enjoy it! But simulation is a great aid in feeding our interest, and in releasing the tensions, helps to avoid social dangers and keeps our enjoyment on a purely fun and frolic basis.