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Tuesday, 31 January 2017

Tutoring Gillian

Photo-story from New Blushes Uniform Girls 2.01. An adapted version of Evening Tutorial from Uniform Girls 52.
The phone rang. She could guess who it would be.
‘Gillian? Hello dear.’ Yes, Mr Vanway. ‘Just checking dear, that I’m seeing you this evening. The normal time.’
Mr Vanway had been away for a couple of days so Gillian had missed her Monday evening tutorial. Looking across at Derek she smiled and said yes, tonight as usual.
‘Lovely that will be lovely. Are you by yourself now, Gillian?’
Big blue eyes smiling at Derek, Gillian said no.
Mr Vanway laughed softly. ‘A girlfriend or a boyfriend? As long as you’re not doing anything naughty, dear. We’ll talk about it later, shall we?’
He rang off. Gillian thought: maybe Mr Vanway had rung to see how long it took her to answer. And if the phone had to ring a few times it might mean she was doing something. With Derek. Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to tell Mr Vanway about this new boy at school called Derek Minfield, or at least not said that she rather fancied him. Mr Vanway was sure to want to make something of it. Gillian unconsciously squirmed her bottom on the settee. He didn’t need much excuse, or no excuse at all. The slightly dizzying thought sliding into her head. Being over Mr Vanway’s lap. Her knickers down and her bottom bare. Mr Vanway’s hand at the bare flesh.
She produced another smile for Derek. They hadn’t been doing anything as it happened. Just sitting on either side of the coffee table here in Gillian’s lounge. It was 4.30 and neither of her parents got back before 5.30. So they could have been doing something. Right here on the lounge settee for instance. Yes. She could have had her knickers off with Derek on top of her. His stiff thing sliding in and out of her well-lubricated vagina. That was what Mr Richley in Biology said, ‘the well-lubricated vagina’, making some girls in the class go very red in the face.
But of course Gillian and Derek hadn’t been doing that. She hadn’t done it with anyone yet, although she was 18 and quite a number of girls of 18 had. Did Mr Vanway really believe she hadn’t done it yet? With Derek. Or someone. He was always asking her, as if he didn’t really believe it.
Derek asked who it was on the phone. She reached behind her to tighten the ribbons on her blonde bunches, the action as she knew thrusting out her firm boobs and of course drawing Derek’s eyes. ‘Maybe it was my other boyfriend,’ she teased. ‘Desperate to see me. Do you think?’ Giving Derek her big, innocent smile. ‘All hot to come round here and fuck me.’
Derek flushed and shrugged. He was still unsure of himself with Gillian who was such a beautiful girl with a super figure. Perhaps the best-looking girl to actually know and talk to that he had ever seen. He was new to the town and still found it difficult to believe he had got this far with Gillian Prentice. She had had another boyfriend of course, Paul Sinton, who was in her class. But Gillian has assured him that was all over.
‘Actually it was Mr Vanway. He’s my tutor. I have to see him later this evening.’
She said it evenly, her face composed. As if it was nothing. Whereas of course Mr Vanway would no doubt have her knickers off within five minutes of her arriving at his place. And if not five minutes certainly before she left. Some excuse or other and he would be telling her to take them down. But Derek wasn’t to know that. And her face didn’t betray anything, although inside, thinking about it could make you go all hot and cold. But no one knew. Including her parents who had arranged the tutoring.
‘Your tutor? What subjects?’
‘Oh various things. Things I’m stupid in I suppose. Come over here and sit next to me.’
Derek came across to sit on the settee. ‘Tell me what subjects.’ He couldn’t really believe Gillian had a tutor.
‘I told you, whatever I need. This and that. Sometimes I’m really thick. Derek, didn’t you know that?’ Her hand rubbed his thigh.
He laughed. ‘So it really wasn’t your other boyfriend?’
‘No. My other boyfriend doesn’t call on Wednesdays. I see him Thursdays mostly. He comes round and I usually let him fuck me here on the settee. If he’s brought a contraceptive. Well, a girl’s got to be careful about getting pregnant, you know that, Derek. But if he has I’m usually nice to him and let him put it in. In my well-lubricated vagina.’
Derek wasn’t laughing or smiling now. He had gone red in the face. He guessed she was just trying to wind him up and he knew she knew he should take it as a joke but it wasn’t easy. Gillian moved her hand to his thigh. ‘Mr Richley said that in Biology. “It is a natural process. Prior to intercourse the woman’s vagina become well-lubricated to more readily accommodate the erect penis.” Some girls went bright red! Probably they’d been doing it the night before and so knew all about it.’
‘But not Gillian Prentice?’ Derek’s voice had a shaky edge.
‘No, I don’t think so. I kept my cool.’
‘I mean... you hadn’t been doing it the night before?’
‘No, it wasn’t my night for doing it.’ She squeezed his thigh. ‘Oh Derek! I was only joking. You know I don’t have another boyfriend. And I don’t do it.’ Her hand moved to his crotch. ‘Mmm... are you big and stiff?’
Derek grunted. The thought of Gillian screwing someone else made him feel sick but it had nonetheless aroused him and he did have a semi-erection. Gillian’s hand was stroking it.
‘Can I hold it...?’ her fingers at his zip. Tugging it down.
He tried to sound cool. ‘What about your tutor? Will he approve?’
Gillian had it out. It was fully erect now. Her fingers closed round it. She had that slightly dizzy sensation in her head. Holding a boy’s stiff prick really turned her on. It was the same dizzy feeling she got when she was over Mr Vanway’s lap with her knickers down. She began stroking Derek’s cock, her hand forming a fist though it was too big for her fingers to encircle completely. Part of her mind was still on Mr Vanway. Making her voice stay cool she said.
‘No. I’m sure he won’t approve. And he’ll make me tell him. He always makes me tell everything. So I suppose I’ll get punished.’ She looked up, her big blue eyes meeting David’s as she continued stroking. ‘I’ll just have to take my punishment, won’t I? I’ll have to suffer for you, Derek.’
Derek’s cock felt like it was bursting, the head a swollen purply-pink. His face was red too, and rather desperate-looking.
‘Shall I tell you how he punishes me?’ Gillian inquired sleekly. But she was only joking. She gave a nervous laugh.
‘Of course I can’t. He doesn’t let me tell anyone. He’s very strict about that.’ And then another edgy laugh. ‘I’m joking. He doesn’t really punish me. Really.’
Was Derek listening at this point? Probably not. Because he was almost on the point of coming. Gillian with a tissue in her other hand, the one that wasn’t wanking him, caught his spunk as it spurted out. Well, she didn’t want a mess on her dress or on the furniture for her mother to see.
Afterwards, giving him the wad of sticky tissue to put down the loo, she repeated it. ‘No of course not, Derek. Mr Vanway doesn’t punish me I mean. Of course he doesn’t.’
Derek would have no real reason to doubt this. Gillian looked at her watch. ‘You’d better go. My parents will be here soon. And I’ve got some work to do.’
But it wasn’t work that Gillian did once Derek had, rather reluctantly, left. It was something else. Something she just had to do. Up in her room and reasonably quickly before her parents returned. Because she was in quite a state. The business with Derek had got her going, but even more was the thought of later. Mr Vanway. As always now the prospect scared and excited her at the same time. Not that she had any choice. It was a regular appointment, Mondays and Wednesdays, except that she had had to miss last Monday because he was away. Not having been round there for a whole week made it worse. More scary. Because Mr Vanway would be worse. Probably.
She flopped down on her bed and slid her knickers off. Mr Vanway looming in her head. Those scary eyes that went right through you. And that scary bald head, like some evil villain she had seen in a film. And his hands... that before you knew it would be roaming up your skirt.
Yes Mr Vanway. In that cosy little room where he did his tutoring. And did the other things too. Gillian with her knickers off and her fingers in her hot slit. At her clitoris. Groaning. Oh Christ. That bloody Mr Vanway. Could she tell her mother she didn’t want to go to him any more? But she didn’t really want that, did she? The groans merged into a high-pitched shuddery squeal. As Gillian came.
She felt better afterwards. A little bit more relaxed. But naturally not really relaxed. Well, she did have to go out to Mr Vanway’s in a couple of hours’ time.
----//----
‘Hello Gillian dear!’ Mr Vanway greets her. ‘Mmm, lovely. It seems such a long time since I’ve seen you. I daresay you’ve been doing all kinds of naughty things while I’ve been away. Mmm...?’
Taking off her coat, Gillian shakes her head. It is of course a week since she was last here. Mr Vanway has closed the door and they are in the hall, the evening sun slanting in through the glass panels. Gillian can feel her heart pounding. Partly this is from riding her bike over here, about a mile, but it would be pounding anyway. Being in here alone with Mr Vanway. Those steely eyes glinting behind the spectacles. And that shiny bald head. It makes her legs feel all rubbery. And it makes her also feel a bit wet between her legs just standing here facing him. Standing with her back against the hall wall on her rubbery legs. Because it is not just Mr Vanway’s scary appearance. There is the fact of what Mr Vanway can do to you. What he will do.
Mr Vanway shakes his head. ‘I can’t believe it. I can’t believe you have been a week without being naughty, Gillian. Have you got knickers on?’
She flushes. Remembering what he said last time.
‘I… uh... yes Mr Vanway.’ Last time he had said he wanted her to come round this time without knickers. As a punishment for something or other. She had assumed it was just a joke. Mr Vanway’s idea of a joke. The thought of her cycling over with no knickers under her skirt, but not really expecting her to do it.
‘Deliberate disobedience then, Gillian. Is that it?’
She mumbles something about not thinking he meant it. Mr Vanway tells her to lift her skirt. Show him her knickers.
Gillian goes redder in the face. She is wearing school uniform. White blouse under a navy cardigan with the school blue-and-green striped tie, and a grey pleated knee-length skirt. With white knee-socks and flat heel black shoes. This in fact is the uniform which only younger girls at school are required to wear; Gillian, like other Sixth Formers, is allowed to wear her own clothes as long as these meet general requirements. But Mr Vanway likes the uniform and makes her wear it when she comes to him.  Gillian hates the uniform, or thinks she does. But now wearing it is part of the ritual of her tutorials with Mr Vanway. So the uniform in fact has taken on something of that scary excitement.
She is pulling up the grey skirt. Exposing her bare thighs. And then her knickers. These also are not what Gillian would normally wear, to school or anywhere else. They are old fashioned navy schoolgirl knickers, and are again an item which Mr Vanway has specified for Gillian’s evening visits. Except that for this evening he is claiming, or pretending, that he wanted no knickers at all.
She has her skirt obediently raised now. Right up to fully expose the navy knickers which are tight and form-fitting. Tight to Gillian’s rounded hips. And also tight at that bulge at the apex of her thighs. The bulge of Gillian’s pussy mound. Tight enough for Mr Vanway’s keen eyes to discern the indentation of the central vertical split.
His hand goes there. Cupping the bulge. Gillian’s breath, unconsciously held, exhales with a shuddery sigh. Mr Vanway’s finger is pushing in at the soft lips. In where she is wet. In where earlier this evening she had her own urgent fingers.
Mr Vanway, fingers groping her, says, ‘You weren’t supposed to wear any. You were supposed to be on that bike without any knickers, as a punishment from last time.’
She tries unsuccessfully to keep still. ‘I forgot. R...Really. And anyway...’ giving a forced little laugh, ‘what if someone saw me. I mean... I could h... have an accident. Fall off...’ The hand has her legs parted now. It is right in there, working at her.
Mr Vanway abruptly takes his hand away. ‘If someone saw you, Gillian, I suppose you could be taken in. For public indecency. Juvenile delinquency. Something of that sort. That would be the risk, wouldn’t it. They could send you away to a home. And then you wouldn’t be able to see that boy. Wouldn’t be able to do whatever you were doing this afternoon. Yes, we’re going to have to talk about that of course.’
They are going through now, to the room at the back which he uses for the tutorials. Walking through, Gillian with Mr Vanway’s hand at her trembly bottom. She is trembly all over, from what he has just been doing. His fingers in her pussy through the navy cotton of her knickers. He pushes open the door and she half stumbles in. She knows what to do of course. Where to go. The desk, over by the window, with its splay-backed chair.
----//----
Gillian sitting at the desk. In front of her is the essay she brought to Mr Vanway last week. It is what she wrote for Mr Farrall, her English master at school. Mr Farrall’s comments on it are in red ink, mostly critical but not too bad. But now Mr Vanway has added his own remarks in green. Unhappily Gillian turns the pages. All three are covered in the green scribbly hand. Mr Vanway had torn apart just about every sentence she has written.
He is suddenly there close in behind her. His hands pressing down on her shoulders. ‘Not too good, Gillian. In fact quite awful in my opinion.’
She mumbles that Mr Farrall didn’t say it was all that bad.
One hand comes down over her shoulder. It reaches inside Gillian’s cardigan to squeeze a nice-sized boob. ‘Well Mr Farrall is a very generous man, Gillian. Or could it be that you are allowing him special privileges to ensure favourable treatment? Letting him play with these nice big tits perhaps. Or maybe stick his finger in your pussy. Mmm? Something of that sort?’
Gillian splutters out that there is nothing like that. Nothing at all.
‘Hmm. Can you be believed, Gillian? I am not at all sure. Anyway we will need to have something for this very poor work. A spanking certainly. Indeed I am not sure it does not warrant a caning.’
A panicky yelp from Gillian. Not the cane! Mr Vanway is now leaning close over her, his face in her scented blonde hair. Both his hands are now down inside Gillian’s cardigan squeezing her tits.
‘Well we’ll see. But now tell me about this afternoon. Your friend. That Derek I suppose?’
She admits it was.
‘Well I am sure you weren’t discussing work.’
Mr Vanway’s hands leave Gillian’s tits and take hold of her shoulders. Lifting her up from the chair, he pulls her to one side, then slides his own bulky form in on the other side between the chair and the desk. And now it is Mr Vanway who is sitting and Gillian standing close at his side. His hand clutches her bottom through her skirt. Fingers reaching into the cleft.
‘No, not work,’ he continues. ‘On the contrary I imagine we were getting quite hot and steamy. Our school clothes in considerable disarray. Our knickers down perhaps — or quite possibly off altogether. And dear Derek, with his questing hands. Or maybe another questing part of his anatomy...’
Gillian protests it wasn’t like that at all. She gives a squeaky yelp. Mr Vanway’s hand has dropped down and then up again. Up the backs of her bare thighs, to her knickers. Another squeaky whimper, as the fingers dig in now through just her knickers. Searching in under the fatty overhang of her nates. Seeking, and finding, her ultra-sensitive womanly parts.
‘I am afraid I can’t believe you, Gillian. My experience of young female persons tells me I simply cannot believe you. And therefore I think we do need a little reminder. Of the virtues of truthfulness. Not to mention of course the virtue of maidenly modesty when in the absence of our parents we have invited in a boyfriend.’ A finger pokes in under the hem of Gillian’s knickers and finds the bare, moist flesh. Gillian’s warm cunt. ‘Yes. What shall it be then, that little reminder?’
Gillian, squirming, breathes, ‘Please! Not the cane!’
Mr Vanway tells her to turn, towards him, and lift her skirt. His hand has glided out from the warm and sticky crevice.
‘Please not the cane...’ Gillian repeats.. She is pulling up her skirt. When it is right up, Mr Vanway’s hand gives her pussy mound a little squeeze. Then both his hands slide her knickers down.
‘I do think you really deserve the cane,’ he observes thoughtfully. His hand returns to Gillian’s now exposed pussy.
‘No! Please no!’ Trembling at his touch but nonetheless obligingly parting her legs. To allow Mr Vanway access to what he presumably wants. Well it is better than the cane, isn’t it? It is not as bad as the cane. And maybe a show of cooperation in this can result in a lesser punishment.
Mr Vanway makes a softly sucking sound. As his fingers take advantage of what is offered.
----//----
Gillian is over Mr Vanway’s lap now. Across his thighs with her blonde head down close to the floor. The school skirt is up round her waist and her knickers are round her knees. She is feeling decidedly hot and agitated, as a result of what Mr Vanway has just been doing. Her pussy in particular is hot. Pulsating. As she stood on her rubbery legs at his side Mr Vanway with his educated fingers brought her to the edge. So that Gillian was very close to coming. But then he abruptly stopped. And made her get over his lap.
He is going to spank her bare bottom of course. Well that should not be as bad as a caning. Except for what he has done. Devilishly getting her right on the brink, so that poor Gillian is like a time bomb with a very short fuse. About to go off. When he brings that hand down.
Gillian lets out a frantic yell as the first heavy-handed spank wallops down. As hard as Mr Vanway can manage it seems. Which is undeniably hard. And when a girl has been brought to the very brink of coming...
A second heavy spank cracks down —and Gillian almost has hysterics. She can’t take this, in the state she is in. In that primed state, from Mr Vanway working her up. No! She desperately shakes her head. As another massive spank cracks down.
----//----
Afterwards Mr Vanway does bring her off. When he has finally had enough of spanking his hand down on Gillian’s succulent bottom. By this time he has been doing it with devastating effect for maybe five minutes and Gillian is in quite a state. The melon cheeks of her bottom, now a bright scarlet, writhing and rolling in an abandoned manner, with the punished girl making all kinds of despairing sounds. So it is a desperate relief certainly when he finally stops the spanking, but also more relief too when he straightaway begins the other. She really needs it and unthinkingly Gillian readily parts her legs in a somewhat libertine manner. To accept the hand which now wants to get at her wet and urgent cunt. She comes in no time flat.
Mr Vanway gives her a few moments and then pushes her to her feet. Gillian is half weeping now. Making noisy gaspy sounds. He says he will make some tea.
They will have the tea in the other room, Mr Vanway’s cosy sitting room. Gillian is still feeling decidedly fragile from her ordeal. The tears have now stopped — but she has the feeling they are not far away. She sits down in an armchair while Mr Vanway goes to make the tea. Biting her lip she raises her hands and nervously adjusts the blue ribbons which hold her blonde curls in two bunches. They are going to have some tea — and then what? Will she be able to go home then? Or...
Gillian doesn’t want to think about any ‘ors’. Because chief among them is the cane. It is not impossible that Mr Vanway may still decide that after all she is in need of it.
She has had the cane. Twice. It is too awful even to think about. Alright a spanking like the one she has just had can get you in a bit of a state. And it hurts. But... it is not the cane. Gillian makes a face. Squirms her still hot bottom on the chair. She is not going to start crying again is she? She thinks of Derek. His big stiff prick... and that urgent, desperate look on his face as she brought him close to coming. She bites her lip again. When she gets home she’ll have to go straight to bed. And as soon as she’s in bed... she’ll have to do it. Two, three times...?
Mr Vanway comes in with the tea and Gillian forces all extraneous thought out of her head. He gives her one of those scary grins and asks how she’s feeling. A hesitant ‘Alright Mr Vanway.’ He sits down on the settee, and tells her to come over there next to him.
Mr Vanway starts talking. This and that. As they sip, nervously in Gillian’s case, the tea which Mr Vanway says is best Earl Grey. She joins in as necessary, with her senses sharply attuned to what direction Mr Vanway’s talk may take. But it doesn’t go in the direction of the C.A.N.E. Well, a little threat at one point, but he doesn’t seek to develop it. It is instead something else. Mr Vanway tells her she behaved in an abandoned, not to say lascivious, manner when he had her over his lap. And her acting in this unmaidenly way inevitably had an effect on him. Getting him aroused in fact. And therefore...
By this point Gillian can pretty well guess what is coming. What Mr Vanway wants. And well, it is certainly not in the same class as a caning. No way whatsoever. No. It is in fact what earlier today she did to Derek. Precisely the same. Yes, that is what Mr Vanway wants.
With a weak little smile she slides her hand over. Onto that considerable bulge in the lap of Mr Vanway’s trousers. Gillian is still feeling distinctly fragile. But she doesn’t mind doing it. In fact if you get right down to it, it is a turn-on. Or will be afterwards. Thinking about it.
And she has done it before. Yes. Mr Vanway is bigger than Derek. Bigger than Paul Sinton. But probably she would guess not bigger than Mr Farrall.
----//----
The end of school on Thursday. Mr Farrall has asked to see Gillian and she has reported to his room. Hopefully Mr Farrall is not going to keep her long. She had been planning to walk home with Derek and invite him in for a cup of coffee. And also perhaps a spot of action. Gillian is feeling slightly edgy, keyed up. A sort of sexy edginess. That session last night with Mr Vanway has contributed to this feeling. Seeing Mr Vanway and having him do those things can have that effect on you.
Mr Farrall is about Mr Vanway’s age but is more ordinary looking, i.e. without those fierce eyes and that bald head like a film villain. Mr Farrall does have glasses but that is about the only resemblance. He is waiting for her in his room and asks, ‘Did Mr Vanway see that last essay you did?’ Gillian says yes. Mr Farrall knows she goes to see Mr Vanway, but naturally he doesn’t know what Mr Vanway does to her. Those things.
He asks what Mr Vanway thought of the essay. Gillian makes a face and says, ‘Not much. He... ah... criticised it a lot.’
Mr Farrall laughs. ‘Ah well your Mr Vanway doesn’t give you such an easy ride, does he, Gillian? I could find plenty of things to criticise but I choose not to be too severe. As you know.’
Gillian is standing at the side of his desk and he reaches for her skirt and pulls her close. She is wearing a pretty pink-and-blue flowery dress with a full, knee-length skirt. The full skirt means Mr Farrall can easily slide his hand up underneath — and this is what he does. Gillian stands still and accepts this intimacy, with no indication that such an action is a surprise or shock to her. Because it isn’t.
Yes, when Mr Vanway suggested to Gillian that she might be allowing her English master special favours in order to get a more lenient treatment he was absolutely right. Although Gillian denied it with a show of shock horror. Well, she would, wouldn’t she? But it is true. She lets him do things. Just like Mr Vanway in a way. Except that Mr Farrall is not Mr Vanway, not at all. Gillian is not scared of Mr Farrall. He is mild-mannered, pleasant. You have the feeling you can say, ‘Please sir, don’t do that,’ and you know he will stop. Although of course if you say too much of that sort of thing he is going to be harder on marking.
‘I know,’ Gillian says. Adding meekly, ‘I’m very grateful of course.’ She allows her legs to be gently pushed apart. Mr Farrall’s hand has come up the backs of her thighs under her skirt. It has now slipped in between her legs. Under her dress Gillian has a pair of brief pink nylon knickers, the sort of thing she normally wears to school, rather than those navy ones she had on last night which are strictly for Mr Vanway’s pleasure. Through the thin nylon Mr Farrall’s fingers begin lightly rubbing along the line of her slit. Gillian shifts her weight from one leg to the other. With the pretty summer dress she is wearing white patent leather shoes with medium heels. Her shapely legs are bare.
She gives a nervous little laugh. ‘You’ll get me all excited doing that.’ And Mr Farrall’s fingers are getting her going a bit. Because Gillian’s cunt is in a rather receptive state. That is why she would like to go home with Derek and maybe do some messing about on the settee. Mr Farrall’s fingers are still there, stimulating the sensitive lips of her cunt. She squirms, as into her head comes the thought of doing it. Fucking. Wondering what exactly it feels like, having a big stiff one up inside you. Derek’s, or maybe Paul Sinton’s. She has split up with Paul but he is now getting interested again, now he knows she is going with Derek. Or Mr Farrall of course. Being fucked by Mr Farrall. Not that she would let him, but just the thought of doing it. Or... Mr Vanway. Having Mr Vanway do it.
With a little gasp she pushes Mr Farrall’s hand away. ‘Ooh please...! You’ll be getting me all... well, wet.’
Mr Farrall takes his hand out and gets to his feet. He puts his arms round Gillian from behind and pulls her close. His hands close round her breasts which are in just a light bra under her dress. Mr Farrall’s window opens onto the back of the gym building, not much of a view but also it means he can’t be overlooked. So he doesn’t have to worry about the possibility of anyone seeing if he is doing something to a receptive girl.
‘Still not started doing it yet?’ he asks. ‘Not with that Derek Minfield? Or anyone else?’
‘No,’ she laughs. ‘Not yet.’ Gillian can feel Mr Farrall has an erection, it is pushing into her bottom. He rubs it against her. Then says,
‘This lovely soft bum. What it could probably do with, Gillian, is a few strokes of the cane. To make you work a little bit harder. Because you do need to work harder you know. If you want to get good grades and then a good job. Yes a brisk caning would probably help.
Gillian tries to laugh but not too successfully. Mr Farrall is joking of course. What he doesn’t know is that she has been caned. By that scary Mr Vanway. And it is not a joke. Not at all.
‘Oooh...!!’ she gasps. In mock horror, but it is not mock at all! ‘You wouldn’t do that, sir!’ And her hand reaches round behind her, to Mr Farrall’s stiff penis. Gillian grips it, squeezing. After a few seconds she lets go, and twists away from him.
She says she really has to go, her mother is expecting her home (which is not true of course). Mr Farrall is reluctant for Gillian to leave. He says he would like to take her out for a drive at the weekend. To discuss her work in more detail. She says she would like to but is not sure what she is doing. Can she let him know?
----//----
Gillian has made some coffee for Derek and they are sitting on the settee. By chance he has mentioned Mr Farrall and said he is a stiff marker of essays. Derek is not in the same form as Gillian but he also gets Mr Farrall for English. Derek saying he is a ‘stiff’ marker makes Gillian want to giggle. Because of course less than half an hour ago Mr Farrall was decidedly stiff. Pushing his stiff thing in against her bottom. And then Derek gets onto the subject of Mr Vanway which seems to intrigue him still. Gillian twists round and puts her arms round Derek.
‘Shall I tell you about Mr Vanway, Derek? Did I tell you he’s fucked me? Yes, really. Anyway I told my mother and she’s really worried, because he didn’t use a rubber or anything. And of course he wants to do it again. My mother says maybe I should get some and make him use one next time. But I can’t make him, can I?’
Actually although Gillian couldn’t resist winding Derek up like this, she didn’t really feel like joking about Mr Vanway. Not that she ever did of course. But especially not now. Because she was going to have to see him on Friday. An extra visit to make up for the one she missed on Monday. And just before she left, yesterday, Mr Vanway said, ‘And on Friday, Gillian, I really do think we need to have the cane. A quite hard, no nonsense caning. I’m sure the effect of those earlier canings I gave you has completely worn off.’
----//----
Gillian is riding her bike to Mr Vanway’s house. To say she is not looking forward to her evening session would be a considerable understatement. She always has that scared feeling but often there is also an excitement too, not exactly looking forward to it but undoubtedly a frisson of anticipation. Because those hands of his, although they’re awful, can also turn a girl on. That awful groping. Mr Farrall gropes too of course but somehow it is not awful with Mr Farrall. You can keep some control with Mr Farrall. But not with Mr Vanway. No way! But even though it is awful it can be a turn-on. But not tonight. Not with the virtual promise of a caning! Her poor bottom!
Gillian’s bottom is in fact tonight nude under her grey school skirt. After a little bit of thought she has decided it is best to take seriously what he said about no knickers. Perhaps making a show of doing every little thing he wants, or suggests, could make a difference. Could make Mr Vanway change his mind. About the caning. Well you never know. So Gillian has not put any on. But she has brought a pair of those navy schoolgirl ones in her coat pocket, just in case Mr Vanway decides he would like her in them. She is wearing a coat on top of the uniform, as she usually does going to Mr Vanway, not wishing to be seen in it now she is a sixth-former. Having no knickers on gives you a funny feeling. There is the thought of it, and also the fact of it. The fact of it being that you can feel the cool breeze wafting up around your bare pussy as you push on the pedals. In other circumstances it might be an exciting, sexy feeling. But tonight Gillian can only really think of that cane. Though she is certainly aware of her bare, exposed pussy.
The other thing is that Gillian is going out with Mr Farrall this weekend for a drive in his car. On Sunday afternoon. She has decided he is right, she does need to do all she can to get good grades. And keeping in with Mr Farrall is part of that, if only because Mr Farrall has told her he knows someone who is involved in marking the English papers and also knows someone else who is a friend of someone marking History. So there is a possibility that her papers could be more favourably treated. Mr Farrall has made hints in that direction. What does he want to be maybe co-operative in this? Well, unfortunately Mr Farrall has now mentioned the cane. Was he joking? Gillian fervently hopes so. The thought of being caned by Mr Vanway, and then by Mr Farrall is simply too, too much.
The other possibility of course is that, in exchange for help with the exams, Mr Farrall might want to fuck her. Is that possible? Gillian thinks it is certainly possible. And if he did want to? Would she agree? She has spent a good deal of time thinking about this one. And has decided that if Mr Farrall could deliver the goods, well, the answer could be yes.
That may come up tomorrow of course. It is quite possible Mr Farrall will allude to it. But — that is tomorrow and she can’t worry about it today. Today, this evening...
No! Don’t think about it!
The C…A…N…E…
Oh Christ.

We will follow the further adventures of Gillian in All for Gillian and Gillian’s Further Education.

The New Prefect

A St Angela's story from Roué 11. A prequel to Prefect's Report.
Rosemary heard the footsteps faintly at first and then louder, and her heart began to flutter like a caged bird under the white school blouse. Her legs encased in their silky-clad nylon stockings, as befitted a seventeen-year-old girl in 6B, began to tremble with fear as they always did when Mr Evans had sent her to await his pleasure in 2D.
The door knob turned and Rosemary shut her eyes so as not to see him. She listened for him to close the door and turn the key, which squeaked in the lock... nothing happened... and she opened her eyes...
‘Oooohh’ she squealed in surprise. Somehow she hadn’t expected to see Mr Payne standing there and it quite took her breath away.
‘What are you doing here Miss?’
The Headmaster seemed quite surprised to find anyone in the Punishment Room at this time of day.
‘I-I’m — waiting for Mr Evans s-sir,’ whispered Rosemary.
‘And just why are you waiting for our Mr Evans... eh... eh?’
‘H-he — sent me to be — p-pun-punished sir —’ Rosemary’s voice tailed away with embarrassment at the admission of her guilt.
‘Ah... mmm... ah yes...’ murmured the Head, ‘to be punished... to be punished...’
Somehow he seemed to roll the words round his mouth like a succulent ripe strawberry.
Rosemary hung her head in shame at the admission, and a sweetly pretty pink blush crept up over her neck from around the white collar band of her tight school blouse.
‘So Mr Evans finds it necessary to punish you young lady, does he my dear?’
The Headmaster seemed genuinely anxious to find out and gave Rosemary a rather pleasant smile as he asked her the question. Rosemary thought he was such a sweet old gentleman.
‘Oh y-yes s-sir... he does... and sir I don’t like it... please sir do I have to be punished... don’t you think I’m too old for the... for th...’
Rosemary’s voice tailed away.
The Headmaster came nearer to her, and put an arm round her shoulders in such a fatherly protective manner.
‘For the what my dear... you haven’t told me yet how he punishes you... now have you?’ His voice was deep and to Rosemary quite reassuring.
‘He... ca... canes me sir, not always sir, sometimes he uses a strap, and sometimes but not very often he only smacks me.’
The Head’s hand was lower down now, around Rosemary’s slim waist, playing idly with the waistband at the top of her pleated short skirt.
‘I expect he makes you hold your hand out does he... when he smacks you... mmm?’
‘Oh no sir he smacks me on my... b... on my bottom...’ she blushed prettily and hung her head down to hide her eyes.
The Headmaster seemed stunned into silence by what she had just said, and Rosemary wondered whether she had gone too far.
‘Do you mean he smacks you down here on your...?’ his hand was gently sliding down over the flank of her hip, down to the tops and then the crests of her pert cheeks encased in the thin material of her school skirt.
‘Through your clothes... no doubt...?’
Mr Payne’s voice, so quiet and disarming made Rosemary feel that she could unburden her heart to him, and that he would do something to stop that awful Mr Evans doing the things he did to so many of the pretty young girls he had under his control. She decided to blurt it all out.
‘Oh no sir, it’s not like that at all sir, really it isn’t.’
She hung her head down a little and tried hard to give the Headmaster the impression of a poor innocent sweet girl who had been taken advantage of by a fiendish monster, then she looked up at him all dewy-eyed and... ‘It’s... it’s awful sir... he... he makes me... me... and all of the girls take their skirts off, or sometimes just pull them right up...’ Her voice dropped a little as she felt the Headmaster easing her skirt up at the back over her hips... she could feel the hem riding gently higher up the backs of her stockings up and up above the darker garter hems.
‘Mmmm... mmm... does he now... like this my dear... right up you said... up to your waist eh?’
Rosemary was a bit surprised at what was happening, somehow it wasn’t quite the turn of events she had expected from the situation, but she decided to go on with her confessional.
‘Y-ye... yes sir right up sir, just like you’re doing sir... do you think he ought to do it sir...?’
The Head seemed to be pondering quite deeply before he answered the question, and whilst he thought, his right hand was wandering freely over the shapely buttocks of Miss Rosemary Childs. He seemed to be fascinated by the thin tight panties she was wearing and his fingers traced the margins of the elastic at the waist and along the legs where they were so brief that they cut high up across her pert cheeks.
Rosemary found it quite difficult not to giggle at Mr Payne’s exploration. His fingers tickled a bit as they wandered over her hips, and somehow his left hand had managed to gather most of her skirt up at front around her waist, whilst his right hand had slowly eased her forwards against his trousers.
‘He canes you after he has made you pull your skirt up, does he?’
The Headmaster seemed anxious to get all the details exactly right, and Rosemary was so sure that he was going to stop that awful Mr Evans from punishing her that she was willing and eager to tell him everything.
‘Oh sir... he... he takes your knickers off as well... well not right off... he usually just pulls them right down...’
The Head looked horrified at this revelation, and Rosemary felt his fingers stiffen above the elastic waistband of her little briefs, then hook themselves under the elastic.
‘Mmm... mmm... ah... well, well. That’s most interesting...’
It seemed to Rosemary that Mr Payne was mumbling away musing gently about Mr Evans’ curious habits, but she could feel her little briefs being steadily slipped down over her chubby cheeks.
‘I’m sure it’s not right... not right at all... not to cane you with your knickers down or off... oh no... now of course if he was only spanking you that might be excusable... mmm... yes.’
His right hand continued to pull he briefs down until they were below the rounded cheeks and he eased her away from his trousers a little so that he could push them down in the front.
‘You did say he spanks you sometimes with your knickers taken down, eh?...’
Rosemary nodded vigorously at his question.
‘With them down like this or lower...?’
‘Lower sir... oh sir... please... ooh...!’
At last her knickers were down in a tight bunched ring of wispy material around the dark garter bands of her stockings, and the Headmaster began to pat her bottom gently bringing her back once more against his trousers. Rosemary suddenly felt it against her bared belly... oh Lord it was the same as Mr Evans had under his trousers when he spanked her.
‘Pl — oh please sir... please don’t...’
She could feel the Headmaster’s finger probing forwards between her slightly parted thighs, and she tried to nip her legs together modestly.
‘Please what... mmm... eh... now be a good girl now... or do you want me to let Mr Evans cane you on your bare bottom... eh?’
Rosemary felt her eyes beginning to water. Oh Lord she didn’t want the cane...
‘Oh sir... ooh... oh SIR... pl-PLEASE... if... if... ooohh... don’t oh don’t sir... it’s... it’s... ooOOHH...’
The Headmaster smiled at her protests.
‘Now listen Rosemary... listen carefully to me... if you were a prefect Mr Evans couldn’t punish you... would you like to be a prefect... eh... mmmm... ehh...?’
Rosemary could hardly believe her ears. Salvation was at hand, her co-operation had paid off...
‘Oh sir, thank you sir... could you sir.’
Again the Head smiled and his hand ran back over her trembling bottom.
‘Of course you’d have to be a very good girl... a very good girl indeed... I should have to take you along to my study right away and give you a test... how old are you my dear?’
‘I’m just seventeen sir... but I’ll be ever so good sir, honestly I’ll try hard sir...’
The Headmaster’s right hand was firm as it pulled her hips right forwards until Rosemary’s back was arched in a bow, she felt the hard ridge firm against her lower tummy even more prominent than before.
Mr Payne heard the approaching footsteps before she did.
‘I think I can hear Mr Evans in the corridor young lady... pull your knickers up at once and lower your skirt... I’m sure he would like to do the job for himself if he has to cane you... or do you want me to test you right away to see if we can make you a prefect...?’
Rosemary did as he had told her and very quickly adjusted her clothing to look a little more modestly clad. Oh Lord — she didn’t want to be caned! Perhaps Mr Payne’s test wouldn’t be too bad after all. She nodded to the Head and lowered her eyes and blushing cheeks.
‘I-I’d li... like to be... tes... tested... please sir...’
Mr Payne beamed that smile again, and somehow to Rosemary it didn’t look quite so fatherly now.
‘Good girl... good girl... Rosemary... come along now and I’ll just have a few words to Mr Evans before he comes down here.’
Rosemary trailed after the Head out of the Punishment Room, and up the four steps to the corridor, Mr Evans was just about to descend the steps as they all met.
‘Ah Evans,’ the Head’s voice boomed a little pompously as he spoke.
‘I expect you will be delighted to know that I am probably going to make Miss Childs into a prefect... she is in your form I understand... is that so?’
Mr Evans seemed at a loss for words at the Head’s announcement.
‘Y-ye-yes Headmaster that is correct.’
Evans looked thunderstruck, and glared at Rosemary, as if he had been cheated.
‘Then all I can say is that she is a credit to your tuition Evans... I think she shows great promise... perhaps a little on the young side... but one has to begin sometime... eh... eh... Evans...’
The Head turned to Rosemary and said quietly.
‘Please precede me up the corridor Miss... we shall go to my study now, and find out all about your accomplishments... and don’t forget if you fail the little test I shall be giving you, and you are not considered fit to become a prefect then I shall have to inform Mr Evans.’
The Headmaster gave a sickly smile to both Rosemary and Mr Evans.
‘Come along my dear... come along...’
As she walked ahead of the Headmaster up the corridor his gown was shielding Mr Evans from what Mr Payne’s hands were doing. She tried not to squirm as his left hand lifted her skirt almost up to her waist, and his right hand fondled her knicker-clad buttocks.
Rosemary began to cry... she knew now she had to pass the test.

A Civil Servant Collects

A sequel to Civil Servant's Perks from Blushes 1.
His conscience was something Arnold always had to deal with on occasions such as these, before he could be sure of not letting himself down in a way that he would kick himself for later. Coming down on the train it had been easy enough to slide the photograph out of the envelope behind a copy of Scientific American and run his eyes — and imaginary hands — over the delightful, youthful, and reportedly thoroughly available shape of the girl on the netball court whose name was Jennifer. Savouring the prospect of actually meeting her, he had felt himself taking on already the authoritative characteristics the girl would no doubt expect to find in him, thinking of him, as she would be led to do, as a very senior member of her school’s hierarchy, and therefore someone to be obeyed without question, no matter what. He had caught himself practising various phrases under his breath, though he had realised with a start that he had been moving his lips as he’d done so and, for all he knew, giving himself away to the man seated opposite him, had he been watching. Phrases like, ‘Now then Jennifer — we’ll just have these little knickers down, shall we?’ accompanied by a quiet chuckle halfway between Father Christmas and Rasputin. Oh yes, he had begun to feel confident of his ability to carry the whole thing off rather well, and untroubled by guilt at the thought of exercising his libido at the expense of an innocent sixteen-year-old whose faith in human nature would be shattered forever were she to find out the truth about the confidence trick he and her headmaster intended to play on her.
That was life; the strong, the clever, and the downright devious — they were the ones whose bread landed butter-side uppermost. The innocent — and especially the innocents who were as pretty as young Jennifer — they were the ones who got their knickers taken down, and serves them right too.
Arnold’s nonchalance about the ‘dog eat dog’ nature of a strongly sexed man’s relationships with those of the opposite sex whose circumstances rendered them liable to exploitation, took a sharp knock when, after spending half an hour in Reggie’s office while the Headmaster bent his ear about his school’s needs for funds for this and that project — funds which he was supposed to help find, through his influence in his department — he had been allowed to take a surreptitious look at the girl, Jennifer. She had been pointed out to him as she chased around in the gymnasium before supper — at netball practice, he’d supposed. Suddenly — almost as if something had prompted her to look up at him, he’d found himself confronted by a face of such innocence, with wide-open blue eyes of such trusting purity, that a shock of guilt had shaken him to the core. It had seemed for a minute that she must have known, even though he knew she hadn’t been given so much as a hint at that time.
Now, with the moment well and truly upon him, with the door to the little staffroom securely locked and with Reggie’s assurance that even if he raped the girl — only, would he please not do such a thing, for the sake of the school if nothing else — her cries would be heard by no-one, since there was no-one anywhere near to hear, the pangs of conscience he had felt an hour or so ago were being smothered by the springing of sap in his loins.
The innocent blue eyes which had met his in the gym were clouded now with the mist of unhappiness, the impish face overshadowed by apprehension, though it had lost none of its prettiness, these things reminding him somewhere deep down of the trust he was abusing right here and now. But such considerations had no chance against others which appealed directly to even deeper levels of Arnold’s psyche.
When he had ordered her out of her skirt — yes, ordered was the word, sharp-edged words, brooking no nonsense, the tone one that a girl like her would expect to hear from a man such as he — he had wanted her to recognise the brutishness in him, the lasciviousness in his eyes as he had looked down at the snug pout in her knickers at the top of her thighs. He had wanted to see the leap of understanding in her expression as she had been made to see herself as he saw her; vulnerable, available, accessible — helpless to influence the course of events, save by acknowledging that very helplessness and trusting that he might be sympathetic to the plight of a girl made to stand in her knickers in front of a frightening stranger, with only the ominous last words of her headmaster as he’d left her here with this man ‘You’ll do as you’re told, Jennifer, do you understand?’ to guide her in this situation where she was so far out of her depth.
‘Turn round,’ he kept the edge to his voice, enjoying the nervousness in her movements as she turned, eager to please, looking back over her shoulder as she presented the knicker-cuddled plumpness of her bottom to this man whom, she knew — he had told her at once that she was to be punished, though not why — would want her knickers down, her bottom bared, accessible for the spanking she’d been promised.
Recognising, somehow, the need to ask for understanding in the only way open to her, Jennifer took care to push out her bottom and make it look as spankable as possible, to tuck at the elastic where it curved up across her bottom-cheek as though nudging it into place, yet managing to bare a fraction more skin in the process. She kept her legs pressed close together, virginal, yet virginity hinted at by immodesty. A dangerous game, even though it was no game, this asking for pity in her helplessness by inviting exploitation of that very helplessness.
‘Turn round!’ She turned and she looked — warily, but she looked — at the suggestion of a bulge in his lap as he sat in the chair, telling him that she knew, accentuating her vulnerability in her having to look and know and be in no position to do any damned thing about it.
He wanted her knickers down, of course. A fluff of blonde hair appeared above the dragged-down waistband elastic of her pants, attracting his eyes, making her tremble at the thought of what he may want to do with her, yet having to co-operate in what might prove to be her own downfall. At last, yet inevitably — ‘Come across here. Come along.’
His hand fondled up under the cheekiness of her bottom, stroking, gently patting, squeezing, enjoying. His voice all at once without the edge, a suggestion of sympathy perhaps — she couldn’t be sure. She lifted a fraction up on to her toes, turning a little, away from the patronising hand. Yet not so far as to cause offence.
‘Feels like it needs a smacking, this bottom. Nice little spanking — hmm — asking for it, this bottom, of yours, wouldn’t you say?’
Drawn into the game, having to play, she dared a wiggle, the very littlest movement of the warm softness of her bottom against his hand; ‘Ooo — but — but I’m sure sir, if you spank me sir, it’ll make me go all wriggly — like this — and like this —’ the words, of course, unsaid, but all there in those little movements.
‘Over here — come along now.’
Over his knees, the place where spankings happen and bottoms really do get wriggly, yet still she might be winning. The first spanks, when they arrived, stinging as much as spankings always did, her bottom bobbing as she makes a pretence of pretending to be brave, but the humiliating, silly little words slipping out; and no pretence about it.
‘Ooo — please — please — please don’t — please sir!’
Silly little words. but what else to say, and the saying of something an absolute necessity, the sting in her bum quite apart, or else he’d have to spank her harder still just to be sure the right reaction was being obtained.
Smarting, squirming, twitching — a bottom not pretending anything, doing what it does only because it must; words jumbling together with noises that were meant to be ‘pleases and ‘don’ts’ and ‘sirs’ but which came out more ‘Ooogh’ and ‘Ooow!’
More spanking, and more again, and short, huffy little sounds that are going to be sobs any minute now, any minute!
‘Keep it up, my dear. Come along — bottom up for your spanking, Jennifer!’
Yes, definitely sobs, and the thought that perhaps, after all, she actually isn’t getting anything for all her subtlety except the well-smacked bottom she was always going to get right from the start. Yes, sobs alright, and something that might be tears.
A wretched, tearful, wriggle of a girl, at last she was let up. Made to stand just so, humiliated, helpless again, vulnerable, accessible, though she hopes — surely he won’t — surely he wouldn’t want to make her cry any more — his eyes wandering down, so that she can almost feel them there — down there — and now the unavoidable conclusion. The game she thought she was playing, though heaven knows it was hardly a game, the little trick of trying to be so very helpless, so very much at his mercy — well, it never was a game, nor a pretence. She’d never had a chance. A word from him and she’d do whatever it was he wanted, no arguments, and not because the Headmaster had said so. But because she really was helpless — a victim, at his mercy, of which there was precious little.
The realisation made her cry again, all on her own, without any help from him, legs spread-eagled, little fluff of fair pubic hairs, lower lip trembling as she said she was sorry, though of course, she didn’t even know why she’d been spanked, and that made Arnold’s conscience turn like a knife in a wound and make him think about it, as he looked at her, knowing that now she’d do whatever he wanted, but that he really wasn’t brute enough to make her do it after all.
And so he didn’t. He let her pull her knickers up and run gratefully away when he’d unlocked the door, and although neither of them knew it, the whole thing had worked, and Arnold had won, for a while, and then his conscience had had its turn to win, and above all, though she felt like a loser, what with her smacked bottom and all, young Jennifer too had won, although she really didn’t know it.
In the hotel room, later on. Arnold decided that there was always next time. He’d just have to work at being a bastard, that was all!