Three-part story from Whispers 3
Part 1 - “This is a stick up”
‘What’s this?’ demanded Major Hartnall. ‘Whatever is this? I wasn’t aware we had a scarecrow in the house.’
Major Hartnall was of course exaggerating but then it did depend on what you were used to and Toby Hartnall, one could say, was one of the old school, a traditional gentleman. The sight therefore of Annabel entering the dining room for breakfast wearing roughly cut denim shorts and a T-shirt several sizes too large for her trim and shapely form was enough to make him see red.
Annabel had been warned, by her mother who had herself been explicitly told by her friend Fiona that Major Hartnall was a bit of a stickler about standards. And if Annabel was to stay with him whilst Susan Barkley went off with Fiona on a weekend trip to Paris, well, Annabel had better watch her P’s and Q’s. Otherwise...
‘Otherwise what?’ Annabel’s mother had asked.
Well, he smacks for one thing,’ said Fiona. ‘And also he’s not above using the cane.’ Fiona Markham knew this because her friend Charlotte’s daughter had stayed with Toby Hartnall and had been smacked and caned. Fiona herself didn’t have any daughters but she had been able to give Major Hartnall’s name to Susan.
‘Oh dear,’ Annabel’s mother had said while at the same time feeling a frisson of excitement. Annabel was rather naughty at times and if anything now she was turned 17 she seemed worse. Undoubtedly she missed having a father around (Susan and Michael Barkley were divorced), so if Major Hartnall was a bit of a disciplinarian it might not be entirely a bad thing.
At the same time she had warned Annabel. But Annabel had got somewhat wilful and anyway couldn’t really believe that anyone could object to a person wearing informal attire to a meal. Especially breakfast which some people came down to in their dressing gowns.
Annabel flushed slightly at the talk of scarecrows. It was not the word she herself would have used. ‘Informal’ would have been her own term for her outfit, even if you liked ‘artistic’. Major Hartnall clearly was a bit of a stick-in-the-mud.
‘Everyone wears this sort of thing nowadays, Major,’ she told him pertly.
‘Not in this household, young Miss.’ Toby had become slightly red in the face. His eyes stared in indignation at the back view as Annabel went to the sideboard.
Toby Hartnall, 50ish, was as you might imagine from his title ex-army which was where he got his fussiness about dress from, and also his other ideas about discipline. Now congenially retired, Toby amused himself by having young persons to stay from time to time. He called them ‘young persons’ but they were in fact always girls, in the 16 to 20 age bracket. No harm in that of course, girls of that age frequently did need parking for a weekend or a few days by a busy mother. And there was a Mrs Hartnall which made it all the more acceptable to the caring parent; but Daphne Hartnall tended to keep out of the way and let Toby get on with his girls.
This morning, Annabel’s first at High Elms, Daphne was there at breakfast with the Major but she was also soon going out. ‘What d’you think, dear?’ queried that gentleman of his wife, not that he was in the habit of requiring her opinion where girls were concerned, it was indeed more of a rhetorical inquiry.
Daphne Hartnall said she didn’t really know though it certainly wouldn’t have done when she was a girl.
‘I should jolly well think not.’ Major Hartnall’s blue, slightly bloodshot eyes studied the girl’s rear view as she stood at the sideboard helping herself to cornflakes. The tight cut-off shorts contained but certainly did not conceal a well-rounded rump. The hem-lines of brief knickers could clearly be discerned beneath the taut denim. Yes, this young Annabel had a very acceptable bum and no doubt it would come into play as Toby Hartnall went about some disciplinary exercises with this young lady.
She turned with her plate of cornflakes. That too big T-shirt, ridiculous garment that it was, revealed very little detail of the girl’s tits; but Toby would see about that, and directly after breakfast too, he thought.
‘A scarecrow,’ he repeated, vague thoughts, ideas, forming and developing in his agile mind. ‘A scarecrow.’ Annabel, flush-faced, sat down.
Those thoughts in Toby Hartnall’s head suddenly began to take on real form. ‘Yes m’dear. Well. I should say that if you want to be a scarecrow you should do the job properly.’
Daphne Hartnall glanced up at her husband and then went back to her Daily Mail. It sounded very much as if Toby had thought of something. It could well be that this young lady would shortly be regretting her choice of dress. Ah well, a lot of girls nowadays did need one of those short sharp shocks and that was something Toby was usually able to provide. As for Daphne she was due over at her friend’s very shortly. So Toby could get on with it.
The Major, when some 30 minutes later he appeared in Annabel’s room, held a pink-and-white-striped shirt in his hand. It was a man’s shirt, one of his own. He had not bothered to knock and naturally girls’ rooms at High Elms were not provided with locks on the doors. Annabel gave a little squeak of surprise. Fortunately, she thought, she wasn’t undressed or anything. She was in fact sitting at the dressing table writing a letter to her friend Emma.
‘Hello,’ said the Major, closing the door behind him. ‘You’re going to be a proper scarecrow, my dear, and this is the scarecrow’s shirt. I’ll have to cut it up a bit of course but I don’t object to sacrificing a good shirt in a worthy cause.’
What on earth was Major Hartnall talking about?
‘So get those things off, Annabel dear.’
‘Not ‘what’ my dear Annabel. Girls can get a smacked bottom for ‘what’. ‘Pardon Major’ is what we say. And what I said quite clearly was ‘get those things off.’
Toby might have spoken clearly but Annabel’s mind was evidently having trouble taking the message in. ‘Look... Major...’
‘Aaooowww!’ Stern measures were called for and Toby had simply grabbed a handful of that very attractive thick chestnut hair. And pulled sharply upwards. Squealing, Annabel was forced to get instantly to her feet — or have a large handful of hair pulled out by the roots.
‘Christ!’ Real tears, tears of pain, had sprung to the large dark eyes. Annabel stood vigorously rubbing her head. Christ, he had bloody hurt her.
‘Aaarow!’ She still did not seem to have got the message and to drive it home Toby had picked up a plastic ruler from the table and whipped it keenly across a firmly rounded bare thigh.
‘Jesus Christ!’ One hand now had to leave her sore head to rub equally vigorously at the broad red stripe on her leg. ‘Bloody Hell!!’
‘Get your clothes off. Annabel. Or shall I go and get my cane right away?’
Annabel had never been subjected to such a sudden, vicious, out-of-the-blue attack on her person. Nothing even approaching it. Her mind was going in all directions at once but in amongst that turmoil one small logical centre told her she had better comply; and quickly. Hands left her aching head, her stinging thigh, and went to the loose pink T-shirt.
The top came off, to disclose a trim form which included quite large breasts contained in a white bra. ‘And that,’ stated the Major, ruler pointing at the bra. ‘And those ridiculous shorts.’
Her bra! ‘Look... please...’ began Annabel but Major Hartnall simply drew back the ruler and that was sufficient. That bloody thing stung. Annabel’s hands went unhappily behind her.
Annabel Barkley’s tits when they were bared were seen to be large — high and firm and prominently nippled. She was quite proud of them and although she at times, like this morning, wore her loose floppy tops she also liked to wear tight blouses etc. which showed her tits off. But she hadn’t planned to show them off to Major Hartnall, and certainly not in the altogether. She felt a strong urge to put her hands over them...
A gasping exhalation of breath for Major Hartnall had evidently felt the same way and, tucking the ruler under his arm, he had done it. Two large male hands cupping Annabel’s pristine tits. Pristine and untouched by the male sex apart from the odd grope from boys at parties and that had never been on the bare. She gave another fainty sort of wail. Major Hartnall was squeezing, moulding... Toby Hartnall was not a man to look a gift horse in the mouth. Or to resist the opportunity of a quite splendid pair of tits.
Having made his manual assessment he let go. ‘Now get those shorts off.’ The blue eyes seemed a little more bloodshot. Standing now on rubbery legs, trembling all over and with nipples fully erect, Annabel’s hands went to her shorts. This was all... well, unbelievable was not the word for it.
The shorts came down and she stepped shakily out of them. Brief white nylon knickers covered quite womanly loins. She was indeed a shapely young Miss. Hands went defensively to cover her tits (somewhat belatedly) and the tight bulge of her pubis. Yes very nice indeed. She would make a really first rate scarecrow.
‘Now get the shirt on,’ Toby told the shell-shocked girl.
Annabel looked dubiously at the shirt. It was at least a covering. Nude tits jiggling, she reached her arms into the too-long sleeves. Major Hartnall buttoned it over the big breasts, not passing up the opportunity to do a bit more groping. It was a man’s shirt but when you had big tits it stretched quite tautly over them. Annabel’s big nipples stuck out in an appetising manner. She was still trembling. Why did she have this shirt on? That didn’t make her a scarecrow, did it? Major Hartnall meanwhile had found one of Annabel’s belts and was tightly fastening it round her waist.
He now proceeded to do something about this scarecrow business. With a pair of sharp scissors he cut the shirt tails into narrow strips, up to the waist. All the way round. And then the sharp scissors and the Major’s hands did other things to the rest of the shirt. Inserting the points and then ripping. Rips here and there all over the shirt. Annabel squealed as it seemed the sharp scissors were going to cut into her, into her soft and sensitive flesh. Fortunately they didn’t though.
And when Major Hartnall did the same thing to Annabel’s knickers. Her very own knickers. Cutting and ripping. What would her mother say!!
‘How’s that then? Not bad I say.’ Toby Hartnall stepped back to admire his handiwork. Annabel stood unhappily before him, an unusual but delectable sight. The Major said ‘Hmm’ and made a couple more little cuts.
‘Yes, not bad. All we want is a bit of straw sticking out here and there.’
He led her downstairs, then out into the garden. Annabel was too scared to ask what was coming next but clearly he hadn’t finished. ‘Wait here,’ he told her. What else could she do — run away? She had planned to possibly go into the village, there was a bike in the garage she had seen when she arrived, and then, well, you never knew, you might be noticed by a boy of some sort there. But here she was in this cut-up shirt with no bra on and her knickers also all ripped and Major Hartnall talking about straw sticking out here and there. How was she to know he would take such exception to her cut-offs?
Annabel wandered about the garden. It was a nice garden, quite large with a big lawn in front of the house. How nice to be here with an interesting boy, rather than...
Major Hartnall suddenly appeared. He had a longish pole in his hands. As he came closer he was seen to have a hammer also, and a smaller piece of wood. ‘This way,’ he said.
He marched round the side to a kitchen garden. There was a tall post standing in the ground, probably for a clothes line and the Major stopped in front of this. He took out some large nails and began enthusiastically hammering, fixing his short piece of wood cross-wise onto the post about two feet above the ground. Annabel watched in bewilderment as four or five nails were firmly hammered in. Major Hartnall tested it; said ‘Good’ and then straightened up.
Eyes gleaming, he picked up the long pole. And then grabbed Annabel. As she squealed it was thrust up one shirt sleeve, then out of a hole in the back and then in along the other sleeve. Some inkling of what was in the Major’s mind now dawned. ‘No!’ she squealed.
Toby sharply smacked her thigh. ‘Don’t go away!’
How could she with her arms stuck out like... well, like a scarecrow. Major Hartnall had disappeared but came right back with handfuls of hay. He began stuffing this in, as he had said ‘here and there’. In the cuffs of the shirt sleeves; in the shirt pocket. He stood back.
And then, as she knew now she would be, Annabel was being propelled forward, to that bloody clothes post. ‘No!’ she yelped again but that only brought another stinging smack. He pushed her up, his hands at her bottom. Like it or not Annabel had to stand on the step he had made. Her back to the post... and then Major Hartnall was reaching up with a length of rope... to tie the pole to the post.
‘Bloody Christ!’ wailed Annabel.
‘Watch that language, scarecrow.’
He came close in front of her, a look of eager pleasure on his face. His hand took hold of one trembling thigh.
‘So, my girl, you wanted to be a scarecrow and now you are one. What d’you think of it? Eh?’
‘Let me down,’ she demanded. ‘You can’t do this.’
There were tears again in the liquid brown eyes. Tears not now of pain so much as of impotence, of humiliation at being subject to this... to this...
Annabel gave a sudden yelp. The Major’s hand had slid in between her thighs. In struggling her legs to get away from it she only succeeded in allowing it to get properly in between... and further up...
Just then as Toby got his hand very much where it counts in a full-grown 17-year-old girl there was the sound of a male voice from the main lawn.
Part 2 – Hide & Seek
Toby Hartnall made a face and removed his hand. The voice from across the lawn he recognised of course. It was his very good friend Bungo Braithwaite but good friend or not there were times...
‘Toby... Great Scott — whatever’s this!’
Colonel Bungo Braithwaite stopped dead in his tracks, as well he might. He knew that Toby had girls stay from time to time and in fact the knowledge that one would be in residence this weekend had brought him over now. But having a girl strung up on a clothes post... in that shirt... and with that straw...
By Jove, Toby... A scarecrow!’
‘Yes Bungo — quite right. Miss Annabel Barkley.’ Toby addressed the scarecrow. ‘This is Colonel Braithwaite, a good friend of mine.’
He was a little older than Toby — also shorter and fatter. He had been known as ‘Bungo’ ever since Sandhurst; no one could remember exactly why. Keen eyes in a roundish face viewed the hapless Annabel with some relish.
‘By Jove, Toby, what a corker! What a splendid filly. And what... what...’
‘Tits?’ Toby offered.
‘Yes, well she’s certainly got a pair of those, hasn’t she? And no brassiere either, I should say.’ Bungo Braithwaite could be very observant.
‘She’s being a scarecrow because her dress at breakfast was unacceptable. I had rather thought of keeping her strung up for quite a while, so that she can learn the error of her ways. Maybe all day.’
Annabel emitted a despairing wail. There were two of these fiendish old buggers now. And this other one, this Bungo person, had his hot eyes about two inches from her boobs. Her nipples, she could see, were sticking out through the shirt like nobody’s business. Annabel gave another unhappy wail.
‘Let me down. Please...’
‘Actually all day is out as I’ve just recalled I’ve got an appointment.’ Major Hartnall’s face bore an expression of annoyance. ‘This damn morning in fact, at the bank. I don’t suppose I should leave her strung up whilst I go out. You never know these days, some vagrant might come along and ravish the girl.’
‘Good Lord,’ breathed Bungo. ‘You wouldn’t want her ravished, would you. Not whilst you’re in charge of the gel, so to speak.’ Bungo Braithwaite reached out and lightly rubbed the back of his hand over a prominently nippled breast. Annabel gave another squeal.
‘Let me down. Please. Major, I’ll dress just how you want.’
‘I tell you what,’ said Bungo, now reversing his hand and clasping Annabel’s left tit. ‘Let me take her round to my house whilst you do your errand. I can give her a spot of lunch and bring her back this afternoon. That way she won’t get ravished or anything like that.’
Looking at the now red-faced and boob-mauling Colonel, Annabel wondered just how sure she could be of that. But anything seemed better than being stuck up this pole.
Major Hartnall closed one eye thoughtfully as he considered this option, then nodded. ‘Yes, if you wouldn’t mind, Bungo, that would be helpful. I really can’t put off this appointment. Yes, that’s what we’ll do.’
Colonel Braithwaite looked well pleased, as he might. Annabel too felt a surge of relief. Now horrible Major Hartnall would let her down. ‘Can I get down then, Major?’
‘Certainly not.’ The Major delivered a brisk smack to a thigh. ‘You’ve only just got up there. There’s no hurry — I haven’t gone yet.’
And Annabel had to suffer a good half hour longer up on the post while Major Hartnall went inside preparing for his visit. And Colonel Braithwaite... Colonel Braithwaite messed about, pinching and prodding and doing other things, such as unbuttoning the shirt. Unbuttoning all its buttons. And then doing some more pinching and tweaking. Tweaking mostly. It was just awful.
‘I can’t let you down yet, dear. Not until Major Hartnall says so.’ Colonel Braithwaite sounded truly concerned as he tweaked away at the now fully erect nipples.
Major Hartnall did finally appear and announced that he had to be off and he supposed Annabel had better be taken down. Her arms were so stiff she could hardly move them when that bloody pole was taken out of her shirt, but naturally there were willing hands to aid in massage. Annabel struggled away, groaning and gasping. ‘Can I put my clothes on?’
Major Hartnall said she had better, Annabel’s present attire would not be suitable for driving on the public roads. ‘But nothing slovenly, mind. See to that, Bungo. And if you have any problems smack her bum.’
Bungo said he would certainly do all of that. Toby went off and Annabel was shortly back up in her room, closely attended by Colonel Braithwaite. Oh God! she thought weakly, trying to push his hands from the shirt buttons again. But the tattered shirt did have to come off, didn’t it?
Bungo Braithwaite was truly in his element. He loved pretty girls with splendid big tits and this one was a genuine corker. The torn knickers naturally had to come off too. My oh my! Bungo’s busy helping hands were everywhere. And that did mean everywhere. Annabel yelped and squealed— there was no doubt she was out of the frying pan into the fire.
Frantically she pleaded that she had to get some clothes on. Someone might come in! Colonel Braithwaite stopped his mauling to consider this. It didn’t seem very likely, but then the thought came that he didn’t know much about Daphne Hartnall’s movements, what if she turned up suddenly with for instance the local branch of the W.I. (most of whose members were well known to Bungo)? No, that would not be at all pleasant, whereas he knew his own dear wife was out for the day. ‘Right you are,’ he decided. ‘Let’s see what you’ve got then.’
Bungo meant in the way of clothes, not physically, for Annabel’s actual person no longer held many secrets. What she did have was her school uniform, worn for the train journey at the insistence of her mother. Bungo rather fancied girls in school uniforms, nice big strapping ones, that was. And Annabel’s uniform was most attractive — a plum coloured blazer with grey piping, a red and grey striped tie. Also a white blouse and short pleated grey skirt. Yes, very choice. Underwear?
Bungo had a look in Annabel’s drawer. Yes there were some rather attractive knickers, nice brief ones — blue, pink, snowy white. Very choice indeed — also a couple of nice brassieres. But... did she need underwear? Once Bungo had posed the question to himself the answer was self-evident. She did not.
Annabel did not look happy. No knickers! ‘Just in case I need to give that bottom a bit of a spank, as Major Hartnall suggested. You’ll have it all ready for me then, won’t you, my dear?’
No, Annabel was not at all happy. No bra was bad enough considering she was going to be alone with this grabby old Colonel, but no knickers. She had no doubt that he was planning to spank her bottom. No doubt whatsoever.
Colonel Braithwaite’s house was a couple of miles away, no great distance at all. There was no one in, of course, as Annabel had guessed there wouldn’t be. Why weren’t these old buggers’ wives ever in their houses, then a girl might have some protection. ‘Please...’ she squealed.
They were now in the Colonel’s drawing room and Colonel Braithwaite was doing what seemed to be his usual thing. That is he had Annabel up against the wall and was groping. And when you haven’t got any knickers on under your skirt... He had groped when they got out of the car (he had also groped when Annabel got in the car for that matter), and he had groped at the front door. And in the hall... ‘Please...’ she repeated.
As he groped Colonel Braithwaite was now talking about a game he had in mind. His eyes were gleaming and he seemed very excited. He was very excited because Annabel could feel a certain stiff something pressing up against her tummy. Could it be this game that was getting Colonel Braithwaite all hot and, well, horny, girls at school would say.
‘Hide and Seek!’ Hide and Seek? Hide and Seek was OK, it could be fun but it was difficult to see why that should get Colonel Braithwaite so excited. Perhaps it was after all what he was trying to do now with his hands... what, ‘Ooohh!’, he was doing.
But no, it turned out it was the thought of the Hide and Seek game that was getting Annabel’s host so excited. Because it seemed Annabel was going to do the hiding. And she was not going to be wearing any clothes.
She gasped in disbelief but Colonel Braithwaite was already pulling things off.
‘No!’ she squealed.
‘Yes!’ said the highly excited Colonel. ‘And don’t struggle, you don’t want to tear anything.’
Could you believe it! She had only 20 minutes ago put these things on and now, very shortly, Annabel was cringingly nude again.
‘Hide anywhere you like in the house.’ Colonel Braithwaite’s round face had the expression of an overgrown schoolboy, a look of devilish glee. It was all too much. Annabel’s knees felt like rubber, scarcely able to support her, certainly not capable of any motion...
‘Come on, I’ll count to 50,’ announced gleeful Bungo... and reached out and grabbed something particularly intimate and sensitive. The hand was like a spur to a horse and Annabel suddenly discovered that she could move after all. She scampered up the stairs.
Upstairs, in a bedroom, she climbed resignedly into a wardrobe. He was bound to find her of course. And then...?
Part 3 – Whacked Out!
Annabel was delivered back to High Elms soon after lunch. Major Hartnall as it happened had just returned. ‘Ah, how’s my scarecrow? I hope she’s been behaving herself?’
Annabel was in her uniform again, looking smart and respectable though underneath it, she of course had no underwear. Her face was pinkish-looking, a result no doubt of all the excitement at Colonel Braithwaite’s. Colonel Braithwaite’s face was also a healthy high-coloured hue, due to the same cause. Under Annabel’s short pleated skirt, at the rear, something else was glowing hotly as well.
‘Oh yes indeed,’ Bungo replied. ‘Been behaving most admirably. We’ve had a spot of rousing sport.’
‘Have you smacked her bum at all? These young girls need a good smacking at regular intervals, Bungo.’
Bungo Braithwaite had in fact smacked Annabel each time he’d found her in her hiding place. Over his lap — smack!... smack!... smack! on that ripe and wriggling 17-year-old bum. They had played the game until even Bungo became slightly weary of it and that was only after a very, very long time. How many times had Annabel hidden...? and then been caught…? The mind, certainly Annabel’s mind, boggled at the memory.
‘Oh yes, I’ve smacked her bum a bit. Most enjoyable in the extreme.’
Toby Hartnall gave his friend a slightly quizzical look. All this talk of sport, did that mean the girl had been having sport and had been enjoying whatever Bungo had been up to? Toby wasn’t sure he approved of that, it could almost undermine the concept of discipline. And if it was so, he, Toby, would have to get the situation back to normal. With his cane. For there wasn’t much chance that when Toby had a cane in his hand the recipient would look on it as sport.
‘At least she’s looking respectable, Bungo,’ Toby observed the uniform approvingly. ‘Not wearing that dreadful outfit she came down to breakfast in.’
The three of them were standing in Major Hartnall’s drawing room, Annabel with her head still going round and round. That bloody Hide and Seek. She must have hidden everywhere in that bloody house — under beds, in all kinds of cupboards, behind sofas, under tables. All the time completely starkers. And each time when the chortling Colonel found her he would lead her to a chair (or a bed) and sit down and take her over his lap. And then...
The spanking had been pretty awful but Colonel Braithwaite hadn’t only been interested in spanking. Because when you’ve got a girl upside-down and starkers over your lap there is undoubtedly a temptation to do other things besides spanking. Seventeen-year-old girls can be very responsive if you know where to press the button, so to speak. They respond even though they don’t wish to respond, they can’t help themselves.
There was no doubt that Colonel Bungo Braithwaite knew where the button was and certainly knew how to press it. As it happened Annabel was quite responsive, one could say indeed very responsive. Because she did a certain amount of that sort of thing herself. Not all the time, like some girls might, but certainly when she felt it necessary, in times of stress as you might say. And so therefore her nubile person was attuned to responding. And it had responded because always before it had been Annabel’s finger on the button, but now... for the first time... a knowing and experienced male finger. More than one finger, a whole handful of fingers.
Yes, in the circumstances a girl couldn’t help herself. And it wasn’t as if it had been just once... or twice... or even... Was it any wonder that Annabel now had a somewhat frayed look on her pretty face?
‘She’s got no knickers on, of course,’ Bungo offered by way of incidental chat. ‘No brassiere either. I thought as it was a nice warm day, I’d give her a bit of freedom.’
Annabel glanced at Colonel Braithwaite and then looked at the carpet. There had been plenty of freedom at Colonel Braithwaite’s because she had been bloody starkers. And the awful randy Colonel with his awful randy hands...
Colonel Braithwaite said he’d better be going but he’d been happy to oblige Toby in having his young guest for him. In fact Bungo felt he needed a bit of a kip. Excitement like that, extended over such a long period, well, it could take its toll of a fellow if he wasn’t careful.
Major Hartnall saw his friend off and then... Christ, what now, thought Annabel. She was back where she had started — with the hair-pulling, scarecrow-making Major. Actually she felt like a little nap herself; all that... well, all that coming wore you out.
‘No knickers eh?’ observed the Major when they had returned to the drawing room. ‘I don’t know that that’s strictly proper attire, eh? What would your Headmistress think of that?’
Undoubtedly Miss Milwood at school would not think very much of it, but then there was a lot more that had happened so far this weekend that Miss Milwood would not think much of. ‘It wasn’t me,’ Annabel protested. ‘It was that... it was Colonel Braithwaite. He wouldn’t let me put any knickers on. Nor my... my bra either.’
Toby considered this information. There was no reason, knowing Bungo, to doubt its veracity. ‘OK; well, let’s have a look at you. Take that blazer off. And your skirt.’
Annabel looked at Toby. ‘But... I haven’t got any knickers on.’
He produced a tight little smile. ‘I know that, we’ve just been discussing it. But I want to see... ah, that the Colonel’s not done any damage in any way. I have that responsibility. In loco parentis you know.’
Annabel wanted to refuse — except that she could very vividly recall what had happened when you refused with Major Hartnall. Her head still hurt when she thought about it. She took off her blazer and then, more reluctantly, her skirt. School blouses were short, not like men’s shirts, scarcely reaching to the tops of your hips. Well, they weren’t meant to be worn without skirts... or knickers. Her hand came down to cover that neat chestnut brown bush. It was an automatic gesture — after Major Hartnall earlier, after awful Colonel Braithwaite, Annabel didn’t really think putting her hand over her pussy was going to get her anywhere.
‘Come here,’ the Major told her, sitting himself on a straight-backed chair.
It was like playing that bloody Hide and Seek again only this time it was Major Hartnall’s lap she was over. It was true Annabel had her blouse and tie on but what good did that do? The area of interest was as bare as before. Her bottom... and the backs of her thighs... which Colonel Braithwaite had so enthusiastically spanked. And also... Oh Christ, no! Major Hartnall’s hand had slid in... No, not again...
In fact it made only a brief and cursory investigation. He wasn’t all that interested in that sort of thing, though he knew that Bungo was... No, what Toby was interested in was the cane and as yet he hadn’t used it once, though he’d had her here almost a whole day. And there was no doubt the girl could do with it. All the fault of that bloody bank manager. Toby took his hand away and stood Annabel on her feet.
Yes, she did look a bit whacked, if that was the word. Tired out. That blighter Bungo, whatever he’d been doing, had really knocked the stuffing out of her.
‘You look half asleep,’ observed Toby. ‘What have you and that awful Bungo been doing?’
Annabel flushed, and blinked. ‘Uh, nothing; well, playing Hide and Seek actually.’ She was feeling tired; all that... business... with Colonel Braithwaite... In fact Annabel really felt too tired to bother over much that she was standing here in front of Major Hartnall without skirt or knickers. So that when he suggested she go up for a rest, well, it sounded like the best suggestion Annabel had heard for a long time.
Upstairs in her room she was told to get into her pyjamas and hop into bed. Major Hartnall drew the curtains. ‘Have a nice little snooze,’ he said, and then went out. So that was all right. She had thought for a moment he might have been planning something. Getting into bed with her for instance; but she had clearly been wrong. Though at the moment she would have been too tired to worry about even that. Christ that Colonel Braithwaite. She really felt...
Annabel was woken up by Major Hartnall drawing back the curtains. For a moment she didn’t know where she was, but then it all came flooding back. Christ! It was light, daylight. Annabel looked at her travelling clock — 3.30. She had been asleep for an hour and she certainly felt better now. Major Hartnall had a cup of tea for her, that was nice, then her stomach gave a nasty little lurch. Major Hartnall also had a cane.
Annabel struggled into a sitting position and took the cup of tea... but her eyes were mesmerised by that cane now lying on the foot of the bed.
‘Drink up,’ the Major said. ‘And then we’ve got a little business to attend to.’
He means that bloody cane, she just knew it. Annabel felt sick.
‘Had a nice snooze?’ Annabel just blinked. The cane.
‘Drink up,’ he repeated. ‘And then you can get up. And take off your pyjama trousers.’
Annabel put the cup and saucer down on the bedside table, afraid her shaking hands were going to drop it. ‘Please,’ she whispered. ‘Please, not the cane.’
‘I’m afraid we must,’ Major Hartnall told her. ‘All girls of your age can benefit from the cane and I think you especially. Your mother said you were somewhat unruly and there was also that business at breakfast.’
‘You’ve punished me for that,’ wailed Annabel. ‘You made me be that scarecrow.’
Major Hartnall said that didn’t really count. Being a scarecrow for half an hour was certainly not the equivalent of having your bottom caned. Annabel was unhappily inclined to agree with that. Being up on that pole had been hateful but she would gladly exchange it now for being in this room with Major Hartnall and his cane.
‘Come on,’ he urged, a trace of impatience entering his voice. ‘Let’s not hang about, Annabel. I’ll give you the choice of what you have first — bending over the bed, or lying on it with your legs up. I’m giving you six in each position.’
What was that he said? What was that second one? Annabel felt little tingles of perspiration. All over.
‘On your back with your legs up is the one girls don’t like of course, and you can have the choice. Some girls prefer to get it over first; while others would rather leave it till last. Either way you’ve got to have it.’
With a sudden movement the Major jerked the bedclothes back, exposing Annabel completely in her pretty blue pyjamas. She squealed.
‘Now come on — let’s not hang about. Get those pyjama bottoms off. Or shall I do it?’
Annabel scrambled out of bed. It was like a nightmare — no it was a nightmare. She fumbled her pyjama trousers off. She looked at Major Hartnall and then at the cane. She thought she was going to be sick.
‘What’s going to be first, then?’