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Monday, 6 February 2017

Green Gables (3)

Story from Blushes 25
It is rare indeed for the weather-beaten sign with its partially obliterated lettering to raise any comment but today, this morning, as the bus trundles by, it does. Mrs Springley is relatively new to the village and her sharp eye has noticed it before without up till now feeling bold enough to enquire. In these close little villages people don’t always like a lot of questions. Mrs Bamford, though, with whom she is going on a day trip to Brighton, has proved reasonably forthcoming about other things.
‘What is that place? Green Gables. Does it say Educational Establishment for Girls? Does it say girls 18 to 21?’ Mrs Springley’s eyes are indeed sharp. ‘Is it private then?’
‘Something like that.’ Irene Bamford in fact is not too sure. ‘Some sort of special place. I suppose more like one of those finishing schools.’
‘Oh. Because I’ve never seen anyone.’
‘No. They do keep to themselves and keep the girls in. Of course if it was boys I daresay they’d be all over the place and making a nuisance of themselves. Girls are quieter.’
Mrs Springley agrees that they are. Mrs Bamford, never one to miss a platitude, observes that education is a wonderful thing. The bus chugs on and very soon Green Gables is forgotten as the conversation turns to the subject of Brighton’s shops.
It is still there, though, behind its closed iron gates and rather dilapidated sign. Behind those high enclosing walls the brickwork of which has also seen better days. Up the longish, curving driveway the substantial house this morning under a clear pale blue sky on what promises to be another hot July day. A day when no doubt we may expect to see action in the deeper blue inviting water of the swimming pool. No one as yet though, at 9 am, no budding young female form, scantily clad or, as is sometimes the case, not clad at all, being put through its aquatic paces. Indeed the whole of the gardens seem silent and deserted, not even old Mr Crutcher and his somewhat noisome lawnmower disturbing the peace. No one at all about, it seems.
Wait though, this is not entirely correct. Here is someone, a solitary figure over in that enclosed area behind the pool, an area of lawn surrounded by high holly hedges. It is a young woman — which is not too surprising here at Green Gables. A pretty, shapely young thing — which again is not surprising. She is dancing, silently, to soundless music. Or what passes for dancing with young people in the 1980s. Energetic jerky movements. Arms and legs going here and there in apparently irrational motion. The head is jerking and swaying too in some sort of time to the silent sounds.
She is fully clothed, this pretty blonde-headed girl. A white short-sleeved blouse and knee-length pleated grey skirt. There are high-heeled black court shoes too, which indeed this young lady does not seem fully used to wearing for she is stumbling now and then as she dances. The high heels are probably contributing to the jerkiness of her movements. And there are also nylons. Black and seamed on her long slim legs. That they are nylons — stockings — and not tights can be seen when her skirt snaps high as in her dancing it does now and then. The nylon tops are fastened by the slim straps of a black suspender belt.
The pretty blonde continues her vigorous dancing to the soundless music. It is soundless to anyone else in the garden — or would be if anyone else was here — but it is not soundless to 18-year-old Elaine. Far from it, it is throbbing in her ears at a very high decibel rate. From earphones, attached to a Walkman cassette which is hooked into the waistband of her skirt, in front. Boom-bam-Boom-bam... etc. in her ears. Elaine dutifully performs her jerky kicks and twirls.
It is a morning exercise session and she has to perform it precisely and energetically. There are very serious and unpleasant penalties for any slacking at Green Gables. And although you may be out here alone in the garden on this super morning, a girl does not know she is alone. She cannot be sure that fat and decidedly unpleasant Mr Abbot is not lurking about, perhaps through the hedge for instance. Mr Abbot who can and will do such shocking things to you at the least opportunity.
And even if Mr Abbot is not out here lurking, another girl, Karen, has told Elaine that the whole place is anyway bugged, hidden cameras leading back to closed-circuit TV screens. Which the Principal or nasty Mr Abbot or equally nasty Mr Farell may be watching. Not at all a nice thought. Elaine does not know if this is true but who is going to take a chance? So you do what the tape says. ‘Dance energetically until told to stop.’
The music keeps going for a bit. Time enough certainly for a girl to get up a little sweat because the day is already quite warm. At last though the music stops. A man’s precise voice says ‘Stop dancing.’ A gasp of relief — even if you are a keen dancer.
‘Remove your knickers please. Place them on the grass... then continue dancing.’
Oh! A darting glance around. Is Mr Abbot lurking somewhere — or one of those cameras? She can see nothing, but... Quickly Elaine’s hands go up under her skirt. White cotton knickers come into view and are slid on down over the slinky black nylons. Stepped out of and dropped on the grass. Another expectant look around and Elaine starts dancing again. But very soon the Boom-a-bam-boom stops once more. That voice: ‘High kicks now. Face the house, lift your skirt high and do your highest kicks. Can-can dancing.’ A little click as the voice stops. Then Boom-bam-bam again.
You don’t mess about, you do your very best when you know what the penalty can be. Elaine’s skirt is lifted high, up round her waist. Everything on full display: the black nylons and the dainty suspender belt which have been put out for her to wear this morning; the pale firm flesh; and at the very centre that neat fuzzy bush. All on display to anyone who may be secretly watching as Elaine, flush-faced, kicks her legs, her high-heeled shoes, as high as she can.
In her eagerness to do it properly and with her inexperience with the stiletto heels she almost immediately stumbles and falls to the grass, on her back, legs everywhere. High heels, even if you are used to them, are a hazard on soft grass if attempting can-can kicks. But will Mr Abbot make that allowance? Elaine struggles to her feet and gamely starts again.
Some minutes and several stumbles later the music once more stops. The voice: ‘Good. I hope you put your very best endeavours into that. Now the final stage. Blouse and vest and skirt off. Retain the suspender belt, nylons and shoes. Fix the cassette to the front of the suspender belt. Resume dancing. Energetically. High kicks as before.’
Click. Boom-boom-a-bam.
Oh Cripes! This is no joke. But nor is Mr Abbot a joke. Do you want to give him an excuse? Elaine starts unbuttoning, unzipping. Her vest has to come off over her head which involves some manoeuvring with the cassette lead, but it is no real problem. She sticks the cassette back in the front of the suspender belt. She has no bra on: at Green Gables they do not see the need for such things. Elaine’s moderate-sized tits are nice and firm anyway and do not need any artificial support. The pert pink nipples are erect pointing slightly upwards. As she begins to dance again the pink-tipped cones have only a slight independent movement of their own.
Jerking up and down in just her suspender belt and nylons. The high heels, as Elaine strains at her kicks, continue to provide problems but if she stumbles she quickly picks herself up again. Keep going. Do not show any sign of slacking. Vaguely she wonders what the next instruction will be. Will it be that the exercise is over and she can go to breakfast, possibly with a shower first? Or will there be more unpleasant things to do?
Inside the house Stacy Millings the Principal’s secretary has had her breakfast and has started her morning’s work. A proprietorial slap on her tightly-skirted bottom has preceded a request to take some papers round to Mr Farell. Stacy has grimaced not so much at the slap and the little grope which followed it as at the thought of Mr Farell. He is not her favourite person. He is more like her least favourite person.
Stacy has only been in her job a week and is already seriously wondering at the wisdom of taking it. She was here for two summer sessions, when she was 18 and 19, and that was undoubtedly awful; some of those things don’t bear thinking about. Especially things to do with Mr Farell. But that was when she was still nominally under her uncle’s charge, 18 or not; her uncle who was only interested in a quiet life and had been easily persuaded that she needed a spot of discipline. Two spots in successive summers. Each spot lasting several awful weeks.
But now Stacy is a young woman and, as they say, ‘courting’. With rather eager thoughts of getting married. But for that she and Simon need some money and Stacy needed a job. And she just happened while shopping to come across Mr Stanfield. It seemed he was looking for a new secretary. And looking Stacy up and down and no doubt remembering those two summers he suggested a highly attractive sum.
Stacy, on her reluctant way now to Mr Farell, thinks again of the un-wisdom of accepting that offer. The trouble was she couldn’t find anything else and it was a very good salary. But Green Gables... And Mr Farell especially... High heels clatter angrily on the wooden floor. Ripe buttocks shake in indignation. People like Mr Farell should not be allowed to exist!
A knock on his door and she goes in. Stacy hasn’t meant it but the knock comes out as hard and peremptory, a knock betraying that anger she feels though she is aware of the advisability of discretion. She is a member of staff now, but certain people are apparently unable to see the distinction between staff (female) and pupils (so called, beyond school age or not). Mr Farell looks up from his desk where he has seemingly been toying with some papers. There is no one else in his room, not yet. No prospective victim of Mr Farell’s special kinds of unpleasantness. Except of course, now, Stacy.
He gets immediately to his feet, which is perhaps not a good sign. ‘Ah Miss Millings! The delightful Stacy. How are we on this excellent morning? Raring to go?’
He moves swiftly as he speaks behind her to close his door, which Stacy has deliberately left open. That is not a good sign at all. ‘Look, I’ve got to get back.’ Mentally she adds, ‘You horrible creepy worm.’ But only mentally.
‘Oh of course, yes. I know we are desperately busy. But it may be that I have something for you as well. Eh? You are here to service us all as you know, Stacy. So to speak.’
He has come close and Stacy backs against his desk. Her not insubstantial though exceedingly attractive buttocks are wedged against it. Mr Farell’s hand comes out to grasp one of Stacy’s tits which is also full and substantial, noticeably more so than when she was here formerly. Stacy abruptly pushes the hand away.
‘Look, cut it out.’ As an afterthought ‘Please’ is added.
‘Stacy dear, I am not at all sure I like the tone of your voice. Not at all friendly and co-operative.’
Stacy’s green eyes blinking. If she is not careful tears will come. Because Mr Farell is so... ‘Please Mr Farell. I am staff now.’
Mr Farell now simply takes hold of both tits through her pink silk blouse, squeezing them. Stacy shivers but this time does not stop him. ‘What you are, Miss, is a young woman in need of discipline. I think it is clear you did not get enough when you were here before. So perhaps you need more now. The Principal I know is of the same opinion.’
Stacy is thinking naturally of two days ago. In the Principal’s office. When with Mr Farell watching she was made to lift her skirt and get over the desk. Her tights and knickers yanked down for Mr Stanfield’s cane to be sharply applied to her bare bottom. She should of course have left there and then after that. Demanded what wages were owed and simply left. But Stacy knew very well the virtual impossibility of getting another job, there was nothing at all anywhere around. So she had suffered the humiliation — and the pain and told herself that he had probably just done it to teach her a lesson and if she was careful he wouldn’t do it again. The Principal had said something like that afterwards. And he did after all have the girls, if he felt like...
‘These tits are splendid, Stacy. I fancy they have developed considerably since you were here before. They are quite a substantial handful. Mother’s cooking I expect. And also, mmm, your hormones, eh?’
Stacy experiences a slight wave of nausea. Mr Farell is the worst. Definitely the worst. Worse than Mr Abbot even. Mr Abbot in fact has left her alone since she came back. Though of course that might merely be because Mr Abbot is concentrating on one of the girls. But even so...
‘I understand you’re engaged to be married now, Stacy. How lovely. But not, I hope, anticipating that happy event? I have noticed in the mornings you might be looking a little tired. As if... mmm... you might be, as they say, getting on the nest at nights. I hope not, Stacy. We must have staff able to give 100 per cent.’
Stacy gasps as one hand comes down to her crotch. Her own hand automatically goes to push it away but falters. If she fights Mr Farell he will just... like he used to. He is anyway only trying to get her going, doing things and saying things. Saying things that aren’t true, she doesn’t do it. Not that Mr Farell is likely to believe that. Not after a girl has spent a summer session at Green Gables.
‘Are we, Stacy?’
A wild shake of her head. There are tears now in the big green eyes. As there have been many times before when she has had to deal with Mr Farell; or rather, when Mr Farell has taken the opportunity to ‘deal’ with her.
‘Mmmm… Unfortunately girls and young women cannot be relied on to tell the truth, Stacy. Even, I am afraid, after they have had the benefit of a stay at Green Gables where we work so diligently to inculcate the highest standards. Mmm...’
He at last lets go of her. Stacy’s hand briefly brushes at a moist eye. She is breathing heavily. Just possibly Mr Farell is going to let her go now. He may after all have one of the girls to see.
In the summer house, it is 9.20 and being July the sun is already quite high in the sky. The air here is moist, heavy, stuffy already. There are rectangular patches of dazzling light on the dusty floor making the remainder of the room dark in contrast. In one of the dark areas Elaine stands, trembling slightly, heart thumping. She is still in suspender belt and nylons and high-heeled shoes and of course the Walkman. The voice in her ears after the music stopped has said, ‘Now go to the summer house. Take your things with you. Walk smartly.’
Elaine’s things, her blouse and skirt and vest and knickers are on the table to the side. What now? The cassette is making a slight crackling sound but producing neither music nor a voice. The summer house is a bit scary. Karen said...
Suddenly a step behind her. Heart momentarily stopping she turns. Oh!! Mr Abbot!
‘You can take that thing off now, Elaine. The tape’s finished.’ Elaine, earphones still in place, hears this faintly, as from the distance, but in any case she is for the moment too shocked to move. Mr Abbot, in his shirtsleeves, has a cane in his hand. Slowly her hands go up, to the earphones. There is the urge to cover herself, her bare tits, even more the neat brown bush down below. But Elaine has already learnt in one week here the error of undue modesty with either Mr Abbot or Mr Farell. It is not appreciated, and that cane...
Mr Abbot, watching as the Walkman is removed, asks, ‘Were you putting everything you’ve got into it, Elaine?’ His voice is now clear and distinct.
‘Yes Mr Abbot.’ Eagerly. Fearfully. Has he been watching it all? But she has anyway been doing her very best. Sweating out there. ‘Yes I have really.’
‘Hmm. Let me see a few kicks. Your very highest. Come on.’
She begins again. Can-can kicks as before, as high as she can. Mr Abbot is going to cane her, Elaine knows it. Mr Abbot who is staring hard at the confluence of her thighs as, with each leg in turn kicking high, it is revealed.
Her thing. The outer lips partly opening each time. Don’t think about it. There is just a very faint chance one in 100? — that he won’t cane her. But only perhaps if he sees she is really trying. Elaine tries very hard, straining every muscle and regardless of what Mr Abbot can see. Unfortunately the effort is too much. Those heels again. She slips and falls sprawling on the dusty floor. Mr Abbot stares some more especially at where her legs are sprawled wide. Then reaches for Elaine’s arm to pull her up.
‘Either not trying, Miss, or very clumsy. Either way I think a little touching up is called for.
In Mr Farell’s room Stacy is bent over his desk. Arms stretched wide to grip the sides of the top. Her tight skirt is off and her knickers are lowered to the tops of her tan nylons. Nylons and not tights. After that business in Mr Stanfield’s office he has told her that in future she must wear nylons. ‘Tights are not convenient.’ Not convenient for what is happening now presumably. Which is that Mr Farell is vigorously caning Stacy’s ripe bare buttocks. Stacy yelling out just as she did last summer and the summer before.
It doesn’t get any easier when you are 20; indeed it may feel worse. A girl’s bottom — Stacy’s bottom certainly — is riper and maybe more sensitive. It is certainly more humiliating, when you think you are grown up as Stacy thinks she is. In between the desperate howls Stacy is weeping, sobbing, which itself is humiliating. But she can’t help it.
In the summer house the cane is not now being wielded. Mr Abbot has finished. He has finished with the cane at least —
In Mr Farell’s room meanwhile...


  1. If the government want to give us a boost they could do worse than setting up establishments like Green Gables for young ladies 18-21. I love the blonde in this one, she is crying out to be given a hard time.

  2. Lucky Mr Abbot and lucky too whoever has guardianship over Elaine. A term at Green Gables tender mercies will make her more than willing to slip her knickers down and be a good girl in future.

    1. Inspector Rudkin27 August 2019 at 02:14

      And in photo 12 she's on her way to do just that - young ladies who wander around the grounds in just stockings and heels must expect both cane and cock to follow.
      Love photo 3, I would make her keep the knickers dangling from one ankle as a flag of 'surrender'.
      Photo 11 - absolutely crying out for the cane.