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Wednesday, 15 March 2017

Mr Slippy & Mr Whippy

Story from Blushes 15
‘It’s so good of you to come and pick her up, Mr Marley. I so hate to send her on the train alone because one does hear such awful things nowadays, and really I hadn’t time to drive her over myself. My plane’s at three and really...’
Sylvia Harmsworth’s  explanations tailed off as she ushered her visitor in. She was in her thirties, 38 to be exact, though she wouldn’t thank you for reminding her of this. Still attractive, if a trifle full-blown, but with that slightly desperate look in the big brown eyes at times, which said: Every day I am a day older and I don’t know what to do about it.
The daughter’s equally big brown eyes would not, of course, be saying that for years and years yet. At present, at 17, they were looking at the visitor with a tinge of apprehension. Charlotte hadn’t met Mr Marley before and she was going to spend two weeks with him. Two weeks in which mummy could recover from life’s traumas somewhere in the South of France. Mummy would of course have taken Charlotte, but it wasn’t convenient. Also Mr Marley could help Charlotte with her maths and history which she had so unfortunately failed in her O-Levels. Stephen Marley had been a schoolmaster, at one of the better boys public schools, before he had been released from that drudgery by an opportune legacy.
‘It is no problem at all,’ Stephen Marley answered Mrs Harmsworth. ‘Hello Charlotte.’
He had been conducted into the drawing room where a maid shortly brought in coffee. Charlotte sat opposite him, next to her mother. Charlotte would look a lot like her mother in 20 years time — or conversely the older woman must have looked a lot like Charlotte 20 years ago. The same lustrous brown eyes were there, in a pale full-lipped face, but the features were still soft, not fully set. The figure was slender, in a crisp blue summer frock which long slim arms and legs were somewhat awkwardly displaying. Could Mrs Harmsworth’s ripe form have also been like this?
Stephen Marley chewed his lip thoughtfully. ‘Failed her maths and history, eh? What does that indicate — not enough time with the books?’
Sylvia Harmsworth made a face. ‘Oh dear; isn’t it embarrassing. Especially after those horrendous school fees. Really we might as well have sent her to the comprehensive. I’m sure it’s largely her father being away so much; he has a lot of business in Hong Kong, you know. And well, I’m afraid Charlotte just moons around a lot of the time.’
The subject of this analysis was examining her fingernails, her head bent but two rather sweet ears glowing pinkly. It was hateful of mummy to discuss her like this, to a man she had never seen before.
‘The father figure, you mean,’ Mr Marley said. ‘Lack of the necessary guidance and discipline.’
‘I’m afraid so; and really when one is so busy. It really is too bad of Roger to be away so often.’
It was certainly a problem regarding Charlotte at times, but on the other hand Roger Harmsworth’s frequent absence on business did mean that the various males who still found Sylvia’s ripe body attractive had the opportunity to demonstrate this fact. Each time it was demonstrated Sylvia could tell herself: I’m not really getting older, not where it counts.
Such acts of homage to her body would undoubtedly be performed on holiday in France, with Charlotte conveniently in the care of Mr Marley.
Stephen Marley, his eyes on Charlotte, observed, ‘At least it’s not boys then?’ Charlotte’s blush deepened as her mother said, ‘Oh no, Charlotte is certainly not interested in that sort of thing yet.’
‘No messing with boys then,’ Mr Marley said approvingly. ‘But mooning about and not working; that doesn’t sound too good, does it?’
Charlotte didn’t answer, she didn’t know if an answer was expected. They were in his car, a Rover, on the motorway. She hated her mother talking about her like that. Anyway it wasn’t true, she was interested in boys or would have been if her mother ever let her meet any. Mummy was hateful at times. And this Mr Marley, what was he like? It was certainly scary being sent off with him like this. Also he was an ex-schoolmaster, she knew; that sounded pretty dreadful. He didn’t look too bad, no more than 40 perhaps and tall with a military sort of moustache. Angela Mayhew at school thought that older men like that were dishy, she said they made her get all wet between her legs. Angela of course liked to say things like that to embarrass you.
Charlotte had blushed, she always did at things like that although it hadn’t really embarrassed her. She wished she didn’t blush so easily. She knew she had been blushing horribly in the drawing room when mummy was saying those things about her.
They stopped at a service station. Mr Marley said the food would be awful but Charlotte thought her hamburger was all right, quite good in fact. Sitting there she wondered if people thought Mr Marley was her father. It was true she would have liked to see more of her father but he was very busy. Suddenly she realised she was blushing. It was another thought, inspired by awful Angela. Perhaps they might think she was Mr Marley’s mistress. Angela said older men were desperately keen on younger girls. It was their innocence. Angela said a man wanted her to be his mistress but she had refused. But she knew a girl her age at home who did go out with an older man. He liked to take her to restaurants, expensive ones, not wearing any knickers.
Charlotte’s flush deepened as she thought of sitting here with Mr Marley without any knickers. Angela said this man liked to play with Deborah (this girl), under the table. Put his hand up her legs and play with her... Not that you could always believe Angela of course, but nonetheless... Charlotte squirmed on her seat.
The arousing reverie was abruptly interrupted as she realised Mr Marley was talking to her. ‘Are we mooning about, Charlotte? Dreaming...?’
They drove on, along the motorway and then off it through sunny fields. Mr Marley lived in Somerset, not too far from the sea. Charlotte thought of sunny beaches and boys. It would be nice to meet a nice boy; she never really had. Quite a few girls at school knew boys of course. Several of them claimed to have done it. ‘Always make sure he’s got a rubber,’ Julie said. Susan had asked if it was true that a boy couldn’t get you pregnant if he was under 18 and Julie said that was really stupid. Of course he could. Rosemary who was very well developed said she had done it with three boys. ‘It’s really swoony when it goes in,’ she said. Charlotte had felt all hot when Rosemary said that, trying to imagine it. But Charlotte certainly wasn’t desperate to do it herself; she would like to meet a nice boy just to talk to. Maybe kissing...
Then she became aware that Mr Marley was talking. What he was saying was, ‘Are we dreaming again, Charlotte?’
Flustered Charlotte said, ‘Oh no.’ Mr Marley said, ‘I think Oh yes.’
Glancing sideways he smiled. ‘But don’t worry, I’ve got a nice little helper for girls who are dreamy. Do you know who it is?’
Charlotte said no.
Looking at the road again he said, ‘It’s my cane, my nice little whippy rattan. I call him Mr Whippy. He started his career with boys of course but he is very partial to girls’ bottoms. He does a very good job with dreamy girls, does Mr Whippy.’
Charlotte could feel her heart thumping. Was this Mr Marley’s joke? Surely he couldn’t be serious. A cane! She produced a nervous smile.
‘Ever had the cane, Charlotte?’
She shook her head, a croaky ‘No’ popping out from the full lips.
‘Ah well, you’ll find it quite an experience then. A girl’s first caning is always a bit of a shocker.’
He couldn’t be serious. For one thing her mother, even if she could be hateful, wouldn’t allow this Mr Marley to cane her. As if divining Charlotte’s thoughts Mr Marley said, ‘Your mother did say she thought discipline was your main problem, together with this unfortunate dreaminess. She said she would be very grateful for anything I could do on that score. Well, in two weeks with Mr Whippy doing his best I’m sure we can make good progress.’
Charlotte wasn’t dreaming now, every sense was needle-sharp, the car, the fields on either side, thrusting themselves at her consciousness. And Mr Marley too, he seemed somehow larger, more bulky. Those firm, masculine hands at the steering wheel... holding a cane...
He said there wasn’t far to go. They went through a pretty little village and then a mile the other side turned off up a driveway. Largish grounds, it seemed; a nice house, Victorian it looked like. The sun was shining and Charlotte thought fleetingly of the beach... and then of that cane. They went in. There was a lady, Mrs Blackburn, fortyish, his housekeeper. She at least made Charlotte feel better, safer. But Mrs Blackburn, after a friendly greeting, bustled out. In the sitting room Mr Marley said, ‘Well, shall we give Mr Whippy an early try-out? Get things off on a proper footing?’
The big brown eyes blinked rapidly; her stomach seemed to have turned right over. She hadn’t done anything, not to warrant the cane. She shook her head, bottom lip trembling.
Mr Marley came closer, his hand taking hold of one slim arm. ‘No, Charlotte? But you’re going to have to get together with Mr Whippy sometime today. An early introduction is essential. You can wait until after supper if you like, but I would have thought you might like to get it over with. Then you can go outside and play; explore a bit. No?’
Charlotte was trembling. She stuttered, ‘Please... I do... don’t want the cane.’
He pulled her close, facing him. ‘But you’ve got to have it, Charlotte.’ She was right up against Mr Marley all down her front. Mr Marley in his shirt and trousers, with a swoony masculine smell. Her head came up to his chin. One hand was round her slim waist and the other further up, where her bra strap was. ‘You’ve got to,’ he repeated, his voice soft and caressing.
But Charlotte for the moment wasn’t thinking of the cane she was thinking of Mr Marley and his male body hard up against her. It made her feel all dizzy. Through the blue frock his hand was on her bra strap, fiddling with it, as if he wanted to undo it or something. Charlotte’s boobs of course were pushing firmly, breathtakingly, into Mr Marley. They weren’t very big as yet; she had them but they were still small. At times Charlotte thought she’d like to have really big ones, like mummy. Perhaps she would in a few years time, if they suddenly started filling out. Mummy’s were really super and men got really excited by them. Other men, as well as daddy. And mummy also let other men play with them — or at least Charlotte knew for sure one man because she had seen it. In their drawing room. Mummy sitting with that man on the sofa. In her dressing gown with it open to the waist and mummy had nothing on underneath and the man was playing with mummy’s super big boobs. Mummy had been to the theatre and this man had brought her home, and mummy had gone upstairs and changed out of her dress into her dressing gown, with it seemed nothing underneath. Daddy of course was away and Charlotte had been in bed but had got up for a drink, and had seen through the half-closed door. Mummy’s hand was down between the man’s legs, sort of stroking.
Mummy’s nipples had been really stiff and sticking out and Charlotte’s smaller ones were now also in the same state as she was held hard up against Mr Marley, though she of course had a  bra and frock on. She imagined Mr Marley playing with them, bare, like the man had been playing with mummy’s. Charlotte’s breath was coming in agitated gasps and also she realised she was getting wet between her legs. Suddenly Mr Marley’s hand was on her bottom, through her frock. His mouth just above her ear said, ‘All right then, Mr Whippy after supper. But in that case I’ll smack your bottom now.’
And then he was dragging up her skirt, his hand on her bare thighs, her knickered bottom... And then the knickers, her pale blue briefs, were coming down. While Charlotte could feel, pressing into her tummy, something big and hard. In her churning head she heard the precise voice of Miss Kingston who taught Biology. ‘The man’s penis gets considerably enlarged and very hard for the purpose of sexual intercourse. Eight inches in length and two in diameter is by no means unusual.’ Quite a few girls, Charlotte included, had surreptitiously checked on their rulers to see just how big that was. Charlotte felt she was going to faint.
But she didn’t. Her head was going round like when you’re on the Whirly-Girly at the fair but she knew just what was going on. Still holding her firmly against him, against that thing that was so enlarged and hard and presumably ready for sexual intercourse, Mr Marley’s other hand jerked her knickers right down, to her knees more or less. Then his hand came back up and did some stroking of her bare, trembling flanks; and then he sort of backed towards his chair, taking Charlotte with him, and sat down, in the process twisting her, thrusting her head down. So that she finished up over his lap with her head down near the floor.
Charlotte’s frock was up over her back and her brief knicks were down round her knees and Mr Marley’s big stiff thing was under her as his hand started splatting down. Again she thought she was going to faint, it was so mind-boggling. Charlotte had never been caned before and she had not been spanked either, or certainly nothing like this, nothing except an odd slap from mummy when she got angry sometimes. Girls at school, though, talked about having their bottoms spanked by men. Angela Mayhew for one. She claimed to have an uncle who smacked it, bare, and then afterwards he put his hand between her legs. Where she was all wet. Where Charlotte now was also all wet. Was she going to faint? If she did he might do that and she wouldn’t know...
She didn’t think she fainted. She was certainly in a state, her head whirling, her stomach lurching, her heart going like a train, and of course her bottom really red hot. Mr Marley kept on spanking it for what seemed like ever but then finally he had stopped and was standing Charlotte on her feet. She didn’t think he had done any of that other stuff although that big thing had been there all the time, moving about a bit and seeming to get even bigger.
Mr Marley told her she could pull up her knickers and go outside and have a look round for a while. ‘Don’t forget it’s Mr Whippy after supper, though,’ he added. Charlotte went out in a daze. Angela at school said, ‘If a man gets all excited and doesn’t actually do you he quite often has to go and, you know, jerk off afterwards. All those sperms have to come out somehow otherwise it can make a man ill if they don’t.’ Vaguely Charlotte wondered if Mr Marley was going to do that now. His thing had certainly been very big. With it sort of squirming about underneath her and at the same time Mr Marley’s hand smacking her bare bottom the whole thing had been the most mind-boggling devastating experience Charlotte had ever had, certainly beating the time that man had rubbed himself up against her all the way from Victoria to Earls Court on the London Underground. (She had been with mummy going to the Ideal Homes Exhibition and the train had been jam-packed. It had been scary but exciting and Charlotte had always wondered if someone had been doing the same thing to mummy at the same time.)
In the kitchen Charlotte found Mrs Blackburn. Did Mrs Blackburn know Mr Marley had just spanked her bare bottom? If so she showed no sign. She said she would have some tea ready at four o’clock and suggested Charlotte have a look round the garden until then; also she said with a twinkle in her eye that along by the river there were two boys about Charlotte’s age camping. She told Charlotte how to get there. ‘I’m sure they’d like to meet a nice pretty girl,’ she laughed.
Well, that was certainly something to take Charlotte’s mind a little bit off the mind-zapping and bottom-stinging events of the last 20 minutes. It also took her mind for the moment off the matter of Mr Whippy whom she was due to meet this evening. She had a quick look round the garden and then went out the side gate and along the lane as directed by Mrs Blackburn. You couldn’t miss it, a bright orange tent over in the corner of a field.
Charlotte felt suddenly scared. Two boys. She hardly knew any boys at all and so wouldn’t know what to say. It would be a lot easier to walk on, but then Mrs Blackburn was bound to ask if she’d seen them and what did she say then: she had been too scared? So with heart fluttering Charlotte made herself climb over the stile and start off across the field.
There was one boy. He was sitting in the sun, or in fact half-lying back against his rucksack. He had only a brief pair of swim shorts on. His eyes were closed so he didn’t know she had approached. He did look about her age, dark-haired and quite good-looking. Charlotte gazed at his body, spread out for the sun’s rays. And at the short white trunks. She could see the quite big bulge of his thing. She felt herself shiver. Cripes! She imagined running her hands over that smooth body which the sun had not yet tanned to any extent. And she imagined running her hand over those shorts... over that bulge.
Then he opened his eyes; and abruptly struggled to his feet. She had thought she would be tongue-tied but she wasn’t. His name was Robert. There was another boy but he had gone to get some supplies. They had been there for two days and were from Chelmsford. He seemed very friendly once he’d got over the shock of Charlotte suddenly being there. He asked would she like to see inside their tent.
It was quite small and you had to kneel down to go in. Inside, sitting on the two sleeping bags, it was really super, like being in a magic cave with the soft orange light coming through the tent walls, but that wasn’t what Charlotte was looking at. What she was looking at was that tight white swimsuit. It had suddenly swollen out quite a bit more and you could really see the shape of his thing — his penis. It was definitely getting erect. Perhaps he had seen up her skirt as she crawled in — Angela at school said looking up your skirt always got boys aroused.
Anyway it had really got bigger and she couldn’t help herself keep glancing at it. He must have seen what Charlotte was looking at and went red in the face and sort of put his hand over it. Perhaps because he knew Charlotte was looking at it, it got bigger than ever, and Charlotte got red in the face as well and, for the first time, a bit tongue-tied. If it had been Angela she would probably say something bold like, ‘I’d like to have a look at it.’
What Charlotte did was to look at her watch and say she thought she’d better be getting back for tea. She crawled out of the tent and Robert had to therefore come out as well. They both got to their feet. Perhaps he decided that as she’d already seen it there was no point trying to hide it, or perhaps he just felt bolder now.
Anyway he stood there without putting his hand over it. It looked enormous, like a big thick sausage sticking right up the front of his trunks. You could clearly see the shape of it, she couldn’t help herself. If she had a ruler she would have been able to check what Miss Kingston said: ‘Eight inches is by no means uncommon.’ She heard herself say, or rather stutter, ‘Shall I come round tomorrow if I can?’
He said in a sort of stifled voice, ‘Yes, come round in the morning.’
Charlotte went off, her head spinning, hardly seeing where she was going; seeing instead herself crawling into that tent again tomorrow morning. Just the two of them. Robert’s friend having once more gone off, perhaps even sent off on some pretext by Robert. And then... It was really too swoony to think about.
But first there were those other things to think about. Mr Marley; and even more Mr Whippy. In the excitement of meeting Robert and of seeing his thing Charlotte had quite forgotten Mr Whippy. Going back into Mr Marley’s garden she suddenly remembered him again.
She met him after supper, as Mr Marley had told her she would. By that time she had got settled in, unpacked her things in her room and looked round the house. But all that time she had been thinking of Mr Whippy — though also thinking a bit about Robert. With so many things happening, so many mind-boggling things, including that pretty awful spanking, it was almost too much. But the time for Mr Whippy came all right, right after supper. In the sitting room Mr Marley took him out of a cupboard. He made you feel sick to look at him through the air. ‘Nice and Whippy,’ Mr Marley had said, ‘We’ll go up to your room I think, Charlotte, for the introductions.’
In her room Mr Marley said, ‘Yes, this is my boy; eager to do his job, no doubt.’ Then he told Charlotte she might as well take her frock off, so there was no danger of it getting in Mr Whippy’s way, and of course her knickers too. She gave a gulp, she had not been expecting that. Mr Marley said brusquely, ‘Come on, my dear; nice and snappy. We must learn to do as we’re told immediately. That’s what discipline is all about.’
Charlotte started unbuttoning her dress. There was clearly no choice and also if she annoyed Mr Marley he might say she couldn’t go out tomorrow, to that orange tent in the corner of the field. She unbuttoned all the buttons and then slipped out of it. Her bra was light blue like her knicks and that was all she had on underneath as it was hot, Mr Marley’s sharp eyes staring, as you might expect. He was probably getting aroused like he had earlier and like Robert had done. But Charlotte was really thinking about that. It was Mr Whippy. Lying waiting on her bed. Trembling all over she slid down her brief knickers and stepped out of them. Her slim form in just the bra and her socks and sandals. Her slight dark bush; a sharp contrast to her pale skin. Mr Marley, red in the face, told her to lie over her bed.
His hands positioning her. Having a feel of her bottom, also, as you might expect. She clutched at the bed cover, trying not to think. It would be nice if she could faint and then she might not know about it, but that obviously wasn’t going to happen.
She got four. Four mind-wrenching strokes of Mr Whippy that felt like a knife slicing into her. The pain was quite impossible, she was weeping, sobbing, but somehow it was over. Mr Marley pulling her, still sobbing, to her feet. Pulling her close up against him, like before. His arms round her, his hand stroking her glowing, stinging bottom.
The hot tears were still flooding out, now onto Mr Marley’s shirt front, and she could feel his thing, big and stiff like before. His hands were on her bra strap, also like before, but this time he was undoing it... and pulling her bra up and off those small but now stiff-nippled boobs. This meant she didn’t have anything on except the socks and sandals. Charlotte sniffed and blinked trying to stop the tears. She was really hot, her bottom boiling and her pert tits feeling red hot as well. She thought briefly of that boy Robert out in his tent. She would see him tomorrow, hopefully, but what was going to happen before then?


  1. Bathtime always humiliates a girl - infantilises them and all that soaping of breasts and between the legs is highly embarrassing which is good

  2. This girl was perfect one of my favs from blushes

  3. I was a bit disappointed that considering the title of this piece and the accompanying photographs (of that familiar and very lovely young lady) we didn't actually get to meet 'Mr Slippy'! Seems that, along with something else, Mr Stiffy perhaps, one can only assume that an encounter with him is what is implicit in 'what was going to happen before tomorrow'.

    I do like the idea that whilst Charlotte is still dreaming of her encounter with young Robert the next day, that 'Mr Whippy' is going to get there first. A nice 'eight inches' from Mr Carling after her caning. Much better for her than her being allowed to 'do it' with every young Tom, Dick and Harry that comes along.

    Charlotte's mummy sounded like her no doubt majestically large and rounded bare bottom could do with a painful visit from Mr Whippy also. I'm not at all in favour of naughty mummies being allowed to get up to whatever they like, especially when they're as scrumptious sounding as this one!

    1. Damn. "from Mr Marley" I mean! I must have 'Video Lessons' on the brain!