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Thursday, 29 June 2017

Spectators’ Gallery

From Blushes 14
Harry Edwards toils up the main staircase with a pile of geography books in his arms, on his way to the staff room for afternoon break. The sound of a door opening at the far end of the upstairs gallery makes him look up; a blonde-haired girl turns about outside the headmaster’s study and pulls the door shut behind her, then comes along the gallery looking bemused and pale-faced. She barely notices the geography teacher until the last minute, then she steps aside with a mumbled ‘Sorry, sir,’ and goes downstairs. She isn’t crying and she doesn’t rub at her bottom the way girls do when they’ve been to the Head for a caning, but she looks upset and nervous. Harry goes along to the staff room and plonks his books down on a table.
‘Looks like one for the gallery tonight,’ he says quietly to Mr Morse, Maths and RE. Other ears prick up; note is taken.
‘Who’s that, then?’ enquires Mr Wallace, too casually.
‘Charlotte Price,’ says Harry, nonchalantly pretending to be unaware that the aforesaid Charlotte Price is probably the one girl that almost every member of staff would like to get a peep at in her knickers — or out of them.
‘Oh,’ says Mr Wallace, and goes back to his newspaper.
When the end of break bell rings, the staff room empties slowly. Mr Wallace leaves his newspaper on the table, Mr Morse neglects to take a folder full of prep to be marked, and Harry ‘forgets’ a couple of his books.
By the end of school, there isn’t a teacher who doesn’t know that Charlotte Price is going to be on view on Spectators’ Gallery tonight.
Shortly after supper, at about ten past seven, Charlotte is ‘on parade’ halfway along the gallery above the entrance hall, standing where all the headmaster’s after-supper reportees have to wait, by the little kink in the balustrade which is directly above the middle of the hallway below. No-one entering the building can avoid noticing her above them, and anyone crossing the hall would have to be singularly self-absorbed not to catch sight of her.
Charlotte is wearing a gymnastics tee-shirt, her socks and shoes, and her knickers; and a maidenly blush. Nervously her eyes wander to the end of the gallery as a door opens; Mr Morse ambles casually in her direction and affects surprise at seeing her there.
‘Dear, dear. Been a naughty girl, have we? Hmm?’
‘Yes, sir,’ whispers Charlotte, keeping her hands together behind her back as she’s supposed to, despite Mr Morse’s ill-disguised glances at the nipple-sized protuberances at the front of her tee-shirt and at the plump pout in her knickers where the tops of her thighs meet.
Mr Morse lingers, and Charlotte blushes more deeply, whilst the maths teacher speculates that she’ll ‘probably only get six, because she’s hardly ever in trouble’, is she. ‘Mind you, that’s on the bare, of course.’
‘Yes, sir, I know,’ mumbles Charlotte, her eyes on the floor.
‘Which means he’ll take these down,’ adds Mr Morse, unnecessarily, taking the opportunity to pluck pointedly at the waistband of Charlotte’s navy knickers.
‘Yes, sir,’ says Charlotte, almost inaudibly, not daring to protest when the elastic is tugged again and two beady eyes peer down into the shadow between her tummy and her tight-stretched knickers. Footsteps sound suddenly in the hall below. Charlotte gasps a tiny ‘ooo!’ as her knickers are allowed to snap back into place against her bare belly. Mr Morse ambles off along the gallery with studied nonchalance; the footsteps mounted the stairs below.
By the time the headmaster puts in an appearance, at eight o’clock, there is hardly a male member of staff who hasn’t found some excuse to be passing along the gallery while Charlotte is waiting for her caning. Humiliated by the ignominy of having to wait on public view, Charlotte is near to tears already as she is made to follow the headmaster to his study. The door shuts behind them.
Muted conversation, markedly one-sided, might be heard by anyone passing along the gallery, then there are several minutes of silence, before the muffled crack of a cane against bare girl-flesh sounds behind the door, followed by an urgent, high-pitched squeal. This sequence is repeated twelve times, slowly, before the door re-opens and Charlotte appears, red-faced and stripey-bottomed, with her knickers clutched in her hand and the headmaster slapping her bottom cheerfully as he tells her to ‘wait on the gallery, Charlotte, now that you’ve got something to think about. You’ll get the rest of your caning before bedtime. Oh, and you needn’t bother to put your knickers back on — we’d only have to take them off again, wouldn’t we, eh?’
With tears rolling down her cheeks, Charlotte takes up her position along the gallery again and the headmaster goes lightly down the stairs and out of the double doors. Miserably Charlotte touches at her bottom, perhaps wondering how much room there can be left to accommodate another twelve strokes when he comes back, then she looks up at the sound of a door opening. Unhurriedly, indeed deliberately so, the footsteps approach along the gallery —

Sunday, 25 June 2017

Caned in Spain

Story by R.T. Mason from Janus 41
Jill Fairfield gazed up at the tree with its pale green leaves shimmering in the sun. Seeing only the leaves and branches she could almost be back in England. Except it wasn’t an English tree but a Spanish one. Suddenly the foliage was blocked out by the face of Carmen leaning over her. A darkly pretty Spanish face. With black eyes flashing in amusement she repeated in her very good English what she had just said.
‘It is true, Jill. Of course we get caned at school.’
She laughed. ‘Also I can tell you that you will get it too when you come to my school. That is for sure. Because our Señor Guerrero makes sure he canes all the big girls and certainly he will not want to miss out with this beautiful English visitor.’
Jill produced a nervous smile. Quite possibly Carmen was joking.
It was a bright sunny May morning and they were in the garden of Carmen Ortega’s house in a small town in southern Spain, Andalusia. It was hot but not unbearably so, though certainly considerably warmer than it had been yesterday in Sussex when Jill had left to come here for a two week exchange visit. Both she and Carmen were 18 and in their last year at school and Jill was due to spend part of the time at Carmen’s school which was why she had casually asked about it.
‘Just like an English school, I expect,’ was the answer. ‘They are very strict for girls, to make them into disciplined young ladies. So like in England they are using the cane on the big girls. Very painful on a girl’s bottom. Just like in England, yes?’
Flushing, Jill said no, it was not just like in England, her school certainly did not use the cane. Carmen seemed disinclined to believe this. Was it not a well-known fact that the cane was freely used in England? Jill said that it might be a well-known fact but it wasn’t true. Not nowadays.
The dark eyes sparkled as Carmen bent over Jill again. ‘But you have had the cane, of course, Jill?’
Jill shook her head. Carmen gave a tinkling laugh. ‘What… what is it like?’ the English girl asked, still not sure if all this wasn’t a joke.
‘Oh of course very painful but also a bit exciting as well I should say. Taking down your knickers and showing a man your bare bottom is certainly a little bit exciting, don’t you think?’
Jill blanched. Bare! Carmen had a full firm figure, firmly rounded breasts and a generous-sized shapely bottom contained this morning in tight-seated slacks. Jill had a momentary picture of the slacks and underlying briefs lowered and Carmen’s full-cheeked bottom bared for the cane. It wasn’t possible, was it? And then, feeling a bit sick, Jill pictured herself in the same position. Her own bottom, not as big as Carmen’s for Jill was taller and slimmer, but nonetheless to imagine her own bottom bared for some male teacher’s cane… The thought was just too shocking to contemplate.
Carmen was now lying on her back again on the rug. In that very good precise English she asked, ‘What about your Dad, Jill? Does he not do something like that to his big daughter when she is naughty? The cane or perhaps the strap?’
Shivering slightly Jill said No. Nothing at all like that. Carmen thought this was very strange. All her friends were liable to some such punishment. Her own father, she said, favoured the strap.
There was that tinkly laugh again. ‘I should think that for sure he will want to give you it, Jill. Because it is agreed that when in each other’s homes we are to be treated as one of the family. Is that right?’
Jill didn’t answer. Carmen’s father, Señor Ortega, was tall and quite handsome in a Spanish sort of way. The idea of him using a strap on her was shocking and somehow sort of exciting at the same time. But it couldn’t happen, could it?
Suddenly Carmen was leaning over Jill again, the black eyes twinkling with amusement. ‘I am very shocked to hear what you say, Jill. If it is true now we know why you are not Great Britain any more. Here we all know that discipline is very necessary. So I think we will have to do something very quick about this bad gap in the education of Jill Fairfield. Yes?’
No!’ said Jill with feeling.
They sat in the garden for the rest of the morning, Jill putting on her bikini and venturing out of the shade for half-an-hour to start a sun-tan. Her slim shapely form was still pale because there had been no sunbathing weather so far this year at home. Carmen in contrast was a deep brown all over with the exception of the small bits covered by her bikini. At least Carmen had dropped the subject of corporal punishment, for which Jill was very thankful. Perhaps it had all been a joke.
After lunch Carmen said they could go for a bike ride. It seemed a good idea, it was hot but not impossibly so and Carmen had already borrowed a bike for Jill’s use. They set out in slacks and T-shirts, Jill with a white sun-hat on her blonde head. They rode for a couple of miles out into pleasantly wooded country; then Carmen suggested they get off the bikes and walk. They left them in a ditch and climbed over a wire fence. Up to now Carmen had been chatting on about the countryside and various features. Now she asked:
‘What is the English word when you go on a person’s land without his permission?’
‘Trespassing,’ Jill told her.
‘Yes. Well, now we are trespassing on a certain man’s land. He is called Señor Ricardo Garcia. Rather strict I should say about trespassers. Especially of course pretty female ones.’
‘We won’t get caught, will we?’ queried Jill.
Carmen gave her tinkling laugh. ‘Oh but we will! You see I phone him before lunch that this afternoon two girls might be trespassing in his woods. I expect we see him soon.’
Jill looked at her incredulously. ‘You what!
Carmen put a friendly arm round her visitor’s waist. ‘It is for that bad gap in your education, Jill. Señor Garcia is quite a nice man. I expect he will first give us some pleasant refreshment at his house. And then naturally he will want to deal with those trespassers. Deal with their bottoms I might say. Is that exciting?’
Diabolical was the word for it as far as Jill was concerned. ‘I’m going!’ she gasped but Carmen, laughing, grabbed her. It was at once clear that the Spanish girl with her heavier build was stronger.
‘Don’t be silly, Jill. You are not afraid of a little adventure, I hope.’
Jill very definitely was but in any case at that moment a man appeared along the track. Carmen’s timing had been perfect.
Not tall but stocky, he was in shirt and riding breeches and high polished brown boots. Under a wide-brimmed hat was a brown Spanish face with a clipped grey moustache. He was perhaps 60. There was a quizzical look on the face as he approached.
‘What is this! Two girls trespassing!’ The tone was sharp but bantering; the command of English was evidently at least as good as Carmen’s.
Carmen fluttered her eyelashes. ‘Perhaps we are lost, Señor.’
‘Perhaps indeed. So it is the beautiful Señorita Ortega, and this must be also the English visitor. Equally beautiful as I see. The English Rose.’
Jill flushed. ‘I’m very sorry, Señor Garcia. I didn’t know I was trespassing. I think I’d better go…’
He showed white teeth in a grin. ‘But I also am sorry, Miss. Did not your friend tell you? Here we always must pay for something like trespassing. So you must both come with me. Eh Carmen?’
Jill gulped as she saw his hand reach out to openly take hold of Carmen’s bottom. A brown sinewy hand firmly groping the twin full cheeks in the tight slacks.
Carmen didn’t try to remove the hand. She simply said submissively, ‘Yes, Señor Garcia.’
It was only about half a mile to his house, a low white building set in lawns at the edge of the wood. Carmen had chattered on the way and was clearly excited. Señor Garcia didn’t say very much. As for Jill she still couldn’t believe it was happening, it must be a joke. But on the other hand once, on the way, Señor Garcia had casually placed a hand on Jill’s bottom, as he had earlier done to Carmen, although more softly. Jill had jumped away like a scalded cat. Carmen had laughed. Señor Garcia merely pursed his lips. Jill hated that sort of thing, a casual feel at her bottom. You got it on the bus to school sometimes when you had to stand and there was nothing much you could do as they could always pretend it was an accident.
The sun as they crossed the parched-looking lawn to the house was burning hot but once inside it was cool behind the shuttered windows. They went in a sitting room where their host produced iced drinks. They sat down.
Carmen said, ‘Jill says they do not have caning or strapping for girls in England, Señor.’
Señor Garcia raised his eyebrows and gave Jill a hot stare. ‘So? So your English guest will learn something then, Carmen.’
He got up from his chair and walked over to a cabinet. When he turned he had a leather strap in his hand. It was about two-foot long and split into two half-inch wide tongues. Jill’s eyes fixed on it in horrified fascination. He slapped it against the side of his boot with a loud thwack! and Jill’s stomach felt as if it had suddenly dropped through the floor.
‘Look… you can’t…’ she whispered.
Señor Garcia looked at Carmen. ‘Señorita Ortega: you will perhaps go first and show your friend?’
Carmen obediently got to her feet, her face flushed with excitement. Her hands went to the belt of her pale grey slacks and then to the zip at the side. In a quick movement the slacks were down round her knees. Her knickers were pink, like her T-shirt, tight over the swelling haunches. Señor Garcia took her arm and Carmen went forward two paces to the table. He pushed her firmly down over it, then muttered something.
Carmen’s hands came back, thumbs in the top of the knickers. Jill’s stomach gave another lurch as suddenly there was Carmen’s big bottom bare in front of her, two moons bearing the brief pale triangle from her bikini.
Jill looked away. Without warning or delay the strap had simply splatted in squarely across the swelling cheeks, producing a sort of grunt from Carmen. Jill felt a bit faint.
There was another sickening THWACK!... and this time a yelp from the Spanish girl. Jill looked, she couldn’t help it. There were wide red marks across Carmen’s big bottom which was clenching and writhing. In pain… or could it be something else?
The strap continued to rise and fall. With an intent look on his face Señor Garcia systematically covered the ripe cheeks and also the full upper slopes of Carmen’s thighs above the lowered knickers. Carmen was groaning and yelping and writhing her bottom. Jill watched, horrified but mesmerised. And was there also something else, a tingle of sexual excitement?
When the strapping finished Carmen stood up. She was breathing heavily with her face flushed dark red as her hands went first to her knickers and then the lowered slacks. Then both of them turned to Jill.
No!’ she yelped, but Carmen, laughing, pulled her to her feet.
‘You must, Jilly. You must be a brave girl.’
Jill struggled but there were now Señor Garcia’s strong hands holding her arms. Carmen got to work on the belt of Jill’s slacks. All at once the white slacks were down, to Jill’s knees, with a firm comely rump in pink-edged white knickers on display. Yelping in shock and anger she was frogmarched to the table, then stretched over it.
Carmen round the other side held Jill’s arms so she couldn’t move, only weakly kick her feet, as she felt her knickers being pulled down. Then the shocking, heart-stopping feel of a male hand on her bare bottom. Caressing, and intimately groping. The hand went away and there was a pause. Jill could hear her own breathing harsh in her throat and Carmen was saying something to her. And then…
She went all funny at that point. It was almost as if it was happening to someone else, some other girl called Jill Fairfield. She could feel the pain all right, an intense biting ache in her bottom, but at the same time she could see this other girl called Jill Fairfield held over the table, yelling out and jerking her bottom this way and that as the strap splatted down on those unprotected buttocks. Perhaps it was simply too much for her mind to take.
‘You made a lot of noise when he strapped you,’ Carmen said.
It was half-an-hour later and they were walking back along the track, Carmen with her arm around Jill’s waist. Jill was still feeling a bit strange with her mind not yet fully able to accept what had happened. Carmen was clearly still very excited. She suddenly moved off the track, taking Jill with her, to lean her back against a tree. Jill found herself pulled round face to face with her companion.
‘Was it exciting?’ Carmen wanted to know. Jill shook her head. Her mind was in too much of a turmoil to know if it was or not. And there were still all those hot and tingly feelings coming from her bottom.
‘It makes me very excited. Especially to see you get it, Jill. Señor Garcia is like an old bull, yes? How would you like that old bull on top of you!’
Jill didn’t think she would like that at all but Carmen didn’t seem to want an answer as she put her full-lipped mouth to Jill’s. An eager tongue pushed into the English girl’s mouth.
Nothing much more happened until the evening. Jill had been a bit shocked by Carmen’s sexy kiss but had not responded to it and Carmen had not done anything further, though there had been more excited talk of the strappings and Señor Garcia. But then at dinner Carmen, laughing, simply related to her parents what had happened. Jill was horror-struck and neither of the older Ortegas seemed to think it was the big joke that Carmen clearly did. Her mother went red in the face and Carmen’s father got very angry. He told her she had behaved very badly to their guest and sent Carmen up to her room immediately after the meal. He apologised to Jill for what had happened and shortly afterwards followed Carmen upstairs.
As Jill learnt later, when Carmen came into her bedroom, her father gave her another thrashing with his strap for what she had done.
‘I know why he is angry,’ said a chastened Carmen, sitting on Jill’s bed. ‘He does not like another man to strap you. As you are in his house he wants only to do it himself, except when you go to school of course.’
‘But I haven’t done anything,’ Jill told her.
‘It is not only doing anything much. Doing it to a girl or a woman is for a man to show that she belongs to him. While you are here my father thinks you belong to him. So he does not like to think that Señor Garcia has put a strap to your bottom and he has not.’
Not for the first time since getting to Carmen’s house Jill said with feeling ‘You’ve got to be joking!’ She didn’t consider she belonged to anyone, and even if she did…
‘You will see,’ Carmen told her. The Spanish girl put her arms round Jill and said they must kiss goodnight. It was another very sexy kiss from Carmen and she didn’t seem to want to stop. Breathless, Jill finally pushed her away.
‘We are going to be very good friends, yes?’ Carmen said.
Jill answered ‘Of course’ but wondered what exactly Carmen meant. She got into bed and lay awake for some time thinking about it all: Carmen and Carmen’s father and, not least, Señor Garcia and his strap. When she did finally get to sleep there were some disturbing dreams, of being caned and strapped by various men. In one part she had to strip nude in a room full of men and then had to bend over a sort of vaulting horse and be strapped by each one. It was very painful but fantastically erotic at the same time.
With her disturbed sleep Jill did not wake up until it was quite late and the sun was streaming in the window. As she gathered her senses Jill realised there was also something else. Señor Ortega was sitting on her bed, smiling at her.
That disturbing dream was still very real and she also vividly recalled what Carmen had said last night. Jill felt a tingle of fear mixed with excitement. Her body went tense under the sheets. Señor Ortega was a lot younger than Señor Garcia, he wasn’t an ‘old bull’, and Jill found him very attractive. The tingle of excitement increased as he said that Carmen and her mother had gone out. Jill’s body told her that something was going to happen.
It did. Señor Ortega stood up and, smiling, pulled the bedclothes off her.
Jill gasped with shock. For all he knew she might have been sleeping in the nude. In fact she had considered it with the warm nights but then decided to put her pyjamas on. They were pale blue cotton, quite tight. Automatically as the covers were yanked off Jill’s hands came across to cover her breasts and groin.
Señor Ortega laughed and took hold of one arm. ‘It is late, Jill. And I think the English is getting up early?’
She was pulled out of bed and Señor Ortega sat down on it again. With her head still in a daze Jill heard him say:
‘Take down the trousers. I must see your bottom. To see that Señor Garcia has caused no harm.’
No!’ she gasped. But he simply reached out and yanked the pyjama bottoms down, to her knees. A neat light-brown bush was briefly on show before Jill, with another gasp, cupped her hand over it. Señor Ortega gripped her arm and pulled her down, over his lap.
Dizzily, with her head down near the carpet, Jill felt the large male hand on her bare bottom. The hand patted and squeezed and stroked. It was impossible — yesterday Señor Garcia and now this.
From above her his Spanish-accented English: ‘I think there is no injury from our friend Señor Garcia.’ Jill was not being released though, and the hand went on fondling.
‘So now perhaps we have, what is it in English, a spank. Because when you are here, Jill, you must be like my daughter and here in Spain every big daughter must have something from her father. Some spank and also some with the strap. That is to make her always a good girl.’
And to ensure that Jill was always a good girl the hand started spanking. It wasn’t fearfully hard but it was mind-blowing nonetheless. Señor Ortega’s male hand intimately spanking her bare bottom. Señor Ortega whom she could definitely fancy in an older man sort of way. It was what Carmen had said, he was demonstrating his male dominance over her. It was almost like some primitive rite. But whatever it was it was overwhelming. Jill’s blood was pounding in her ears. More than that, she could feel herself getting distinctly wet between her legs.
At last it stopped and Jill was put on her feet. She stood, trembling, her face bright red and with one hand over that brown bush. Señor Ortega’s face was also red under his dark skin.
‘Good, Jill. You are a good girl and do not fight it. Now we have a little of the strap, like any daughter must have.’
Jill stuttered that she hadn’t done anything but she sensed, as Carmen had said, that this was not the point. Señor Garcia had strapped her and so Carmen’s father had to do the same. Presumably she could refuse but at least part of her didn’t want to. The thought of submitting to him was tremendously exciting. In a way it would almost be like having sex with him. For a second Jill pictured herself in bed with Señor Ortega on top of her. Feeling faint she let herself be pushed down at the side of her bed.
She was kneeling with her body face-down across the bed. Her pyjamas were still round her knees, her now reddened bottom arched up. Jill gripped the sheet, wondering if she would have to wait while he went to get his strap. But it came almost immediately: a sharp crack across her nude buttocks causing a half-stifled yelp into the bedclothes. Jill’s fingers dug in as the leather sliced in again across the slim flanks.
It was not like with Señor Garcia, this time there was no funny feeling that it was happening to someone else. It was her all right kneeling there and being strapped by Carmen’s father. And with the pain there was also a wild arousal. Jill could feel her hips writhing and they were not simply writhing in agony. The movements were becoming distinctly rhythmic. Oh God! she thought, he’ll see what’s happening. But as the strap kept splatting in there was nothing Jill could do about it.
Carmen and her mother came back at mid-morning by which time Jill was feeling a bit calmer but not much. It still brought on a hot flush to think about because Señor Ortega could have had no doubt what had happened. That final frenzied grinding of her hips against the edge of the bed and even more the gasping high-pitched screech which had erupted from her mouth. He had not said anything, just given Jill a smiling quizzical look when she got up and, hot with embarrassment, dragged up her pyjamas. But undoubtedly he must have known she had come.
If Jill was still overheated Carmen was clearly all agog, dragging Jill up to her room and closing the door.
‘So tell me!’ she demanded. ‘I know my father makes us go out while he stays in with you. Did you get his strap?’
Hot-faced. Jill nodded. She wasn’t going to say how she had reacted, though. Carmen grabbed her and planted another of those sexy kisses on the English girl’s mouth. ‘So now we are like sisters, yes?’
They fell back onto Carmen’s bed. Is this what Spanish sisters do? wondered Jill as Carmen’s hand slid up her bare thigh under the summer dress she now had on and homed in on the crotch of her brief nylon knickers. She put her hand down to stop Carmen but not very forcefully.
‘Don’t!’ Jill protested weakly. ‘Someone could come in.’
Carmen gave a throaty growl. ‘No. I have locked the door.’ And in a determined manner she began taking down Jill’s knickers.
Jill didn’t fight it. It was not entirely unexpected with the way Carmen had been acting. She shouldn’t allow it; nice girls didn’t do that sort of thing. But on the other hand Jill felt powerless to resist after what had happened earlier. It might be bad but it was also exquisitely nice.
Afterwards, when they had recovered and straightened themselves up, they went downstairs. With her arm around Jill’s waist Carmen told her father. ‘So now I and Jill are two sisters; both getting their father’s strap, I think.’
He laughed. ‘I expect two sisters who will also soon get Señor Guerrero’s cane at school as well!’
Carmen laughed too — while Jill’s heart missed a beat. Since that talk in the garden yesterday morning which had started all this Jill had rather forgotten about school. At the time she had half dismissed it as a joke but now that seemed less likely.
‘Oh no, it is certainly not a joke,’ Carmen told Jill when she falteringly asked about it. ‘You will not think that when you have tried Señor Guerrero’s cane. No girl would think that was a joke.’
Jill didn’t want to hear about it while at the same time she did. They were sitting under the tree in the garden again. Carmen squeezed her arm. Why not wait and find out? He will not delay in showing you his methods.’
‘No, tell me... what he does.’
Carmen rolled her eyes. ‘OK, I will; but maybe you will not want to hear it.’
Señor Guerrero was Deputy Principal and it seemed was the only one who dealt out corporal punishment, which was restricted to the upper form girls. Most of the staff were women, including the Head, and apparently it was felt that corporal punishment was not something to be handled by a woman. So it was all down to Señor Guerrero.
Carmen gave another of those tinkling laughs. ‘I should say that Señor Guerrero is very much enjoying his caning of big girls.’
Jill shivered. At last Carmen got to the details. It was always the cane. A routine caning was with you bent over his desk with skirt up over your back and with your knickers still on. But when you had had two of those he would take your knickers down and cane your bare bottom.
Carmen said. ‘I should think all our pretty girls are quickly getting to the stage of bare bottoms. Some are liking to show him their bare bottom and some are not liking. But it makes no difference. And then I must tell you he sometimes use a different position. Not at all nice.’
Carmen paused for dramatic effect. Jill held her breath.
‘It is on his desk. He make you lie on his desk on your back. Legs up in the air and hold your knees close.’
Jill swallowed, her mouth suddenly gone very dry. A very vivid and truly awful picture presented itself in her mind. It couldn’t be possible, could it? Carmen must be joking about this.
Carmen pinched her arm and delivered the punch line. ‘Sometimes, Jill, if he decide you are very naughty then he will use that position but also with your knickers off.’
There was a stunned silence at the end of which Jill managed to utter, ‘I can’t believe that.’
‘It is true, Jill, I know. He has done it to me. On his desk with my knickers off.’
Señor Guerrero was not an impressive figure, medium height and slightly pudgy with a round face. Not old, perhaps 45. Could this man do those things that Carmen had said? There were beady eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses and they flickered keenly over Jill as she stood quaking in his office. She had on a white summer dress which set her off from all the other girls who wore a uniform of white blouse and pleated grey skirt and cardigan.
The eyes continued their journeying, taking in the pretty face, the firm breasts, the long legs, as Señor Guerrero spoke words of welcome. Jill had already seen the Head, a pleasant matronly woman, but Señor Guerrero was the one who caned. Jill looked down at the desk in front of her. Could it be possible? That he made girls lie there on their backs...?
Señor Guerrero got up from the desk and came round to her. He said he hoped Jill would have a pleasant stay with them. He would certainly be seeing her again. And then he added that presumably she knew he was in charge of discipline. His hand took hold of Jill’s arm and squeezed.
She muttered ‘Yes, Señor’ and turned to go. He went to open the door and stood to let her pass. As she did Jill gave a sharp gasp. Señor Guerrero’s hand had slid behind her and was on her bottom, caressing a buttock through the thin dress.
‘I think you girls in England are also getting the bottom caned. Is that so?’
Jill stuttered ‘No... no, Señor.’ The hand stayed where it was.
‘Is that so? That is a surprise. Here we do of course.’
From that moment Jill just knew he was going to cane her. The hand calmly stroked for a bit and then with a dismissive slap she was sent on her way. But stumbling down the corridor she just knew it. He was going to find some excuse. Her knees felt all jelly-like as she thought of that desk.
But what could she do? Complain to Carmen or her father? Say she wasn’t going to go to school because she was frightened of the cane? She would simply seem like a silly baby. Jill almost felt like running away.
Nothing happened that first day at school — but there were nine more days to come. It was that business of lying on the desk that really got to her. The thought of that simply made her start trembling. Jill told herself that perhaps she could take the other. It would be horrible but she could take a normal bending-over caning; even, possibly, one with her knickers down. But not that absolutely mortifying prospect of being up on his desk. Please God let Carmen be joking about that.
‘Please say you’re joking,’ Jill pleaded with Carmen that night in her room. They were lying on Jill’s bed, Carmen feeling amorous but Jill not in the mood with that awful possibility filling her mind. Carmen said she wasn’t joking, Señor Guerrero did do it.
‘How can you let him do such a horrible thing? How can your father let him?’
‘Maybe my father does not know. We must not make complaints from school, you know, that is not good behaviour. And anyway my father thinks caning at school is good. So I will become disciplined and then a man will want to marry me. How will you like to be married, Jill, and have your husband on top of you every night?’
Jill wasn’t interested in that sort of talk nor did she want what Carmen’s hand was trying to do. But the hand was very insistent.
Señor Guerrero caned Jill the next day. She was called into his room in the afternoon to be told that she had been reported for arguing with a teacher. Jill hadn’t been arguing. It had been the woman being deliberately awkward, as if she was trying to pick a quarrel. Señor Guerrero methodically cleared one side of his desk, then went to fetch a long whippy cane. The beady eyes were shining.
‘That behaviour cannot be allowed here, Miss Fairfield. Please lie over the desk.’
He grabbed up the full skirt of Jill’s white dress, then fiddled about with her bare legs and her bottom in the brief white nylon knickers, supposedly getting her in the right position. Then the cane came down. Four breath-stopping stinging whips across the taut seat of the skin-tight knickers. It was pretty dreadful but Jill had known he was going to do it and she had told herself she could take it.
Outside, afterwards, she blinked away the tears and surreptitiously rubbed her desperately smarting bottom. It had been dreadful but she could take it. Just as long as...
The next afternoon she was back in Señor Guerrero’s room again. The same reason, that same woman teacher picking on Jill and looking for an argument. Either the woman was a friend of Señor Guerrero or she just liked the thought of the English visitor getting caned. There could be no other explanation. Jill tried to give her version of what happened but the Deputy Head cut her short and didn’t want to hear. He simply started clearing one side of his desk with those pudgy hands as he had done before. And then told her to bend over. Jill’s skirt was yanked up... and then he pulled down her knickers.
Before Jill knew it the cane was stinging in across her bare bottom. Four inflaming whacks. On the bare in spite of Carmen saying he didn’t take them down until the third time.
‘Perhaps he cannot wait,’ was all Carmen could say when Jill told her. ‘Perhaps he could not wait to get to that lovely English bottom.’
Jill still had seven more days at school. Seven days in which Señor Guerrero could do that other fiendish thing.
Please say you’re joking,’ Jill pleaded, yet again.
Carmen gave her an injured look. ‘You don’t like to believe me, I see. OK, I am making a joke.’
Are you? Was it just a joke?’ Jill demanded.
Carmen’s tongue slipped out and moistened the full lips. ‘Yes.’
Now Jill didn’t know what to believe. Miraculously there was no argument with that teacher in the next two days, and no calls to visit Señor Guerrero. At home on the second of those days Carmen and Jill both got a strapping from Carmen’s father for being out late in the evening. After what Jill had been fearing at school she almost welcomed it. It was certainly a big turn-on, like before.
Only five more days at the school.
But the next day, in the morning, Jill realised that that woman was after her again, picking on every little thing. She tried not to respond but the teacher forced her into an argument. In the afternoon Jill was in Señor Guerrero’s office again. The door was closed behind her and she heard the lock click.
Standing there Jill could feel herself perspiring. It was a bit stuffy anyway but essentially it was fear making her sweat. Was it about to happen, that horrible thing? Carmen now said it was all a joke, he didn’t really do that. Jill’s head started going round and round and she felt faint. It was a bit like that funny feeling with Señor Garcia, when she had been beaten for the first time on this Spanish visit. That now seemed like light-years ago.
Señor Guerrero was clearing his desk. Jill looked. Was he clearing one side — or all of it?... He turned, the small eyes glinting behind the glasses. His mouth opened.
‘It is a persistent offence, Miss, so think we must do something a little more unpleasant.’
Jill heard it as if from a great distance, echoing. Had he said it or was it simply in her own mind?
‘So please take off the knickers and get up on the desk. Lie on your back... and raise the legs...’
Jill was shivering. Her knees felt as if they were going to give way. She looked at his bland round face, then looked away. Surely he hadn’t really said it. It was just that she was in such a state that her mind was playing tricks on her.
Señor Guerrero came close and took hold of Jill’s arm. ‘Did you hear me, Miss?’
Numbly she shook her head.
He repeated. ‘I said take off the knickers and get up on the desk. It is my method for serious offenders. Lie on your back. Raise the legs and hold them. I shall cane your bare bottom in that position. Come, please.’

Friday, 23 June 2017

The Hiker’s Friend

Story from Uniform Girls 4
The evening sun dipping behind a row of trees, the distant sound of a dog barking in a farmyard, and no-one within a mile to stumble upon the little tent pitched in a secluded copse.
‘Right, where is it?’ asked Mr Shilton. ‘The Camper’s and Hiker’s Friend. Has anyone seen it?’
Susan who hadn’t been on a camp with Mr Shilton before, who indeed hadn’t done any camping, looked blank. Julie giggled.
‘Wha...what?’ said Susan.
‘The Vaseline, Susan dear. The soother of chafed parts; the protector of potentially sore orifices.’
Susan went bright red. This time both Julie and Angela giggled. Mr Shilton, smiling, stepped closer to Susan. ‘Yes, orifices, Susan darling. You know what orifices are, I presume?’
Her cheeks went even redder. Yes she did know what orifices were. Mr Shilton’s hand reached out and his finger gently rubbed across Susan’s full lips. ‘Lips can get quite sore on a camping trip, Susan. We don’t want pretty Susan to come home with her lips all sore, do we?’
Julie and Angela were giggling again. Julie said, ‘What lips?’ and then ‘Ooouch!’ as Mr Shilton turned quickly round and slapped her bare legs below the tight blue skirt. As Susan watched, wide-eyed, Mr Shilton, saying ‘Naughty girl!’, grabbed Julie and pulled her close up against him. One hand was squeezing her waist and the other quite unashamedly roved over the tight seat of Julie’s short skirt. Julie made squealing sounds but seemed to enjoy what was happening. Susan bit her lip. She was new to this Guide Group and Mr Shilton, in charge, seemed a lot more — well, friendly, — to the girls than Mrs Astbury, who she had had before.
Mr Shilton suddenly stopped grappling with Julie and grabbed Susan’s arm. ‘Come on, Susan; you and I shall search for the Camper’s Friend. You other two get things stowed away in the car.’
There were just the four of them, Mr Shilton and the three girls, and they were going off for a long weekend: three nights. They had two tents. Two girls in one tent and Mr Shilton and one girl in the other. ‘So we each get a night with Mr Shilton,’ Angela had said yesterday when they were getting their things sorted out at the Guide Hut. ‘Unless greedy pig Julie tries to get all three nights!’ At that Julie and Angela who were evidently close friends started wrestling until Miss Burchill, Mr Shilton’s assistant, came in and sorted them out.
Susan had blinked at what Angela had said. She wasn’t at all sure she wanted a night in a tent with Mr Shilton. He was dishy all right if you liked older men — thirtyish probably, tall and good-looking and the other girls were all swoony about him. But the fact that he was attractive made the thought of a night in a tent with him that much more scary.
Now she found herself taken by the hand and marched indoors, into Mr Shilton’s house. They had all three been driven out here to his place by their mothers. A 20 mile drive would get them to where they begin hiking. ‘Upstairs,’ said Mr Shilton, ‘I have a feeling it might be up there.’
He indicated that Susan should go first, quite possibly so that he could admire her bottom as she ascended the stairs in front of him. Like the other two Susan was in blue Guide’s blouse and a blue skirt, together with knee-socks and black shoes. The skirt was short, baring the full length of slightly chubby thighs, and also attractively tight over her plump bottom. Susan’s rear aspect was an extremely stimulating sight. Too stimulating perhaps. Almost immediately she gave a yelp as Mr Shilton’s hand reached out and up.
By the time they had got to the top Susan had emitted several more squeaks, for a girl’s bottom really is at risk when ascending stairs immediately in front of a bottom-keen individual such as Mr Shilton. At the top he delivered a sharp but friendly slap, making the blue cotton wobble.
‘A very nice one, Susan. A very pretty bottom and of course a very pretty girl.’
Susan was an attractive package all right, medium height with all her various bit and pieces firm and well-rounded plus a softly pretty face framed by long well-brushed blonde hair. The Fates had clearly been smiling on Mr Shilton when a week ago her mother had brought her round to the Guide Hut. They had just moved to the town and she was keen for Susan to continue the discipline of guide training.
‘By all means,’ Mr Shilton had welcomed. ‘She can come on the little hike I’m organising for the weekend.’
They crossed the landing to enter a pretty, feminine-looking bedroom. It was a small room but it contained a double bed. On a bedside table, next to two books, there, sure enough, it was. A small jar labelled ‘Vaseline’. Susan’s wide eyes took it in and took in also the two books. The top one was Wild Flowers of Our Countryside. Under it, on the spine of the second book, she read, What a Girl Should Know About Sex. Looking at this and the jar of Vaseline Susan felt the colour flooding to her cheeks.
‘Yes, here we are. I thought so.’ Mr Shilton put his arm round Susan, turning her and gazing into the big blue eyes. ‘I keep this room made up in case a girl wants to stay the night after Guide Work. And it looks as if our little friend has come in here ready to greet any pretty visitor, doesn’t it?’
Susan didn’t answer. It was very disconcerting having Mr Shilton so close and she was also thinking about that scary book, What a Girl Should Know About Sex. Susan didn’t know very much, but she bet the others, Julie and Angela, did. And Mr Shilton of course... And there was the little friend... That jar... The way they had giggled...
‘Sorry-s-sorry, but it hurts! Really it does!’
‘Don’t worry, my dear, you cry all you want: there’s no-one to hear you — now, just lift your bottom up a little bit more —
Mr Shilton sat abruptly down on the bed. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Now we’ve found him he’d better do his job, hadn’t he? All those little parts that can get sore.’ His hand came out and slid lightly onto Susan’s thigh. He gave it a pinch and then his fingers went up to the blue cotton skirt.
‘Here,’ he said. ‘This is where you can get quite a bit of chafing. All around where the knickers stop. They can start cutting into sensitive parts when you’ve walked a few miles. Shall we have a look? Slip your skirt down, Susan dear.’
Susan blinked, wide-eyed.
‘The skirt, Susan. Slip it down. Or shall I...’
Susan made a squeaky sound. But you couldn’t argue with Mr Shilton, could you? Especially if you were a new girl. She undid the popper and then the zip. Mr Shilton pulled the skirt down. Pink nylon knickers, tight and quite brief. This time it was a spluttery sort of gasp as Mr Shilton’s finger traced the taut edge where it cut diagonally up from the swelling central bulge to the hip bone.
‘There,’ he said. ‘There’s where a girl can get problems. And here as well.’ The fingers came suddenly down and pushed in between Susan’s legs, where the pink nylon stretched over that soft bulge. ‘Right here.’
Susan’s knees felt as if they had turned to jelly.
‘Slip them down,’ he said, ‘and lie on the bed. On your back with your knees up. Then we’ll see if our little friend can do his job.’
Somehow Susan was up on the bed with her skirt and knickers off and her knees up. Mr Shilton’s accomplished fingers smoothly applying the Hiker’s Friend to where the knickers might chafe. Sweating, Susan stared fixedly at the ceiling, her two hands desperately grasping handfuls of bedspread. She simply wasn’t used to anything like this. There had never been anything of this sort at that other Guide Group with Mrs Astbury...
She gave a sudden shudder. Mr Shilton’s finger, fully laden with Hiker’s Friend, had moved from the side, where the edges of her knickers went, to the centre. The very centre. A girl’s very central super-sensitive spot.
‘And here,’ said Mr Shilton. ‘Right here. A girl wouldn’t want to get sore here.’ The finger went in... and out... and then repeated its action... ‘There.
‘I bet it was in the bedroom all the time,’ smirked Angela. ‘And I bet Mr Shilton knew it was there.’
Susan was back down with Angela in Mr Shilton’s car, though not too sure how she had got there, not sure that her legs could possibly have transported her. Julie was in the house now, upstairs.
‘Mr Shilton’s naughty, isn’t he?’ Angela was continuing. ‘What about at your other group. You had a lady Guider you said. What was she like?’
Susan shook her head. She felt all woozy. ‘Uh... OK... She knew a lot... about knots.’
Knots?’ Angela sounded incredulous. ‘Cripes! That’s really boring. I hope Mr Shilton’s not going to be too long with Julie. Julie’s a bit naughty at times, you know.’ She giggled and reached her hand across, to the silky bare surface of Susan’s thigh. ‘Got the Vaseline on, have you? That Hiker’s Friend. Don’t you think Mr Shilton’s super!’
Susan wasn’t in a state for thinking anything really. What had happened had been just too much. The hand on her thigh squeezed gently. ‘What about that lady Guider who knew all about knots? Was she pretty? What d’you think of Miss Burchill? She’s pretty, isn’t she? She’s 23. She’s got a really good figure too.’ Angela giggled again. ‘She’s got a lot of black hair on her thing. Like Julie, only more than Julie.’
Susan pictured Miss Burchill, Assistant Guider, who was an attractive brunette. In what circumstances had Angela seen her... her thing?
‘Is yours blonde or more brown?’ queried Angela, fingers tracing little patterns on Susan’s silky flesh. ‘I suspect Mr Shilton had a good look, when he was putting on the Hiker’s Friend.’
Susan swallowed. Yes, Mr Shilton had had a good look. And not only a look. She put her hand over Angela’s which was now at the top of her leg scarily close to where Mr Shilton’s hand had so mind-bogglingly been. Susan thought again of that book, What a Girl Should Know About Sex.
‘Have you ever... er...  stayed with Mr Shilton? I mean for the night?’
‘Oh yes; of course. Don’t worry, you’ll get to stay. When you’re doing Special Instruction.’
‘Special Instruction. You know: Sex Instruction silly. Hasn’t your mother got you down for that?’
‘N...nooo. I don’t think so.’
‘She will. Mr Shilton will have a talk with her. She doesn’t want her daughter to learn all that stuff from a lot of ignorant boys, does she? That’s what he’ll say. You’ll start with Miss Burchill: the basics. And then the more advanced, well intermediate and advanced, will be with Mr Shilton. Julie and I are doing advanced at the moment. That’s partly why we’re on this camp, so we can do some practising with Mr Shilton.’
Susan shook her head; it was too much. That was what that scary book was for. And what about the little jar, the Hiker’s Friend, the contents of which Mr Shilton had used so mind-zappingly. Could that be used for anything else? For the moment Susan forgot Angela’s hand and let go. It took quick advantage of its freedom to firmly goose Susan between her legs.
Susan’s squeal was joined by Angela’s high-pitched giggle. At this point the car door opened. It was Julie, smiling smugly. ‘What’s going on here?’
Twenty minutes later they were off, after Angela in turn had gone in the house with Mr Shilton. Julie in the front, Susan in the back seat with Angela. Susan looked out of the window but she didn’t see anything, or at least didn’t see what was out there. What she could see in her mind was Mr Shilton’s bedroom with that double bed, and tonight and the next two nights: tents. One night herself and Mr Shilton together in a tent. The Hiker’s Friend; would that need to be applied again? To go with all this there was now this new mind-zapper. Special Instruction.
In no time at all, it seemed, they were there. A little car park on the edge of the open moorland. ‘Here we are,’ Mr Shilton told them. ‘From here on it’s walking. And we shouldn’t have any complaints about sore nooks and crannies, should we?’
They clambered out and Mr Shilton opened the boot to get their things. It was just 3 o’clock, a hot July afternoon. Julie, groaning, said, ‘Oh Mr Shilton, we’ll be really sweating.’ He smacked her bottom and told her to get moving. They put on their rucksacks and then set out, along a track which led out onto the open moor.
It was hot with the sun beating down and with your rucksack on, and they were soon sweating. The girls of course had smaller rucksacks than Mr Shilton but then they naturally weren’t as strong. Julie and Angela were groaning a bit but keeping up the pace all right. Susan felt like groaning but thought it best to keep quiet. They must have walked for two hours, with only little rests, when they came to a small lake. After all that hard slog it looked heavenly.
Mr Shilton, after clamouring from Julie and Angela, agreed that they could stay there. He told them to put up the tents and then as they were all sweaty they could have a swim. None of the girls had brought swimsuits but Mr Shilton said that didn’t matter, it was quite private and also Guiders were supposed to be resourceful etc. Mr Shilton as it happened had brought his swim shorts.
Susan was not at all happy about swimming without a suit but it would be lovely and cooling. Shyly she stripped down to her bra and pink knickers — only to see that the other two girls were stripping to the bare. Hooting, they grabbed her and before you knew it, Susan was starkers too.
Angela yelped, ‘Look; she has got a real blonde one!’ Mr Shilton was all eyes even though he had seen it before in his bedroom. Scarlet-faced, Susan made a wild dash for the water. It felt freezing at first but at least her pink-nippled boobs, her bum and her downy blonde thing were hidden.
They larked about in the water, the three of them and Mr Shilton, who of course had his swim shorts on. They were brief blue ones, bulging out in front in a very scary and exciting way. He grabbed the girls, including Susan, and that wet bulge rubbed up against her in a way that took her breath away. She thought of being with Mr Shilton in his tent. She wanted to go home — but at the same time didn’t want to.
Tonight, though, it wasn’t Mr Shilton, it was Angela Susan was sharing with and Julie was going in Mr Shilton’s tent. ‘She would,’ laughed Angela when at 9 o’clock Mr Shilton said they might as well turn in and get a good night’s rest. Susan shivering, wondered if Julie was going to get a good night’s rest. In their tent Angela said, ‘Come on, let’s zip the sleeping bags together; then it’ll be nice and cosy.’
Was this normal Guide practice? Susan thought nervously of Angela’s hand which had goosed her between her legs in the car — and had also had a quick feel when she and Julie were grabbing Susan’s bra and pants off when they went in the water. ‘Come on,’ urged Angela, spreading out the sleeping bags. ‘Mr Shilton’s and Julie’s will be zipped together, you can bet on that. But then she is getting some Special Instruction, isn’t she.’
Cripes! Susan felt dizzy. ‘Do… do your mothers really know all about this? The Special Instruction?’
Angela gave one of her giggles. ‘Well, not completely. They think Miss Burchill does all the instructing but, like Mr Shilton says, it needs a man to really show you what’s what. That’s obvious, isn’t it? But our mothers don’t know that. Mothers can be a bit silly, can’t they? So you’ll be sworn to secrecy; Guide’s Honour and everything. Now come on, let’s get in bed.’
Angela was stripped down to brief knickers by this time. She had a trim figure, slimmer than Susan, her boobs firm apples compared to Susan’s which were more like good-sized oranges. The oranges were briefly on display as Susan stripped off and then reached for her pink pyjamas.
No!’ cried Angela. ‘You don’t need pyjamas on. It’s too hot.’ Angela’s own blue knickers were now off and she slid nude into the double sleeping bag. ‘No pyjamas and get in here.’
A brief hesitation and then Susan abandoned the pyjamas and climbed shivering in after Angela. She thought of Mr Shilton. Did he not wear anything in his sleeping bag? But Angela was talking of Miss Burchill.
‘She does do some of the Special Instruction of course. She starts you off, you could say. Miss Burchill is pretty hot stuff in bed. She said to me: Angela, you adorable creature, I’m going to suck your nectar.’
Susan blinked. What did that mean? Some sort of French kissing. Or... no, she refused to consider anything else.
‘Yes, she’s really swoony,’ breathed Angela. ‘But naturally it’s not the same as with a man, like Mr Shilton,’ she giggled. ‘So of course you need Mr Shilton for your Intermediate and Advanced. Me and Julie are on our Advanced right now. Julie will get it tonight and I’ll get it tomorrow. And then the last night, well, I wouldn’t be surprised if Mr Shilton wanted to go right up to Intermediate with you even though you haven’t had the basics with Miss Burchill. Cos he’s awfully keen on Special Instruction is Mr Shilton and he won’t want to miss the opportunity.’
Susan’s head was in a real spin and she could only weakly protest as Angela rolled on top of her. Susan struggled but Angela was quite strong. She pinned Susan’s arms down at her sides and then came down in full front-to-front contact. Firm apples squashing down onto equally firm oranges. Angela gave a throaty growl and then was forcing her tongue into Susan’s mouth, at the same time writhing and rubbing her bare body on top of Susan. Susan thought she was going to suffocate.
After some extended writhing and kissing Angela got off. Her voice was thick and croaky. ‘I can show you some of the basics, Susan. First we have to see if you’re producing your nectar.’ A hand went down, to where Mr Shilton’s hand had applied the Hiker’s Friend. Fingers did delicate practised things; things that brought a groaning squeal from Susan.
‘Oh yes, Susan, your hormones are working. Now you do it to me too.’ Her voice was low and urgent. ‘Come on. This is really the first lesson of basics.’
Susan didn’t really want to but she did. Actually this first lesson of basics was something she had done before a couple of times, with an older girl at her other school. Then as now she didn’t think she should do it but once you started it did get you going and you didn’t want to stop.
Susan thought of Mr Shilton in that other tent a few yards away. And Julie at this moment getting her session of Advanced Special Instruction? She thought again of the Hiker’s Friend and Mr Shilton’s words: ‘We can’t have sore orifices on a camping trip, Susan darling. You do know what orifices are, I presume?’ Yes she did. Angela’s fingers were now working in a steady stroking rhythm that threatened to blow Susan’s mind right out of her head — while her own fingers almost with a will of their own were similarly at work on Angela. Susan pictured Mr Shilton’s tightly bulging swim shorts. Her breath hissed out between clenched teeth.
Angela was now softly moaning. A few yards away in that other tent there were similar but more urgent moans from Julie. Interspersed with deeper, more masculine grunts.