A YSS story from Uniform Girls 12
The morning on the moor had been bleak, dark scudding clouds and a driving wind with every now and then cold rain. A July day but you wouldn’t have thought it, so my spirits surged when I came round the side of the hill and saw the low white building with smoke blowing this way and that from its chimney. My pace quickened for it was marked on the map: Inn.
Yes, a heaven-sent release from the elements when I opened the stout door and closed it behind me. I took off my anorak, shaking it. A cheerful room, a bar at one side, a bright fire opposite. The room’s occupants, three middle-aged men, one of them behind the bar, had turned to the door, seemingly expectant looks on their faces. The barman smiled.
‘Good day, sir, and welcome. Though I must say we was expecting something else when that door opened.’
‘Something a bit more spicy,’ offered one of the others, ‘begging your pardon. Though I imagine they’ll be in shortly.’ He cackled. ‘Two nice little drowned rats.’
I ordered a drink and a pie, then looked enquiringly. I didn’t know the area, a remote corner of Yorkshire, and their remarks had been cryptic to say the least. My querying look was picked up by the one who had not yet spoken.
‘Girls. Two girlies. From the institution.’
Like the others he had the local accent. What he said did, after a second, ring a faint bell. Hadn’t I heard somewhere of institutions for young people? Training institutions for boys, and also for girls. And come to think of it I had heard that they were situated in remote areas. Dartmoor, Scotland... Yorkshire.
The first customer confirmed this. ‘Two of ‘em been made to do a hike ‘ere and back, every day this week. We’re four miles from their place and they got to check in ‘ere to prove they done the course. ‘Ere an’ back that’s eight miles, poor little darlins. I reckon today they’ll be right exhausted.’
His companion cackled. ‘Too whacked out to struggle, I reckon. Though I likes a little struggle meself.’
‘How old are these girls?’ I queried, experiencing a tingle of excitement. It sounded as if they might be subjected to... well, horseplay when they arrived.
Customer Number Two gave a large wink. ‘Old enough. Just old enough I would say. Would you say that, Harold?’
The barman said he would. ‘Old enough to know what it’s all about. Old enough not to like ‘avin’ their bums smacked certainly.’
More cackling, and more anticipatory remarks about the girls. In between they asked about the visitor. Was I from London? On holiday? I was on holiday and from the south though not London. It seemed that one of the two girls was from London. ‘That blondie: Julie.’
Just then the door opened, letting in a gust of wind plus two figures in yellow oilskins. The two locals were immediately on their feet. Yes, it was the two girls, though all that could be seen of them was two pert pink faces below yellow sou’westers and between the knee-length oil-skin coats and yellow wellies equally pink knees.
These outer garments (except the wellies) were immediately stripped off them. Yes it was two girls all right, slim young things, a blonde and a brunette, in white sweaters and denim shorts. The shorts though...
I blinked, not at first able to believe my eyes. But they were not deceiving me. Each tight pair of shorts had two round pieces cut out of the seat, one on either side. Pieces the size of... well, the size of a girl’s buttock because that was what was pinkly protruding on either side of the central blue strip. Each girl’s bottom was effectively bare for there was no sign of knickers underneath.
I could clearly see the bare bottoms though it was not a completely uninterrupted view. For the two men having stripped the girls of their oilskins were laughingly grabbing at the pink bare cheeks and joined in this now by the barman. Three pairs of male hands grabbing at the jiggling bare bums, not to mention other, covered, parts, pert young tits, crotches, etc. I watched with my heart pounding. The girls ineffectually trying to fend them off, but it was ineffectual for their tormentors were three grown men and as had been predicted the girls did look exhausted from their trek in that foul weather.
As I watched, and as the girls continued to protest weakly, the white sweaters went the same way as the oil-skins i.e. they were stripped off. Nothing underneath, as there seemed to be nothing under those bottom-baring shorts. Firm young tits bobbing barely now as well as the bottoms. Yes it really was difficult to believe my eyes.
Nude now except for the shorts and their wellies the girls were subjected to further manhandling, but eventually their tormentors did ease off. They were permitted to sit down by the fire and given drinks. The three men drew up chairs with them and I was invited to do likewise. I got up from my seat over by the window, conscious as I did so of a new tightness at the front of my trousers.
The half-nude girls did their best to cover their pretty tits while glancing at me in particular, the stranger, with embarrassed eyes. I could still scarcely believe my eyes. Those shorts especially! It was the shorts I asked about when, as it were, I could find my tongue. Were they not... unusual?
The barman laughed. ‘Those’re their punishment shorts, aren’t they, girls? Naughty girls at the institution have to have their bums ready for the cane at all times. Eh Julie?’ He reached out and squeezed the blonde’s thigh. ‘An’ quite right too.’
I commenced to ask some questions — while I must admit unable to take my eyes off the girls’ tits which they could not completely conceal. They were both quite slim, though Julie was the taller of the two. The other one, April, with short dark brown hair, had slightly larger tits, with dark red nipples. To tell the truth I would have loved to get my hands on either pair — not to mention those jiggling bare cheeks they were at present sitting on.
In answer to my query it seemed that Julie was in for a six-month stay and April for three months. They had both spent only two weeks of this so far. I was told that bottom-less shorts were issued to all new arrivals and they could be caned in these shorts by the staff virtually at will. After one month they would graduate to skirts and knickers if their behaviour warranted it. Talking at meal times had apparently earned these two their eight mile hikes; this together with the bottomless shorts seemed to speak of a quite draconian regime.
I was gradually getting over my initial shock and I could feel a keen desire to have another look at the rear of their shorts. Perhaps my companions sensed this. At any rate Julie was told to stand up and let me have a proper look. She was not keen but was hauled to her feet anyway, and turned to present her bottom to me. Earlier I had been across the other side of the room but now it was here within inches of my face. The front of my trousers again came under strain.
‘Have a feel,’ invited Harold.
I did, tentatively at first and then more firmly. Gripping, jiggling, one buttock and then the other, assuming a nonchalance I did not feel.
‘Give ‘er a smack bum,’ suggested Sam, one of the other two. ‘They need plenty of that. Get ‘er over your lap.’
Was I hearing correctly? Yes I was. Julie gave a yelp of protest but she was being lifted and placed face-down and bare bottom up across my thighs. I had not recently spanked a girl but it is not a difficult task, especially when the subject is being held at either end by enthusiastic accomplices. My hand started splatting down, quite hard as I thought; but was quickly urged to do it much harder. ‘Make t’young lass feel it.’ etc.
And I think I did make her feel it if the agonised yelps were anything to go by. I soon had those trim globes glowing like polished red tomatoes.
Halfway through, my helper holding onto Julie’s legs, Norman, let go. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him go to April. Norman and Harold pulling her to her feet. She was going to get the same as Julie. In fact worse you could say for in spite of the fact that the cheeks of April’s bottom were bare they were taking her shorts down.
April, shorts down round her knees, was bent over Harold’s lap. I had just about finished with Julie and Sam now took her from me. He pulled her shorts down as well. All three men proceeded to take a turn with each girl. Vigorously spanking their bottoms and also groping. And yes, I could see that there was some advantage to be had in having the girls’ shorts off.
At last they let up. The gasping girls had to get back. Indeed they may have felt that their four mile trek back through the foul weather was to be preferred to any further stay with us — except that when they did return it seemed there would be the cane waiting for them. Anyway it was shorts back up and sweaters on again, and then the oilskins.
Harold grinning, said, ‘See you tomorrow, girls,’ and opened the door on the still blowing gale.
We settled back by the fire with some more pints. The talk naturally was of the girls and the institution. It was Sam who said it. ‘If you got a few weeks to spare you could have a right good time. They’re looking for a bit of help over there, temporary like.’
By ‘over there’ he meant, of course, the institution. And as it happened...
The story continues in Grangemoor Routines from Uniform Girls 13.