From New Blushes Uniform Girls 2.05
A discreet brass plate on the white door in the quiet, affluent street in London’s outer West End: Julian Kingford Associates. In the up-market ‘county’ magazine the advertisement had been somewhat more forthcoming. Julian Kingford Associates: Young ladies’ training and tuition undertaken. On the phone Mr Kingford himself had been extremely encouraging. Elizabeth Simpkins smiled reassuringly at her daughter and firmly pressed the brass bell.
In the outer office was a brunette young lady with a charming smile and very large breasts contained in a simple but expensive looking cream silk shirt. The breasts were undoubtedly larger than Susan’s, Mrs Simpkins thought, but Susan nonetheless had an excellent figure and moreover was quite as pretty as this assured young receptionist. All Susan needed was a little poise and self-confidence — training in other words — which hopefully Julian Kingford Associates could provide. Then there would be excellent, well paid jobs or alternatively a good marriage. Mr Kingford on the phone had been most encouraging when told that yes, Susan was a pretty girl.
The young woman had gone into the inner office and now returned, smiling her charming smile and with the big, lightly-brassiered breasts swaying heavily in a manner that no doubt many men would find attractive, though, as far as Elizabeth Simpkins was concerned they were frankly too big. She gave her daughter another reassuring smile as they rose. Susan was 18 and had just left school.
She was a very attractive girl and she wasn’t stupid. It was largely nervousness that had resulted in her poor exam results, and also of course those teachers weren’t all that good. But with that and living in a small provincial town, well, for a while Elizabeth and her husband had wondered just what Susan was going to do. They certainly didn’t want her to finish up as a common shop girl or something of that sort. But then by chance Elizabeth had seen that ad in glossy Country Life that was full of confident public school-educated girls on horses or in expensive evening gowns.
Julian Kingford rose to greet his two visitors. Smoothly handsome, fiftyish, in his immaculately cut grey suit, a gentleman, undoubtedly, in this gentleman’s leather-furnished, old-hunting print bedecked room. Showing his two lady visitors to the sofa by the window. A moment as he rang for coffee: not something he always did but this girl was promising. Just the type that Julian Kingford Associates — and Julian Kingford himself — could do something with. And undoubtedly derive great pleasure in the process.
Mother and daughter had a smooth discourse on what could be done for Susan. Great things. She was a splendidly attractive girl and all she needed was a little gloss and also, ah, discipline no doubt. Gloss and discipline were things one did not get at today’s comprehensive schools, but a girl could have these imparted afterwards. All was certainly not lost at 18.
Susan and her mother listened enthralled. Mr Kingford continued with his inspirational message while Charlene, the spectacularly-titted receptionist, quietly brought in coffee and then exited. It all seemed almost too good to be true. Elizabeth Simpkins thanked her lucky stars that she had happened on that ad. The only thing was.... money. Payment. But it seemed even that was not a problem. Not for a girl like Susan who was such a lovely young lady. Julian Kingford’s experienced eye had been going carefully over her. She might not have Charlene’s magnificent tits but otherwise from what one could see her shape was excellent. In particular he had noted that her bottom in that tight skirt was quite splendid and really in spite of Charlene’s tits Julian Kingford was something of a bottom man. No, there was no need to bother about mundane matters like payment at the moment. At the end of her period of training perhaps...
Mr Kingford was keen to start at once or, to be reasonable, on the very next day at least. Susan would stay initially at his flat in town so he would be able to give her his full undivided attention. After that some of the other Associates would take over, having her in turn for a few days each. So that altogether Susan would have the benefit of close personal contact with a succession of the most sophisticated men in town. With this sort of personal training how could she fail to get that polish and gloss that a girl needed to make the most of herself nowadays? Polish and gloss that discipline brought too.
Susan and her mother went off in a euphoric state. Julian Kingford as they left was in a somewhat excited state as well. He called in Charlene. Sitting with her employer on the sofa that young lady complacently allowed her silk shirt to be unbuttoned and then the strap of her lightweight bra to be unfastened. Julian Kingford reflectively stroked the magnificent mammary glands, bringing the large, responsive nipples into hardened erection; but this, perhaps not surprisingly, did not have any calming effect and served only to increase his sense of arousal.
So Charlene was accordingly required to accept what she was not at all keen on accepting because it was decidedly painful; but nonetheless if you were in receipt of a very generous salary, more than you could get anywhere else, you were not going to demur. Charlene’s hands went obediently up under her full skirt to her brief knickers. To draw them down and then hoist her skirt and bend herself face down over Mr Kingford’s desk. Mr Kingford, eyes gleaming, flexed his cane.
Susan Simpkins got her first taste of that same cane the next afternoon. In Julian Kingford’s splendid London flat. It was the first time Susan had experienced any cane, girls nowadays at comprehensive schools do not normally receive that particular form of punishment and certainly not on the bare bottom. So the shock effect on poor Susan can only be imagined.
It came right after a pleasant lunch prepared by Mr Kingford’s housekeeper. Susan had arrived mid-morning by taxi after a night at home scarcely able to sleep a wink. These sudden developments were not easy for a girl’s mind to take. She was shown her room and then poured a glass of champagne by Mr Kingford. To celebrate the start of her training.
Over the fizzy ice-cold champagne Mr Kingford spoke more about the training, though not really in any detail. But she would be going out and about in London and visiting exclusive places to develop her self-confidence. And there would also be ‘disciplinary training’. A girl needed disciplinary training so that she could learn to discipline herself. It was this disciplinary training that the cane was a start of. The cane which Mr Kingford produced right after that delicious light lunch. Susan was to lift her skirt and slip down her knickers and bend over the seat of an upright chair. Mr Kingford intended to cane her bare bottom.
It would be difficult indeed to describe the extent of Susan’s shocked state. He couldn’t mean it. But Mr Kingford made it quite clear that he did. Susan weakly shook her head, her mind nonetheless incapable of accepting the situation. Not the cane on her bare bottom. But her mother had stressed that with the marvels that Mr Kingford could offer, Susan was to follow every instruction and do exactly as Mr Kingford said. Her mother couldn’t have anticipated this. No. But....
Julian Kingford’s eyes agleam and riveted on the threshing ripe buttocks as the bent over girl fought to handle it. Oh my! Susan’s bottom fulfilled all that rich promise shown by yesterday’s tight smart skirt. A real beauty. Ripe but firm. Twin moons of palely gleaming flesh now transversely crossed by a single pair of tight red tramlines. Oh yes...
Cutting the cane sharply in a second time. Just below the first line of impact. More frantic yelps but she was hanging on, taking it. Good girl. The cane raised again.
‘Very, very good, my dear.’ Julian Kingford’s soothing voice. The sobbing, shaking girl still bottom up over the chair. ‘A little noisy perhaps but that is only to be expected the first time. Other than that you took it very well.’
Susan trying to stand, trying to pull up her knickers and tights. Was it possible what had just happened? Was this quite excruciating pain possible? Maybe it was a nightmare?
No, it had happened, was happening. It might feel like a nightmare but it was merely her first disciplinary lesson with Mr Kingford. In her room a little later, Mr Kingford’s caressing tones repeating that she had done very well. But now they had to build on that first lesson. Susan must take off her dress and also the knickers and tights that she had just pulled up again. Tights anyway were an abomination on pretty young ladies; it had to be nylons and a suspender belt. And as for knickers... knickers were not needed, not with the special dress that she was now going to wear. Mr Kingford smiling. It was a very special dress. A special uniform really. To teach a girl self-control and discipline.
A clinging jersey-knit dress in ivory. Its special nature was not apparent until Susan had it on. Only then could you actually see.... that at the back... it was cut away. Not your back but... your bottom. Where your bottom was the dress was scooped out — to leave the cheeks of your bottom virtually fully exposed. That was why Mr Kingford had said ‘no knickers’ so that Susan’s bottom would be quite bare.
‘An excellent exercise in discipline, Susan. You must be quite natural in it, standing and walking and generally acting normally. As if there was nothing unusual about the dress. You must be able to ignore the fact that your bottom is bare. It is a quite excellent test of self-discipline.’
Susan had put the dress on, unaware until she had it on... Mr Kingford’s hand as he spoke was at the exposed cheeks as they protruded roundly from the cut out. Her bare bottom, so recently devastated by that cane and still bearing its stripes, being fondled by Mr Kingford’s hand. She stood in her high heels on knees that felt like rubber. Under his keen gaze she had had to put on nylons and a suspender belt. But no knickers. It wasn’t possible. This dress....
Mr Kingford, his hand still busy behind her, was now saying that one of his friends was shortly coming round. One of the Associates: Mr Tenby. Susan would of course have the dress on for his visit and it would be her first proper test in it. To act quite normally....
‘No!’ she yelped. ‘No I can’t!’
She couldn’t. Her mother had said nothing about any of this sort of thing, this sort of training. But of course Mr Kingford hadn’t specified what the training would be. And her mother had said....
Susan was with Mr Kingford in his drawing room when Mr Tenby arrived. In the awful dress and the unfamiliar nylons and suspender belt and with no knickers, plus a pair of pink high heels. Feeling sick. Standing on those still rubbery knees and facing the door of course so that when he first came in he couldn’t see. But Mr Tenby, who was about Mr Kingford’s age but not as handsome as him, was going to see. He was bound to. And he was clearly meant to by Mr Kingford. That was the training part: to let Mr Tenby see her bare bottom while at the same time acting normally as if it wasn’t there exposed and on show.
Mr Kingford introducing her to this friend. ‘Our charming new trainee; my new house guest....’ Shaking hands with Mr Tenby and feeling sick as his eyes went over her. And then, just so that everyone did know what was what: ‘Isn’t she lovely? A lovely girl. Turn round, Susan. So that Mr Tenby can see...’
Turning because Mr Kingford was turning her. As if in a bad dream. So that Mr Tenby could see her bare bottom. Standing there but wanting desperately to disappear, to shrink to nothing, to the size of a fly. But she wasn’t, she was Susan Simpkins, 5’ 7” and well built, with what at times she considered an over-generous bottom. Standing still as Mr Tenby gazed at those luminous cheeks. Making appreciative comments. And then a hand. Mr Tenby’s hand.
The bad dream continued. Mr Kingford asking her to go to the sideboard and pour some wine: the white, in the refrigerated compartment; the tall glasses. Susan who wasn’t a tiny fly but was 5’ 7” and felt perhaps twice as big making herself do it: walk across the room, pink stiletto heels in the deep pile carpet. Conscious only of the two men’s eyes following. Her bare bottom unavoidably swaying. The two full cheeks trembling, jiggling.
At the sideboard having to bend down to get the wine out. Bend down so that her bare bottom was thrust solidly out at them. In the sick-making bad dream the cold bottle slid from her hand onto the floor. Not breaking but she had to bend even further to retrieve it.
Somehow Susan managed to pour the wine and carry the tray of glasses back to them. ‘Thank you, dear,’ said Mr Kingford. ‘She really is a lovely charming girl, isn’t she, Henry? And such an enticing bottom.’
They drank the wine, Susan not wanting any, feeling like she would throw up if she drank it but forcing herself to take some tiny sips. Mr Kingford was saying that Mr Tenby was one of the Associates and Susan would be spending some time with him after her stay with himself. Mr Tenby who had a slightly frog-like look said, ‘Oh yes, indeed. In fact I think I must be the next on the list.’
He was going to have to leave soon but, smiling his frog-like smile at Mr Kingford, Mr Tenby said what he would like to do first. He would like to spank Susan’s bottom. Mr Kingford said, ‘Of course Henry. All part of her disciplinary training.’
She gasped ‘No! Please!’ and more of the same but they were not going to listen. Mr Kingford told her not to be silly it was part of her training. Susan wanting to scream and run out, into her room and grab her own dress on, and then run out to the lift and down and out, away, home. They were just tormenting her, humiliating her. But she couldn’t. There were anyway, two of them. And even if she did go home and tell her mother these awful things Susan could see her mother still possibly saying she should do it: go along with what they wanted, if it was going to get her a good job.
Still protesting she was being made to get down over Mr Tenby’s lap as he sat on the sofa. Her face down close to that thick carpet and her bare bottom arched up over Mr Tenby’s lap. His creepy hand toying with the warm flesh. And then crisply spanking. Hard spanks that really hurt, especially with her bottom still sore from that caning. But perhaps even worse than the sharp pain was the fact that this awful thing was happening. Bent over this man’s lap in this awful dress and having him do this dreadful, humiliating thing to her.
Mr Tenby left. Susan was permitted to go to her room. In the mirror her face was a mess, eyes red from crying again, she hadn’t been able to help it, and her hair everywhere from having her head upside down and desperately struggling about and she hadn’t been able to help that either. On her bed was her own proper, pretty dress — and her knickers and tights. But she wasn’t to be allowed to put them back on. No definitely not, Mr Kingford had said when she had plaintively asked. She had to keep on this awful dress with the bottom cut out: her training uniform, Mr Kingford called it. Susan had to keep it on all day. Barely managing to keep from crying again Susan did what she could to her face and hair. Back out in the drawing room Mr Kingford said, ‘Now I think we’ll go out. The next stage in training. First your special dress in the privacy of the flat, to give you confidence, and then we venture out into the wide world. Out into the hustle of our capital.’
What did he mean? He couldn’t mean...? Yes, Mr Kingford did mean that. They were to go out and Susan was going to walk in the streets in her bottomless dress. ‘Without a coat naturally,’ Mr Kingford added. ‘The next step in training a girl in self-control and confidence. When she can do that we are clearly getting somewhere.’
She must be in a proper nightmare now. That was just the sort of thing you found yourself doing in nightmares: walking in the street with no clothes on, with your bottom bare. He couldn’t mean it. I...I’ll get arrested, she stammered weakly. And surely you would get arrested.
Mr Kingford said not necessarily. He smiled. Not if there wasn’t a policeman about. He would be watching out for that. The first test was anyway only to be a short walk. He was going to drive her to a spot opposite his office building and then Susan would have to walk from there into the main entrance. Just a short walk but it was an area where there would be people about and she had to do it properly. Not rush or run but walk in a sedate, ladylike manner. As if she didn’t have her bottom quite bare.
He couldn’t make her do that. No...
A big modern office building, the front mostly glass. Susan looking out at it with wide, disbelieving eyes. Disbelieving that she was sitting here in the back seat of Mr Kingford’s expensive car behind the peaked cap of his chauffeur and that... ‘I can’t...’ she breathed.
There seemed to be hundreds of people about. Not surprisingly for it was still in the middle of the day, late afternoon, and Monday, a working day. All those people. And as soon as she got out of the car they would all see her. Susan had a light coat on at the moment, Mr Kingford allowing her to put it on to go out to the car. But now, for her test, it had to come off. ‘I can’t!’ she whispered again.
‘Of course you can, my dear. And let’s do it right now, there’s no one about or no one to worry about.’ His hand at her shoulders slipping the coat off. And then reaching across to open the door. ‘Go on, Susan,’ an authoritative hiss.
She was out. In the bright afternoon sunlight. In the dress with no coat and no knickers. Her bottom feeling cool... The high pink stilettos on the pavement. She was going to faint, fall over in the street. Because she couldn’t... but she was somehow walking. To the front of the car where Mr Kingford’s chauffeur would have a full view. Walking across… heels clip-clop. They would all be looking at her. Gawping. And at any moment a policeman... but she couldn’t really see the people. It was like being in a trance. Her legs working automatically. Stumbling slightly at the curb. And then….
Somehow Susan was inside the building, in the foyer behind all that glass. She hadn’t thought this far, hadn’t thought beyond that mind-bending walk outside. But there was someone, the uniformed doorman, who seemed to have been warned. Waiting for her evidently and now, grinning broadly, ushering Susan quickly into his room before her appearance could cause too many coronaries.
In that little room the trauma of what she had had to do suddenly got to her. Hands on the desk for support she began silently weeping. The doorman making sounds of commiseration. His arm going round her. Then, as Susan continued to sob, his hand sliding down. She was too far gone to really notice. The hand shyly at her bare bottom. He only stopped when Mr Kingford came in.
Mr Kingford had Susan’s coat and slipped it round her, then led her out to the car. Numb, she heard him say she had done very well. Back to the flat and then a lie down, a rest. Because Mr Kingford said he was going to take her out in the evening: the theatre. Yes wearing the same dress. Her training uniform. Lying on the bed, on her back, that numb feeling still, Mr Kingford sitting on the side and telling her. The theatre. Her next test. All this had to be some kind of awful dream. An awful dream that went on and on.
Later on in the car again. In the back seat with Mr Kingford. That same peak-capped head in front. Darker now: dusk. Lights just coming on. She had the dress on again. Again, because earlier she had taken it off to have a shower. Or rather Mr Kingford had taken it off and then helped her; drying and dressing again. Her shoes were black now but still very high stilettos. And not the tan nylons but the black ones and a black suspender belt. A black cape with the dress, but the cape was only short, reaching to her waist. So that...
Mr Kingford was leaning forward and telling the chauffeur there was plenty of time and he should stop and park somewhere. And a little later they were parked. Quite dark but a sudden light now and then as a car passed. In a bright flicker Mr Kingford smiling and saying that he had meant to give her ‘a little warming up’ before they left but it had slipped his mind. And so therefore....
In the parked car Susan being pulled over Mr Kingford’s lap. Face down. Her bare bottom up and the chauffeur no doubt able to see in his mirror. Lights of cars going by in this awful dream. In the dream Mr Kingford toying with the ripe bare flesh. And then spanking.
Splat!!... Splat!!... Splat!!... Splat!!...
At last the spanking finishing. Susan being helped up, to sit on the leather seat again, on her now hot bottom. Mr Kingford telling the chauffeur to drive on, it was time now. Out in the traffic. The lights brighter, and very shortly they would be there. The dazzling lights of the West End. And Susan in her bad dream, her nightmare, would be getting out of the car into the dazzling lights in her black stilettos and elegant black cape that reached only to her waist. And her dress that had no bottom to it. Her awful training uniform. And all those people...