From Blushes 29
|A resentful look|
Lying in the snug little bed under the pink-and-white duvet, looking up at the shadowed white ceiling. Was that rain she could hear against the curtained window? Could it be, after that idyllic day yesterday? Idyllic outside at least. Inside, here in Mr McAirdley’s pretty little cottage… No, playing Chinese Checkers according to Mr McAirdley’s rules was not idyllic. Moira squirmed under the snug covers. She could still feel it. His hand smacking hard down on her bare bottom. It was probably still red. It had certainly been bright red, like a beacon, when she had looked at it last night. Last night…
Mr McAirdley hadn’t come in. She had wondered, half-expecting. Well presumably the Chinese Checkers and all that spanking didn’t affect that, the other. Her mother had strongly hinted that he might want to. On the first night. And Moira would have to… co-operate. ‘It’s nothing really, dear. All quite natural. The birds and bees. And people. Nothing to worry about. It… doesn’t hurt.’
Yes, she had been expecting that the door would suddenly silently open and then… In spite of anything her mother might say it was very scary, just the thought of it. But so far… when Mr McAirdley — Hugh — had finally had enough of his game it had been getting latish. She had been allowed to put her things back on again and then Moira had made some cocoa, after being shown where everything was. And then it had been time for bed. Two separate beds in two separate rooms. He had asked how she had enjoyed the games. There wasn’t much you could say to that. A sort of grimace. Mr McAirdley had said he was very pleased with her. And that had been all.
She looked over at the door again. Perhaps now, in the morning. It was still early. Mr McAirdley might prefer the morning. Moira had a friend who had been married six months now. She said her husband always did it in the morning before getting up…
Hugh McAirdley listened to the sound of rain lashing against the windowpane. It had been too good to last, of course, that weather. Two whole sunny days, so there was bound to be rain. He thought of the girl in the next room. It was a big temptation, she was a big temptation. That ripe young body in a sweet white baby-doll nightie under the bed covers. He had watched her get ready for bed. The rueful examination of her glowing bottom in the mirror. Then the nightie and hopping into bed.
Yes it was a very big temptation. She was there. His. To be taken. The exercise of his manly rights. She wouldn’t refuse, he could sense that. But he mustn’t do it yet. Her training. She hadn’t felt the cane yet. That had to come first. A man had to do things properly, that was what he had realised, seeing things here and there on his travels. Everything had to be based on correct discipline. And he had made a very good start. Now he needed the cane. After that…
Not much later Moira’s door did open. She caught her breath. Was it now, as you might say, the moment of truth?
‘The wind’s changed,’ he said, coming over to sit on her bed. ‘A little storm’s blown up. And how’s that bottom, young lady?’
Moira whispered that it was OK. Was he going to get in with her?
No. She had to get up. And first of all show Mr McAirdley her bottom. Lifting the baby-doll nightie. She hadn’t worn the brief pants that went with it because last night her bottom had been so sore. Mr McAirdley’s hand now slid over it, savouring the smooth round curves. The redness has disappeared.
The cane of course left more lasting marks. The cane came next — although there was the strong temptation to push her back into bed and join her. His hand slid briefly in between the warm thighs. Moira trembled.
‘You don’t mind the weather I hope?’ he asked. ‘We have to get used to it here. You can have your first taste. We need some things, milk and eggs, and I like them fresh. A short walk over to the next farm, McTaggart’s. You can put your mac on.
Put her mac on and not much else. He had got her a very tight pair of white shorts. Moira could put them on, and a brief pair of knickers. And shoes. But that was it. ‘It’s not cold out,’ Mr McAirdley said.
‘What… if someone sees me?’ She asked falteringly.
|A maidenly blush|
The short green mac was completely transparent. And it wasn’t if, because this McTaggart person at least was going to see.
‘It’s training.’ Mr McAirdley’s eyes took in her full, firm tits under the transparent green material. ‘I want to see how you can cope. Is it embarrassing?’
Moira said yes.
His hands rubbed over her boobs. ‘Good, and it’ll give old McTaggart a real thrill seeing these things. If it doesn’t give him a heart attack, that is.’
It was really awful out, dark clouds and a hard driving rain. The place was unrecognisable as that picture-postcard place of yesterday. Training. Mr McAirdley had said it was training. More like training for the SAS. And what was going to happen when she got back. More of that spanking that he seemed so keen on? These skin-tight shorts down and more of that business? She put her head down against the rain.
She could just about see through the dark and mist.
McTaggart’s farm… He was a thin old man with a beard whose eyes almost popped out of his head when he saw Moira. Standing there like a drowned rat at his door, but a pretty red-haired female rat with the pink nipples of good-sized bare tits sticking inside of that see-through mackintosh.
|'Now then — over the table'|
Stuart McTaggart could not believe his eyes, but as this apparition out of the storm spoke it must, presumably, be real. Eagerly he invited her in. And naturally invited her to get out of that wet mac. Indeed he was at once helping her off with it.
Fetching a towel. Moira, though grateful for this show of friendliness, could obviously have rubbed herself down with the towel. But Mr McTaggart insisted. Perhaps it was an example of Kelpen hospitality. More likely he simply wanted to get his hands on those succulent tits and that was what he was undoubtedly doing. It was more hands than towel. And the shorts? They must be wet too, in spite of the mac. They should come off as well. She might catch cold.
And in spite of Moira’s protestations the shorts did come off. Mr McTaggart, the bit between his teeth as it were, was very keen to get Moira’s brief knickers off too. Somehow she managed to prevent that. But as the little knickers only covered a limited area of her round bottom and her tits of course were quite bare, McTaggart’s enthusiastic hands had plenty of scope. What she needed, he told Moira, was a good brisk massage.
Mr McTaggart did his massaging and then made some very strong tea. Looking out at the weather he said that his visitor could not possibly go home until it had improved. He eyed Moira’s towel-draped form… and said he thought another massage would be a good idea. Just to make sure she was all right. Moira squealed No, she really had to go. Mr McAirdley would be mad if she didn’t. (Well he had sent her out in that weather and no doubt planned for her to come straight, back. And in any case…)
‘No!’ she yelped again. But Mr McTaggart was pulling the towel off. And grabbing greedily at her.
‘This time… let’s get you up on the table. Lie down. So we can do it properly.’
It might be wondered why, with such evident enthusiasm for nubile female bodies, Stuart McTaggart had not hit on the idea of getting a live-in girl for himself. In fact he had thought of it — and then thought of the cost of keeping a girl. His frugal instincts had won.
|'Come along — right out now'|
Mr McAirdley was angry when Moira finally reappeared. The rain had stopped and the sun was shining brightly into the parlour and it was more than two hours since she had gone off. If she had come straight back the journey would have taken perhaps 30 minutes. Yes, Mr McAirdley was angry, or appeared to be, demanding to know wherever she had been. Moira stuttered out explanations. An edited version, guessing that he would not appreciate all the details of what that awful Mr McTaggart had done.
Even with this version Mr McAirdley was not at all happy. Perhaps he didn’t want to be happy. Perhaps he wanted an excuse…
‘You need a taste of discipline, my girl. I can see that. I certainly can’t have you wandering all over the place and spending half the morning with randy old men. You need something to teach you a lesson.’
And that something was waiting behind his sideboard. That long, thin cane. Moira let out a frightened squeak as he brought it out. That spanking had been awful but a cane… was clearly something else.
‘Yes my girl. Get over the table. Let’s give that bottom something to think about.’
Was this what she had come here for? Moira’s mother had said nothing of the cane and Moira herself had never dreamt of such a thing. Her mind had been full of that other business; wondering apprehensively what that would be like. Wondering also about the rest, the housework and what life in general was going to be like on Little Kelpen. But mostly wondering what Mr McAirdley was going to want in bed. But now… after that absolutely traumatic experience with Mr McTaggart — who had made it quite clear that he at least would have liked nothing better than to get Moira into bed — after that here was Mr McAirdley with a cane.
|'Still now, girl!'|
Perhaps he was only threatening? It was a warning? No. And he wasn’t interested in Moira’s pleadings: that it hadn’t been her fault, and she wouldn’t do it again. If she had known Hugh McAirdley better, of course, Moira would have realised this. He wanted to cane her. That was why he had sent her out like that. He had guessed McTaggart would be going wild, eyes popping out of his head; probably grabbing Moira. Well that was all right as long as he didn’t actually get at her. Fuck her. But it gave a nice little excuse.
‘Get over, young lady. Or you’ll get a double dose. Is that what you want?’
Bending over the table, her hands clutching at the cloth for dear life. Little whimpering sounds. As Hugh McAirdley pulled up the transparent mac. Her full bottom moulding the skin-tight shorts, made even tighter by their recent wetting. A look of satisfaction on his face. That and excitement. He had been looking forward to this. A practice cut of the cane through the air. And then aimed at the target. Arching up and then down. Gathering speed and momentum. Until its motion was abruptly halted.
Stopped by the taut seat of Moira’s shorts. Landing transversely across the two out-thrust cheeks. A hard, solid cut, something a girl was going to feel. Moira breathing noisily out through her nose, fighting not to cry, but the pain was killing. Her bottom desperately writhing.
A second cut. The cane again rising and falling, accelerating down. To once more bite in across the shocked flesh. That strangled yell again, and the writhing. Then a third. And Mr McAirdley’s voice:
‘We’ll have the shorts and knickers down for the rest.’
No! No!! Not with them down! But Mr McAirdley could if he wanted to. Moira was here to do his bidding. To be obedient. And she had signed a contract. She had expected to be screwed. But if instead he wanted…
‘No!’ she yelped again. But the shorts were being tugged down. And then the knickers.
|A gasp, and a squirmy bare bottom|