Story from Whispers 6
A little south coast resort basking under an August sun high in a clear blue sky. The bay is drowsily dotted with small craft. The hot sands of the beach are cluttered with holiday-makers whose generously exposed flesh is grilled to varying degrees: salmon pink, crimson, a range of browns. Children shouting, laughing; dogs barking. An archetypal English scene full of life’s simple delights. In fact, though, not everyone in this crowded picture seeks the simple obvious pleasures. Some, with questioning eyes, look for something a little different. Or one, at least, does.
He is 50ish, with a stiffish, upright bearing. That and his clipped grey moustache and the fact that on this hot afternoon he is wearing jacket and tie might indicate a man of military background. The jacket and tie could also indicate a resident, not a visiting holiday-maker. Both of these suppositions are correct; our man is ex-army and is also a highly respected pillar of the local community. And so the Major, as we will refer to him, must tread warily if he has any interests which do not accord with publicly-accepted tastes.
Round about 5 o’clock on this hot Tuesday afternoon the Major is at the far end of the sea front in conversation with a vendor of paintings: pleasant enough works, sketches in pen-and-ink and water-colour of the bay and nearby views. The vendor who is also the artist is a young man, in his 20’s probably, bearded, in shorts and sandals, a contrast to the Major’s precise appearance. This part of the sea front is largely deserted at present, many of the visitors heading home for tea, so what the Major has to say to Dave, the artist, cannot be overheard. It could be that our man is interested in these simple views of the locality, or is merely passing the time of day. It could be that he fancies Dave; or contrastingly in his capacity as member of the parish council the Major is telling the artist that he needs a licence to sell.
In fact it is none of these things; the Major is mentioning a girl.
A girl one might have seen here earlier this afternoon chatting with Dave. A tall and pretty teenager with long blonde hair, in a yellow one-piece bathing suit which showed off a shapely, firmly prominent bottom. Earlier, this morning, one might also have seen her on the beach, with her parents.
Arlene Hartfield she is called, though the Major does not know this, nor indeed does Dave. But Dave certainly knows who the Major is referring to. He gives a knowing look and scratches his head. Then laughs.
‘Going on the beach?’ Elizabeth Hartfield asks her daughter. ‘It’s going to be hot again. Yesterday was almost too hot.’
Arlene makes a non-committal sound, as 17-year-olds will to their mothers. When Mrs Hartfield repeats her query Arlene says, ‘I might. But I might, uh, go for a walk.’
It is Wednesday morning, the day after the Major’s meeting with Dave, and Arlene and her parents are having breakfast in the house they have rented for the next two weeks. Elizabeth Hartfield, probing, as mothers will, asks if her daughter has met anyone nice. Arlene, deciding it is best to put discretion before honesty, says, ‘Uh, well, there’s this girl.’
There is no girl there is only that Dave who has those sketches at the end of the front. Arlene strolling along there yesterday fantastically somehow managed to get talking with him. And also fantastically when she went out to post her mother’s letters after supper yesterday happened to see him again. It was all quite fantastic because he was really super, really keen-looking and also quite old — 30 at least. Yes really something. But she guessed that her mother will not be impressed, not favourably at least. So it is best not to mention Dave. Certainly best not to say that in that fleeting meeting yesterday evening she had agreed to see him this morning.
He was there where he said he’d be, on that corner, and also on time. Arlene was quivering with excitement: she had half-feared he would not turn up. When she did see him there was also the fear that he might suggest going on the beach and that was where her parents would be. But he didn’t, he said, ‘Let’s go out in the country, away from all this yobby lot.’ That sounded OK, super in fact.
Dave said he was just there for a few weeks and then he’d be moving on. He sold enough of his stuff to make a living but he wasn’t going to get rich. Arlene said what she’d said before: that she thought his things were super. When he asked about herself all she could say of course was that she was still at school. She had thought of making something up, that she had left and got a job but thought better of it. For one thing she had her rotten school gear on this morning. Not the tie or blazer but blouse and skirt and white knee socks. Her mother had made her wear this possibly thinking Arlene might be on the lookout for boys and trying to pass herself off as older.
It was pretty awful to have to admit she was still at school but Dave only laughed and said, ‘Some schoolgirls can be pretty hot stuff.’
Arlene laughed too, though feeling herself blushing a bit. Actually she had never been out with a boy before — or a man for that matter. Her friend Sarah had had an experience last summer on holiday. Sarah had almost lost her virginity. Arlene, sitting next to Dave on the bus, shivered.
They didn’t really go right out in the country. Just to the edge of town where the houses sort of petered out, then got off the bus.
The house was down a lane that led off the main road. A biggish house like the others in this area, all set back in their own grounds and very private. Dave opened the gate and they went in up a drive. He said he knew the chap who lived here. If this bloke wasn’t in they could go in anyway and make themselves at home. Dave laughed and slapped Arlene’s bottom as they walked up the gravel driveway.
There wasn’t anyone in and somehow she had sort of thought there wouldn’t be. Dave knocked at the side door a couple of times and then opened the door which wasn’t locked. Inside in spite of the warm day it was cool, one of those old houses that stay cool even at the height of summer. They went through into a cosy little parlour which had a fireplace.
Dave slapped Arlene’s bottom again and gave that little laugh of his. ‘Let’s light the fire: it’ll keep you nice and warm.’
She looked at him. He pinched her arm and laughed again. ‘You’re trespassing, aren’t you? Naughty schoolgirl trespassing. So you’ve got to have some punishment. You’re going to take your skirt off and then slip your knickers down and I’m going to smack your bottom. That nice big round bum.’
She coloured. He was laughing and it must be a joke. An embarrassing joke, especially his reference to her prominent bottom. Arlene knew it was big and was not especially happy about that fact. Some girls said men liked big bottoms but Arlene was not at all sure she could believe that.
Grinning still, Dave darted his hand behind her and gave her bum a quick feel through her skirt. Arlene squealed.
The Major, eye glued to his little spyhole, eased the tightness in the front of his trousers. Imprinted on his mind was a picture of that ripely rounded bottom in the yellow swimsuit. The skin-tight yellow material rucked up slightly and stuck in the cleft of that exquisite rump. That rear that was now under the grey skirt in his parlour. His heart was thudding like a train.
On the other side of the wall Arlene looked uncertainly at Dave, now engaged in lighting the fire… As far as she could tell he did mean it and the thought was sending hot and cold shivers through her. She wasn’t sure what she had expected on this date with Dave but it certainly hadn’t included having her bottom smacked. It was rumoured of course that men did like to smack girls’ bottoms if they got the chance but that was supposed to be mostly older men. Diane at school apparently had had her bottom smacked when she was caught trespassing by a farmer and had cheeked him. He had hustled her into his house and taken her over his lap and just grabbed her knickers down, Diane’s friend Susan had told Arlene. It had been really, really awful.
‘Come on then,’ Dave told Arlene, putting a chair in front of the fire and sitting on it. ‘Let’s get started. I’ll do it here so your bum stays nice and warm.’
Arlene chewed on her lip. ‘Look, uh, Dave, I… I don’t want it. I mean I didn’t think… you wanted to do that.’
He laughed. ‘It’s cos you’ve trespassed. Anyway what did you think we were going to do? Fuck, I suppose.’
‘No I didn’t,’ she said hotly.
‘I think you did, Arlene. You thought you’d go and get fucked. Then you could go back to school and tell all your friends that you got fucked on holiday. Well that’s another reason why you should get your bum smacked.’
‘That’s not true, that’s a dreadful thing to say.’ Arlene felt almost as if tears might start. ‘And… and don’t keep saying that word.’
‘What’s wrong with it? I bet you and your friends are whispering it to each other all the time at school. I know what 17-year-old schoolgirls are like on holiday, Arlene. Hot to trot. Especially pretty blondes with nice big bums.’
‘Cut it out!’
‘Well come on then. I’m going to smack it so stop messing around. Just pretend I’m your headmaster and you’ve been sent to him because you’ve been fucking a boy and someone’s told on you. You’d get at least a smacked bottom for that.’
‘Come on then. Take that skirt off.’
‘Take it off. Or d’you want me to?’
The grey skirt finally came off. Arlene stepping hot-faced out of it and dropping it on the floor. Brief navy-blue knickers and full womanly flesh, not yet tanned by the sun. Dave reached for her arm and pulled her close. ‘Yes you have got a nice big bum, Arlene!’ He slapped one rounded thigh. ‘Now slip those knicks down.’
She hesitated for two seconds and then put her thumbs in the sides of the knickers. Dave, eyes intent, laughed his little laugh. ‘Pretty pussy!’
And then he had hold of her arm again and was pulling her down, over his lap. A funny, heavy, fainty feeling in Arlene’s head: Dave seeing her thing and now being over his lap with her bottom bare and his hand on it. The hand on her bare bottom electric, like hundreds of volts, as it stroked. But then it wasn’t stroking, it was smacking. Really hard. Making her gasp and cry out. Making her feel sick.
He kept on smacking, on and on. And then he was pushing her to her feet but it wasn’t over, he was making her stand, on rubbery legs, at the fireplace, her hands spread on the mantelpiece. And that hard hand was coming in again: Smack!… Smack!… Smack! Juddering the firm, heavy flesh. On and on. Stopping to tell her to stand with her legs apart… and then just starting up again…
‘There, that’s what naughty schoolgirls should get.’
Dave standing, over her, a grin on his face, breathing deeply from his efforts. Arlene now sitting on the chair, on her glowing bottom, her own breathing disjointed, her heart going like the clappers. Her skirt still on the floor, her knickers still down close to her knees.
‘Did you like it?’
She shook her head, hardly able to think, let alone speak. Dave gave that laugh again.
The Major was naturally in a state of some excitement too at this point. He had in fact just reached the very peak of his excitement, allowing it finally to climax after managing with difficulty to hold it back all this time. Probably any longer and it would not have done his straining ticker any good.
Outside, 15 minutes later, the sun was as hot as yesterday but Arlene shivered. Although naturally she did now have her skirt on again and her knickers pulled up under the skirt. ‘What shall we do?’ asked Dave. She shook her head. Actually she would just as soon go back and join her parents on the beach, square and boring though that had seemed yesterday. But after what Dave had just done. ‘Let’s go in the woods,’ he said.
In the woods that wasn’t far away, sitting under a tree on a grassy patch, there was something else. Something at least as mind-blowing as getting your bare bottom smacked and presumably more, well, grown up. Arlene had heard vaguely… things girls had half said. But the actual reality… ‘Come on, you’ve got me all excited and you say you won’t fuck.’ It would be something to tell Sarah all right — except that Arlene would never ever have the nerve to admit she’d done it.
The next day that house again. ‘Not if you’re going to… to spank me,’ Arlene said. She had been very much in two minds about coming out again with Dave but, well… she had told her mother she was seeing this girl Deirdre again.
Dave with his little laugh said, ‘No I won’t smack that bum, not if you don’t want it.’ Arlene didn’t say anything about not doing that other thing. Would he want her to do it again? She was shivering as they went in, the door again unlocked and again the house was apparently empty.
In the little parlour Dave grabbed Arlene and gave her a sexy kiss, rubbing up against her, one hand groping the bottom that yesterday he had so devastatingly spanked. ‘Mmm, hot and sexy 17,’ he breathed.
Then he let go, listening. ‘What was that?’ Arlene had heard nothing. Telling her to stay there Dave said he’d go and investigate. He went out…
A few minutes later the door opened again. Arlene gave a gasp. It was not Dave. An older man with a clipped grey moustache, in proper jacket and tie. He closed the door behind him.
‘May I ask who you are and exactly what you are doing here?’ His voice was sharp, authoritarian.
Arlene said something, she wasn’t sure what, too shocked at his sudden appearance.
‘I presume you were with that young man I’ve just had a word with. For your information he is well known around here. Drug offences and other matters. Being with him can put you in a very serious spot, young lady. Very serious. The authorities could well wish to send you away for a period of corrective training.’
Arlene simply started weeping.
The man, close up now, his face pinkish, squeezed her arm. ‘Sit down, young lady. I’ll make a pot of tea and we’ll discuss this.’
When he returned he explained to a shaking, still tearful Arlene just what serious trouble she was in. He made her give all her personal details: name, address, school, etc. Arlene started weeping again. The man put his hand on her knee. Perhaps he might not have to inform the authorities… if Arlene could agree to his dealing with the matter himself. Naturally she was only too desperately eager to agree.
What the man did was very similar to what Dave had done. He made her take off her skirt and pull down her knickers and then get over his lap. He proceeded to give her a quite ferocious spanking on that plump bare bottom and also the backs of the full thighs. It was killingly painful and dreadful but it was either this or the quite dreadful alternative he had told her. And anything was better than that.
When it was finally over the man abruptly pushed Arlene off his lap and went out of the room, telling her to sit and wait. She didn’t know if she was allowed to pull her knickers up or put her skirt on so she didn’t. This holiday had turned into a nightmare.
The man shortly came back. Red-faced and breathing a bit heavily. He sat on the chair again. He told Arlene she had been a good girl to take her punishment like that and he thought things could be hushed up. But she had better not say anything to her parents, or anyone else.
Arlene, standing shakily at his side with her knickers still down, said she wouldn’t. ‘Good girl,’ the man said. His hand came round behind and started stroking her still glowing bottom. ‘That’s a good girl.’
His hand stroked and fiddled around. He said that if he was going to keep things to himself he rather thought Arlene had better come round again tomorrow and have another dose. Because entering private property and being in the company of known criminal elements was very serious.
Arlene didn’t have any choice but to agree. After a bit he let her pull her knickers up and put her skirt back on. He said she had better be back there tomorrow morning.
Outside there was that clear blue sky and the hot sun again. Everything nice and normal and summery. Dave didn’t seem to be around so Arlene caught the bus back, then went on the beach to look for her Mum and Dad. It was all the same, people getting brown or bright red, with their kids, and a few dogs going mad. The boats out in the bay. Pretty boring really but sometimes boring was nice. Reassuring. Arlene found her parents, sitting on deckchairs. She said hello and sat down on the sand.
It was difficult to believe there was that house out there on the edge of town. With that little parlour and that man. But they were there. And she had to go back tomorrow. She wondered about Dave. Her mother said, ‘Put your swimsuit on, Arlene.’
Arlene thought of doing so — but then thought about what had happened — that spanking. She could still feel it a bit and her bottom and the backs of her legs might still be all red.