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Thursday, 1 March 2018

Living in the City

From Blushes 33
Should she write: And on the train yesterday a man pinched my bottom? He had. A feel, quite a lengthy feel of her bottom, and then a sharp little pinch at the end. A man, a stranger, on the Underground train, the Northern Line which she had to take to get to work, or in this case come back from work. The train crowded with commuters and no chance of getting a seat. If she had been able to get a seat of course she would have been able to sit on what the man had been feeling and then pinched through her tight grey skirt and her thin knickers underneath. But there had certainly been no seats vacant and so her bottom had been there, free and available to the man and he had taken full advantage. She hadn’t been able to move, crowded up against other passengers front and back. In front she had her hands and her bag as protection but you couldn’t put your hand behind you to protect your bottom. She had never had that before, a stranger feeling her bottom, but then she hadn’t been here before, London. Not to be properly here at least, working. She had been on a couple of trips, but no one had felt her bottom or pinched it on those visits. For one thing she hadn’t had to travel on the Underground at rush hour.
She wouldn’t really put it in her letter of course. Mark would not want to know about her getting her bottom pinched. He would hate to know. He would get angry and try to order her to come back. He had been very much against her coming and getting this job in the first place and it would no doubt confirm all his fears and prejudices. Dreadful London which was what a lot of people in the north thought. She didn’t think that herself. It was exciting, though a bit scary. As for having her bottom felt up, that had been sort of scary too. Did all girls get it on the Underground? Would she get it again today?
She looked out of the window. Back gardens and houses opposite. It was early, 7 o’clock, a slightly misty morning but clear enough, not all smoke like some people back home thought. She would finish her letter and then it would be time to get ready to leave for work. Nothing about the man pinching her bottom but a bit about her new job at the library and the people there including Mr Baxter, her boss. And of course Mr Windle here, her landlord.
They were a similar age, 50 or so. They both seemed very friendly and helpful, on first acquaintance at least. Perhaps they felt a fatherly interest in her. Mr Windle had wanted to know how old she was; Mr Baxter knew that already from her application for the job. Nineteen. Mr Baxter had said yesterday, ‘You’re even prettier than I remember at the interview.’ Linda had blushed at that. He wanted to know if she had found somewhere nice to stay — while Mr Windle wanted to know about her job. And as it happened they both said the same thing: ‘A pretty girl on her own has to be careful in the big city. There are men who will take advantage of her.’
That of course was what Mark thought. Did having your bottom felt up and pinched on the Underground count as being taken advantage of? Probably not, she didn’t think that was what Mr Baxter and Mr Windle meant, it was probably something worse. Anyway she didn’t intend to go out with anyone here in London. She had taken the job to earn some money and perhaps see a bit of life but that didn’t have to include going out with young men. She had Mark and she intended to write to him every day.
Linda finished her letter and sealed it. She would have written last night but had felt too tired after her first day. She would post it on her way to the Underground station.
At lunchtime Mr Baxter took her out to the pub for a drink. The other staff at the library were two older women and they went off shopping, so it was just Linda and Mr Baxter. ‘To celebrate the start of my pretty new assistant,’ he said. Sitting in the corner of the pub gave Mr Baxter the opportunity to ask Linda more questions about herself. He seemed very interested in her, very nice and friendly. When they got back to the library afterwards, going in the door, Mr Baxter patted her bottom.
‘You’ve got a lovely shape,’ he told her.
Linda did have a nice shape, slim but nicely rounded in all the right places. Nice firm tits and of course her bottom was very shapely too. That bottom that the man on the train had been feeling and which Mr Baxter had now patted. Linda had half expected to have her bottom felt on the train this morning because it was very crowded again, standing room only, but thankfully no one had. Mr Baxter’s hand now patting her rear came as a little shock. He gave a little laugh.
‘Ever had it smacked? Properly smacked I mean?’
That was a little bit more of a shock. Linda hadn’t had her bottom smacked. She shook her head, feeling herself flushing.
At the desk a few seconds later Mr Baxter said, ‘Isn’t that what happens to pretty girls when they make mistakes or something? They get their knickers taken down and their bottoms smacked?’
The flush got distinctly deeper. Linda didn’t know what to answer. Mr Baxter had got slightly pink in the face as well. He gave another of those little laughs.
‘Well, we’ll have to see, won’t we? If you do make any mistakes.’
Taking a trolley of books out to shelve Linda was all at once highly conscious of her bottom. It was not large, she knew that really, although sometimes she thought it was. But she had a tight skirt on today and in a tight skirt a girl’s bottom was more obvious. She could feel Mr Baxter’s eyes on it. She tried to walk without it swaying but of course you couldn’t, girls’ bottoms were made that way, they did sway, especially in a tight skirt. Mr Baxter could probably see the outline of her knickers through the skirt. What he had said rolled around in her head: they get their knickers taken down. It was a joke but it made her feel all hot and uncomfortable. Like the man with the hand on the train.
Going back home after work there was another man with a hand. Or conceivably the same man as yesterday, she hadn’t dared to look round and see yesterday and she didn’t today either. But there was a hand doing just the same thing. Feeling her bottom. The train was crowded again, like sardines, and he was taking full advantage of that fact. Holding a cheek of her bottom and jiggling it slightly.
Linda tried to think about something else, to ignore it, but of course you couldn’t. You couldn’t ignore a man doing that to you. She thought of turning round and confronting him, but she knew she wouldn’t dare make a scene in the midst of all these other people. If she did turn round at least he wouldn’t be able to get at her bottom any more — but she would have to look at him and she couldn’t face even that. He might just stare at her… and start feeling something else.
It lasted for two whole stops. After that the crush thinned out somewhat and so the man couldn’t keep pressed hard up behind her. At the end he gave her bottom a sharp pinch — like the man yesterday, maybe this same man. She didn’t look round, for one thing she wouldn’t really know who had done it what with the general movement in the train. And she didn’t want to see who this man was who had been taking these liberties with her.
Back in her room making herself something to eat Linda could still feel the man’s hand at her bottom. The sensation was stronger than yesterday even though to a certain extent she had been ready for it today, had half expected it. It was a funny sort of feeling, making her knees tremble and her heart race. It was unpleasant, nasty, but at the same time exciting in a way that was not wholly unpleasant. And there was Mr Baxter too, saying what he had said and, she knew, fixing his eyes on her bottom after he had said it. And then…
Mr Windle. A bit later when she was thinking of starting a letter to Mark, Mr Windle looked in and said would she like to come down and watch TV. She said OK, wanting to be on friendly terms with him. Downstairs Mr Windle’s TV was on but the sound was turned low and what Mr Windle really wanted to do was talk. Asking about the job and also more questions about back home. It was a lot like Mr Baxter had been at the pub and also any other odd times during the day whenever there was an opportunity. Mr Windle and Mr Baxter were a lot alike. Linda was thinking this precise thought when Mr Windle embarked on the very same tack that Mr Baxter had taken. Smacked bottoms.
Had Linda ever had her bottom smacked?
Almost the same words Mr Baxter had used. Was it some kind of telepathy or something? In some confusion Linda shook her head. Mr Windle’s hand reached across and squeezed her thigh.
‘I thought pretty girls had to have their bottoms smacked now and then. To make sure they keep on the straight and narrow.’
There wasn’t anything you could say — as there hadn’t been when Mr Baxter had said that sort of thing. Linda tried to laugh but not much of a laugh came out. She could suddenly picture herself over Mr Windle’s lap, with her knickers down, Mr Windle spanking her bare bottom. Then it wasn’t Mr Windle doing it but Mr Baxter. And then that awful man on the train. She tried to change the subject: something about the programme on the TV, a quiz show. Mr Windle didn’t answer, he was thinking about spanking her bottom, she just knew.
As soon as she could Linda excused herself, saying she had to go up and write her letter. Mr Windle got up too. He went to the door with her, to open it, only at first he didn’t open it but held it closed. He was very close to her. Smiling, he said, ‘Tell him that if you’re a naughty girl you’re going to get your bottom smacked.’
As Mr Windle said this his hand came in to Linda’s bottom. Not a pat like Mr Baxter but more like the man on the train. A feel. A quick grope. Not keeping his hand there like on the train but a feel nonetheless. Then he pulled the door open for her. Going up the stairs Linda almost tripped over, she didn’t seem to know where her feet were.
Two days later. Lunchtime, at the pub again with Mr Baxter. Sitting with his glass of bitter in front of him Mr Baxter said, ‘I bet you can’t guess who I was talking to last night?’
For a second Mark came to mind but then Linda knew it wouldn’t be Mark and she knew almost immediately who it would be. She shook her head but she knew. And Mr Baxter said it.
‘Your landlord. Mr Windle. Yes, we had quite a nice little chat.’ Smiling. ‘About you of course.’
She was flushing, her face hot. Why had he called Mr Windle? And what had they been talking about? It couldn’t be… but of course it could.
They had both managed to raise that same subject again yesterday. Both jokingly saying similar things. ‘Pretty girls have to be careful they don’t get their bottoms smacked.’ ‘Are you sure you’ve never had it smacked, Linda?’ That sort of thing.
Linda had had to go along with it and act as if it was funny but it wasn’t funny, not at all. And she could sense that neither Mr Baxter nor Mr Windle really thought it was funny either. They said it because they knew it embarrassed her. And they also said it because they wanted to do it. She tried to tell herself that was silly but she couldn’t help thinking it nonetheless. So now when Mr Baxter said he had been talking to Mr Windle Linda went all hot and cold. But there was more to come. Mr Baxter smiling his smug smile.
‘Yes, and guess what. You’re going to have a visitor this evening.’
No! He couldn’t mean it! But Mr Baxter did: he was coming round to Mr Windle’s that evening.
He couldn’t. He just couldn’t. Well, if he does come I’ll certainly go out, Linda told herself. But she couldn’t. Mr Windle wouldn’t let her. When she got back Mr Windle confirmed that Mr Baxter was coming round. ‘For a cup of tea and a chat,’ and when she said, ‘Well actually I was planning to go out,’ Mr Windle said she couldn’t. Mr Baxter was coming round and he would expect to see her.
On the train home today that man — or a man — had felt up her bottom again. Yesterday the hand hadn’t been there on the train but it was today. It somehow seemed like a scary omen for Mr Baxter’s visit. Mr Baxter had patted her bottom a couple of times at work today and yesterday. Mr Windle hadn’t done any more groping, but anyway yesterday Linda hadn’t seen him, he had been out. But what were he and Mr Baxter going to do tonight?
She felt a desperate urge, if she couldn’t go out, to lock herself in her room, but Linda knew that wasn’t possible either. Only half conscious of what she was doing she changed into a pair of jeans. When she did think about it she knew why it was: she would be safer in jeans. In a skirt you could just be grabbed and the skirt pulled up. Whereas in jeans… but it wasn’t logical: what was to stop him, whoever it was, taking your jeans down? Mr Baxter holding her while Mr Windle took them down. Linda shook her head. She felt awful; all tense and trembly. Maybe Mr Baxter wouldn’t come after all. Anyway it was ridiculous thinking those things.
But Mr Baxter was coming, and soon after 8 she heard him arrive. And a couple of minutes later Mr Windle was calling up to her. She had to go down. There they were, the two of them, in the lounge. Linda felt a sudden need to go to the loo.
Mr Windle said, ‘Well, look here. Our pretty young lady’s in jeans. What d’you think of that, George?’
Mr Baxter said, ‘Not a lot, Frank. I regard jeans as rather slovenly wear for a girl. Especially a pretty girl. No I don’t think much of jeans on a girl. Although they do show off young Linda’s bottom very effectively.’
‘They do show off her bottom but I don’t like jeans either. Well, perhaps we should take them off her then. And then we could give that pretty bottom a spanking. To teach her that a girl shouldn’t wear jeans, especially when she has a visitor.’
They were joking, they had to be. Linda, red-faced of course, tried to laugh. But the two men weren’t laughing. Mr Baxter said, ‘Well, what’s it to be, Linda? Do you want to go back up and change or shall Mr Windle and I do what’s needed?’
They couldn’t be serious — but they were. She said, ‘Look…’ Then, ‘OK then…’ She turned. Mr Windle got up off his seat. ‘If you don’t mind, George, I’ll go up and supervise. Make sure she puts on something suitable.’ Mr Baxter said, ‘I think that’s a very sound idea, Frank.’
And so there was Mr Windle following close behind as Linda went up the stairs. No doubt with his eyes glued to the seat of her tight-stretched jeans. It was difficult to believe this was happening. Mr Windle close behind still as she went back in her room. Linda said ‘Look…’ weakly as he closed the door after them.
A sharp smack on the seat of the jeans. `No looks, Linda my girl. Just get those jeans off. Now then…’
He went over to her drawers and began looking through them. How could this be happening? She should tell him not to be ridiculous, a joke was a joke… but Linda knew it wasn’t a joke, and if she didn’t do it herself Mr Windle would do it. Her hands went to the waistband of her jeans. Slowly she slid them down.
Mr Windle had found her little pink-and-grey check skirt. Also a pair of white ankle socks. Her black medium heel courts. ‘I think Mr Baxter will like you in this,’ he said. ‘You can keep that blouse on.’ His eyes of course were fixed on Linda’s knickers, and her bare thighs. What he could see of her knickers, that is, because Linda’s hands had come across to cover herself. Mr Windle moved in close and his hand just grabbed her bottom in the brief white knickers. A no-nonsense grab that didn’t immediately let go. Linda squealed.
‘Come on then, get these on.’ He let go and she grabbed for the skirt.
When she had got the things on Mr Windle said, ‘Now then. Now then, Linda, what I think…’ He took hold of her arm.
What Mr Windle thought was that before they went down he should give her a spanking on the bed. For wearing the jeans in the first place. Linda could see from his eyes that he meant it. She tried to twist away — but there was anyway nowhere to go and downstairs there was Mr Baxter who without doubt had the same sort of idea. ‘No, you can’t,’ she squealed.
But Mr Windle could. He was pulling her over to the bed, one hand on her arm and the other up her skirt at her bottom. She had known something like this was going to happen, impossible though it was. Mr Windle made her lie on the bed, face down. Stretched out. He pushed a cushion under her hips, to raise her bottom up.
‘That’s better. Any girl needs a taste of discipline now and then, Linda. And Mr Baxter and I are in full agreement that you are overdue for it.’
Of course they would be because they both wanted to do it. Somehow she had just landed up with two men who were really keen on doing that and there seemed to be no way she could stop them. Just as there was no way she could stop that man on the train. Linda made a wailing sound into the bedcover. Mr Windle’s voice again.
‘Lift your skirt up, Linda. And then slide your knickers down.’
She mumbled ‘No…’ shaking her head. Something hit the back of her leg. A painful, stinging hit. Twisting her head she saw it was one of her sandals, in Mr Windle’s hand. ‘No!’ she yelped, more frantically. Mr Windle hit her again. Linda’s hands went to her skirt this time. Dragging it up. And then her knickers…
Mr Windle grabbed one of her arms, her wrist, twisting it behind her back. Not painful but if she tried to move it was painful. He had her where he wanted her, where he had wanted her ever since she arrived. On her back with her skirt up round her waist and her knickers halfway down her thighs. Her bottom bare and she couldn’t move.
The sole of the sandal cracked down, squarely onto Linda’s defenceless bottom. She yelled out. It cracked down again. And again… and again… her legs were flailing, her bottom clenching, writhing, but she couldn’t otherwise move. Gasping squeals into the bedspread. Her poor bottom was red hot. At every stroke it was getting even hotter.
‘Don’t get up,’ Mr Windle told her when at last he had finished. ‘Stay there please.’
Linda couldn’t move anyway. She was stunned, all the breath knocked out of her. Her poor bottom felt like raw meat. How could he do that? But of course it wasn’t over. Mr Windle was calling down to Mr Baxter.
That night Linda had a dream about the man on the train. He groped her bottom again and this time he whispered in her ear, ‘You like this, don’t you?’ She said No but he said, ‘Yes you do, I know you do.’ He kept on groping and then he said, ‘Now I want you to take your knickers off.’
Linda said No she couldn’t possibly but he said she had to and so with all the other commuters close around she had to take her knickers off. The other people could see what she was doing, they were all looking at her. ‘That’s better,’ the man said. He began groping again, this time her bare bottom.
This went on for quite a while. The train was going on and on, all the way back home to Yorkshire. The next thing the man was saying, ‘Does anyone think she needs a spanking?’ And several men in the train said, ‘Yes, she does.’
They made space so that the man could sit down. He took Linda over his lap and began spanking her bare bottom. He was still doing it when the train arrived at its destination. Mark got on the train. A man said to Mark, ‘She gets this all the time in London. Every day. At her job and at her digs as well.’
It was a really nasty dream. Linda woke up all shaky. It was a dream but it wasn’t a lot worse than reality. The man with the hand would probably be on the train again today. And this evening Mr Baxter was coming round again…


  1. The cane, of course. All pretty girls need the cane. On their bare bottoms, when they're naughty. This Linda certainly does. I think Mr Windle and Mr Baxter would have moved her on to that quite quickly. A nice, sharp, painful lesson once or twice a week. Maybe sometimes they'll let her off it. If she's nice.