From Blushes 29
Nicola opened her eyes, then shut them again. The sun was blazing in from the window, blindingly. She opened her eyes again more cautiously, a fraction. Where was she anyway? This room wasn’t recognisable. Nicola pulled together jumbled thoughts. Oh. Oh yes. She remembered. The boat journey, and then the coach. With Mr Kinlard. Amsterdam. They were in Amsterdam.
Part of her course. St Angela’s College. For young ladies of 18 and up who needed a little further general education and whose parents, naturally, could afford to pay. Art. It was part of her Art Course. She was here with Mr Kinlard to visit the art museums. The Rijksmuseum and all that. So this room was their hotel. She remembered that now. More vividly, though, Nicola remembered the boat. Or part of it.
That little cabin. What she remembered most vividly of course was Mr Kinlard strapping her. His tawse. Taking it out of his leather case. Smiling. ‘We cannot abandon discipline simply because we are off on a little jaunt. Can we, Nicola dear?’
Who would have thought Mr Kinlard would have brought his tawse with him? Nicola had protested, because she did not at all enjoy the tawse. Trying to wheedle round him. Feminine ploys. Taking hold of his arm and, pleading, rubbing up against him. Her firm breasts against his arm. Because she had already wondered, anyway, on seeing this cosy little cabin for just the two of them, whether Mr Kinlard might not have something else in mind. The bunks were narrow — but it was not really impossible to imagine two persons in one of them. Especially of course… if one person was on top of the other.
Nicola had wondered about that. And wondered how she would respond if Mr Kinlard suggested it. Or obliquely indicated that it might be… interesting. Well, she would have to agree. Mr Kinlard was in charge of her. And Mr Kinlard was not exactly an ogre. An older man, or at least older when you were 18, but then older men had the attraction of charm and experience of the world. Yes, the thought of being in one of the narrow bunks with Mr Kinlard was not an impossibly awful thought. It was certainly a better thought than Mr Kinlard with his tawse.
But Nicola’s firm breasts against his arm had not prevailed. Nor her soft belly against his hip. And the pleadings from the soft, full lips and the flutterings, like butterfly wings, of long eyelashes hadn’t done anything either. Mr Kinlard had decided he was going to use his tawse and that was it. ‘It’s simply a little reminder, Nicola, so that you remain on your very best behaviour. We don’t want you wandering off or anything.’
Nicola had naturally insisted that she wouldn’t dream of wandering off. And of course she wouldn’t. But she knew what Mr Kinlard was referring to. Another girl, Susan, had somehow, on an earlier trip here, managed to escape the clutches of her escort and wandered off. Into the red-light area naturally. Where it seemed she had been mistaken for a prostitute. Susan had apparently not been at all averse to this, had been most co-operative in fact. Accounts varied as to how many men she consorted with, and how much money she made. But clearly St Angela’s, with its excellent reputation to consider, was not keen on a repeat.
So Nicola, probably largely because of that Susan, had got the tawse. In that cosy little cabin which, though it was small, was big enough for Mr Kinlard to wield his hateful leather strap. Mr Kinlard had made her strip, completely nude, everything off. And then kneel on the floor in that little central space with her head down on the carpet. Mr Kinlard had to sit on the end of one of the lower bunks, that was all the space there was. But it hadn’t prevented him from really laying it on. Poor Nicola’s bottom had felt afterwards as if someone had played a blow-torch on it.
And that had been it. There hadn’t been two persons climbing together into one bunk. Mr Kinlard had given her a hug afterwards, and run his hand over Nicola’s glowing rear, but that had been it. Nicola had got into one bunk and Mr Kinlard had got into the other. It was a little bit disappointing, and of course it would have been something, a diversion, to take Nicola’s mind off her still stinging bottom. Didn’t Mr Kinlard fancy her? Or was he just being very honourable. This was the first trip Nicola had been on. Other girls certainly spoke of men staff going to bed with them when they took them on a trip — but of course you could never tell if girls were simply making it up. Boasting.
Nicola opened her eyes a bit wider, now they were accustomed to the light. This bed she was in wasn’t a lot bigger than the bunk on the boat. A little bigger though. There would certainly be enough space for two, if they were close. Bodies entwined. She rolled over, stretching out her legs. Her bed was in a little alcove and there was a similar alcove on the other side, where Mr Kinlard’s bed was. Where was he? Was he still in bed? What if she went over and got in with him? Nicola rubbed her thighs together. She was feeling a bit… her hand went down… to give herself a little rub. She groaned, quietly. But if she did something like that Mr Kinlard would probably just give her another tawsing. He probably preferred tawsing a girl to the other.
Nicola rolled over again. What time was it anyway? She closed her eyes, just for a moment. But it was more than a moment, because she fell asleep again. When she woke it was to Mr Kinlard shaking her arm. Her eyes opened, and blinked. It all came quickly back, it was all the same as before except that now Mr Kinlard was sitting on the side of her bed. She blinked some more.
‘I was awake earlier, but you weren’t here. Or I couldn’t see you at least. What time is it… sir?’
Sometimes men staff told you not to call them sir but Nicola, remembering the tawse, thought it might be as well to be on the safe side.
Mr Kinlard said it was 9 o’clock. He had just been checking the notes on the Rijksmuseum. ‘One of the world’s great art museums, Nicola. A great experience.’
Nicola said ‘Yes sir.’ She looked up to give him a cool gaze from beneath the long lashes. The great experience she could fancy right now would be Mr Kinlard. On top of her. She surreptitiously pushed the light bedcover back. Nicola wasn’t nude, as she had been on the boat, but what she had on was rather flattering, or so she thought. A little transparent silk chemise of sea green and matching French knickers. Mr Kinlard could take the knickers off whenever he felt like it. But then she thought, Oh Cripes. Because he might decide to take them off for the tawse.
‘We’ll pay a visit right after breakfast,’ Mr Kinlard said. ‘It will be most rewarding.’
Nicola smiled. He hadn’t actually told her to get up yet. And he did seem to be looking in an appreciative manner at what was revealed. Nicola pushed out her boobs. One narrow shoulder strap was sliding down but in any case the silk top was quite transparent. Her nipples were sticking out, dark solid peaks against the thin material. Yes she really could… right now.
Mr Kinlard got up off the bed. And told Nicola to get up. Oh. How utterly miserable. It would have been so nice. Just quickly before breakfast. Maybe she should be bolder and say something.
Nicola got up and stood by the bed. Presumably she had to get dressed. A querying look at Mr Kinlard.
He was smiling. That same smug smile he had had yesterday when he opened his case. His eyes went to the windowsill. ‘There,’ he said.
Nicola looked. Somehow she hadn’t noticed it before though it had obviously been there. Plain enough to see. His tawse. ‘Reach it for me, please,’ Mr Kinlard said.
Oh God. He was going to do it again. Right now. ‘No!’ she breathed. ‘No. Please sir!’
‘I think we should. There are all sorts of temptations in this city and I want to be sure that you remain vigilant, Nicola. A girl’s flesh is weak but if the thought of punishment is kept right at the forefront of her mind…’
‘I won’t. I wouldn’t do anything,’ she protested. ‘Don’t.’ Nicola was grabbing at his arm again. Rubbing herself against Mr Kinlard. Why did he have to be so awful? Why couldn’t he just… because if he did that a girl wouldn’t dream of straying. Nicola would certainly not want all the men that Susan had taken. That would be hateful. If she had Mr Kinlard… but not his tawse again.
But it was to be the tawse. Mr Kinlard pushed her away, though not without a friendly feel at the tits that had been rubbing against him. ‘The tawse, Nicola. Give it to me and then get on the bed. Kneeling up.’
Oh God! The tawse was absolutely dreadful. You did get it from time to time at St Angela’s. From various men staff. And not always for what seemed like a very good reason. It was true what girls said, some of them just liked giving you the tawse. But the fact that you had had it before did not make it any easier to take. It was always horrible. It was horrible to be like that, in whatever position they got you but always with your bottom stuck out. And the stinging pain was horrible too. The whole thing was horribly horrible.
Mr Kinlard was making her pull down the sexy French knickers, then he made her kneel — with her hands on the windowsill. ‘Stick it out a bit more,’ he said. ‘It won’t take long and then we’ll have breakfast and be off.’
Mr Kinlard had Nicola’s knickers down, round her knees. His hand was feeling her bare bottom. He does fancy me a bit, she thought. But if he does why doesn’t he just push me down, and do me. That would be heaven. Whereas…
‘Don’t make so much noise, Nicola. Other guests will think you’re being attacked… raped…’
‘Aaaeeiiiihhh! I wish I was. It’s be… aaooowww! … better than this.
Mr Kinlard kept on. Wasn’t he ever going to stop? He was killing her. Halfway through she thought he was stopping but he was only changing her position. Bending her right down, her head and arms down on the bed. And then starting again.
He did eventually stop of course. Nicola’s face was wet with tears. Well she couldn’t help it, her bottom was killing her. Mr Kinlard was helping her off the bed. She needed help. ‘That wasn’t so bad, was it?’ he asked.
Nicola almost burst out howling, like a little kid. ‘You… almost killed me…’ she stuttered.
Mr Kinlard put his arm round her and gave her a hug. ‘Just doing what has to be done, Nicola dear.’ Then he gave her a kiss. Nicola opened her mouth. And Mr Kinlard actually pushed his tongue in. Not that that made up for the way he had beaten her. But it gave Nicola a nice little tingle — a different tingle from the one in her red-hot bottom.
They went to the museum, where Mr Kinlard was in raptures about the pictures. All those Rembrandts and Breughels etc. Nicola of course agreed and tried to sound equally enthusiastic. But there was rather a lot of them and after you have been looking at pictures for a certain time it can get boring. She was really more interested in looking at the other people. At other men in fact. Little glances. To see if any of them were interested in looking at her. Nicola had on a smart suit, the skirt tight over her bottom. Plus dark, seamed nylons and high heels. Quite sophisticated and attractive no doubt. And she was getting some nice looks. Did those men think Mr Kinlard was her father… or her lover…?
They had lunch in a smart restaurant (with the fees girls’ fathers were paying St Angela’s could afford to let girls be taken to smart restaurants.) And after that…
Oh dear. After that…
It was all because Mr Kinlard had to check their passports, or do something with them, Nicola wasn’t quite sure what. Anyway he had to go off to this office. He should have made Nicola go with him, that would perhaps have been the sensible thing. Nicola was somewhat surprised he didn’t. Perhaps he was really doing something else. Smuggling? She didn’t really think that. But anyway he told her to go in the museum again and wait there for him.
Nicola did wait. But not for very long. She had this very strong urge just to go and see that place. The red-light district. Where Susan had so distinguished herself. Nicola knew how to get there, on the tram. And it wouldn’t take long. Just for a look. Her heart was thumping with excitement.
She got off the tram, checked her map and then put it away in her handbag. Well, she didn’t want to look like a gawping tourist. What did she want to look like? Nicola wasn’t really sure about that, but her heart was thumping away like anything. She was naturally thinking about Susan. Just imagining it. Nicola was imagining it when, almost immediately, she was stopped. Accosted you could say. This man. German as it turned out. About Mr Kinlard’s age but bigger, hefty-looking. He had spoken in German and Nicola knew a bit. It was clear what he wanted, what he thought. He thought Nicola was a prostitute.
How fantastic. Although perhaps it wasn’t really so fantastic: a pretty, shapely blonde in a tight-skirted suit and high heels, sauntering along alone with a seductive sway to her bottom. No, it wasn’t too surprising that Nicola got a query.
Using a mixture of German and English she made it clear that she wasn’t a prostitute. It had never been too clear whether Susan had bothered to do that. But this German didn’t mind, he was still very much interested. And, well, it would really be such an adventure, and presumably would not take long and then she could get back to Mr Kinlard. And Nicola was feeling somewhat frustrated at the way Mr Kinlard was behaving. And so…
A seedy little hotel, not at all like their own really nice one, and a seedy little room. Not that that really mattered, it added to the sense of adventure. Should she ask for money at this stage, Nicola wondered. And how much? It was not an area in which you received much instruction at St Angela’s. The man was grabbing her and kissing her. Grabbing at the buttons of her jacket. Nicola pushed him off, to do it herself, concerned for torn clothing. Then, abruptly, Nicola’s customer, red in the face now, said something she didn’t catch and went out.
What was this…?
He was shortly back. And what was this? In his hand. A cane. What…?
He wanted to use the cane. Before he actually did the other. He wanted to use this cane on Nicola. Oh Jesus. No! Susan hadn’t got any of that, had she? It had just been straightforward doing it. Quite a lot of times and quite a lot of men, but only doing it. Not… But Nicole was not in much of a position to refuse. Alone in this scary hotel in this scary district of this scary town. And with this man who was obviously a lot bigger and stronger than she was. And who was very clear about what he wanted.
Nicola, now in just her undies and nylons and high heels, heard herself plead, ‘No. I’ve already had the tawse today.’
It was stupid of course, it didn’t mean anything to this man. But it just came out. He merely grinned and gave Nicola a cut across her bare and no doubt tempting thigh. And told her to take her knickers down.