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Monday, 13 August 2018

Garden Games

From Uniform Girls 51
‘Do you like games, Sandra dear?’ Mr Scrope asks.
Sandra smiles. Doesn’t everyone like games? And then she thinks: but perhaps it depends on the game. There are probably some games that are not so enjoyable. Hard, sweaty games for instance, Sandra doesn’t like those. Hockey for instance. And maybe other games too, teasing games. Sandra is not too keen on being teased.
Mr Scrope says cryptically, ‘Work and play, eh? That’s what it’s all about.’
Sandra and Mr Scrope are in her parents’ sitting room. Just the two of them because it is 10 o’clock on Monday morning and so both of Sandra’s parents are at work. She has a younger brother Sam but he has gone off to summer camp. It is the first week of the summer holidays, except that this year they are not summer holidays for Sandra. She has finished school now, last week. She is seventeen and a half. Sandra has finished school but she hasn’t got a job, not yet. She is not waiting to go to college either, she hasn’t got the qualifications for that.
That is why Mr Scrope is here. Hopefully Mr Scrope may have some ideas about jobs. Arthur Scrope is a local businessman (he has an estate business) and Sandra’s mother Daphne Mullins has been told by an acquaintance that Mr Scrope can often fix girls up. So he has come round and Sandra has made some coffee as her mother suggested (to show she can be useful even if she doesn’t have all those grades that some girls have). And also of course Sandra is a very pretty girl, with a nice slim but shapely figure. That can help a girl get a job, can’t it? Looking nice and presentable, that is. That is how Sandra’s mother put it. Not wishing to say looking sexy, although of course a mother is aware that when a man is looking for an office girl say, he may — well wish to go for a girl who is a bit sexy looking. And probably a man could consider Sandra sexy looking, in an innocent, butter-wouldn’t-melt sort of way, with her pretty face and soft brown hair and of course her nice figure.
Does Mr Scrope think Sandra is sexy? She has poured two cups of coffee and is sitting opposite him across the coffee table. Wishing she had had something smart to say when he asked about games, but that opportunity is gone now.
‘Anyway I know quite a nice game,’ Mr Scrope continues. ‘You could come over here and sit on my lap. While we discuss this and that.’
Sandra flushes. Does he mean it or is it a joke? No he probably means it, she decides. Mr Scrope is fortyish, medium height and looks in fact quite like one of the masters at school: Mr Anveys who taught History. And according to rumour Mr Anveys did it to a girl called Pauline who was caught shoplifting. He managed to placate the shopkeeper, saying she would be punished, and then made Pauline let him do it. Mr Anveys fucked her, that was what excited girls would whisper, relishing the word.
That tale about Mr Anveys comes flooding back now, causing Sandra to blush deep red. Mr Scrope, who looks like Mr Anveys, now suggesting she sits on his lap.
But Sandra’s mother has told her to do whatever she can to be friendly to Mr Scrope. So pushing those unfortunate thoughts out of her head as best she can, Sandra manages a smile and says OK. And gets up, goes over… Mr Scrope takes her hand… and his other hand has a quick feel through her skirt at her bottom… as he guides her down. To sit her on his lap — where right away Sandra can feel that he has an erection.
Yes she can recognise what it is alright. She is sitting on Mr Scrope’s stiff penis. It is stiff, engorged with blood for the act of sexual intercourse, that is what Mr Cutworth, Biology, told them in Sex Instruction. (‘What a girl needs to know before she leaves school.’) Mr Cutworth showed them some pictures of men with erections, enormous looking it seemed to Sandra. The thought of such a thing going up inside you made her feel dizzy, though in an excited sort of way.
Sandra got that feeling now, slightly dizzy, as she felt Mr Scrope’s thing under her bottom. Didn’t it hurt him to have her sitting on it?
His hand came in and took hold of one of her boobs, lightly squeezing it through her blouse and thin bra underneath. That of course made her feel even more dizzy, with her heart thumping a bit now. There was still that erect penis under her bottom and now this hand feeling her tits which were very sensitive, certainly with a man’s hand on them which Sandra wasn’t at all used to. Be friendly, her mother had said. Which meant she mustn’t object to what she was sitting on, or the hand. And try and concentrate on what Mr Scrope was now saying.
He was telling her about a game they would play, round at his house. It was a game that could get her a job. She would meet some gentlemen who could give her a job. Businessmen who might have a job available for a pretty girl who knew how to be friendly and behave properly. The game was that until they had made a decision Sandra wouldn’t see who they were. So she would have a blindfold on to meet each gentleman. It would be in Mr Scrope’s garden. An intimate little interview with a gentleman in Mr Scrope’s garden, with Sandra wearing a blindfold.
‘Do you get the picture?’ Mr Scrope asked. His hand was still fondling Sandra’s tits.
‘Ye…es,’ she says hesitantly. ‘I… think so.’ Trying to picture it, but she is not able to think too clearly what with Mr Scrope’s hands and his still erect organ under her.
He tells her, ‘I think I can arrange two or maybe three of them tomorrow. For a start. OK?’
And then he says there’s another game they can play right now. It is a game which involves having Sandra over his lap. Not sitting on it like she is at the moment but lying face down. With her skirt up and her knickers down. To have her bottom spanked. Has Sandra ever had her bottom spanked?
Not recently certainly. Maybe when she was small, by her mother, but certainly not since being grown up, a teenager. Certainly not at seventeen — and by a man, a stranger! Sandra makes unhappy sounds of protest — but they are cut short. It is only a game she is told. And who knows, it is a game that perhaps one of those gentlemen tomorrow might think of indulging in. One of those businessmen who may have a job on offer. Having a trying-out now will mean she is quite ready to do it tomorrow.
Sandra is not convinced by this argument. And it comes as something of a shock to hear that it may be on the agenda tomorrow. But she does want a job. Really needs one. And her mother did say just do what Mr Scrope wants. Though could her mother have imagined he would be suggesting spanking Sandra’s bare bottom? Or for that matter playing with her boobs, and having her sit on his big erection.
Anyway Mr Scrope is taking things into his own hands. Pushing Sandra upright (that at least is a relief) and then his hands reaching up under her skirt, to grab her knickers. Which of course is not a relief at all. She gives a quivering whimper but he is pulling them down. To her knees and beyond. Briefly one hand slides up and feels her pussy… Sandra almost has a heart attack with his fingers in her bush of crinkly hair… one finger right there at her slit. But then she is being pulled down. Over his lap. Her skirt is unceremoniously turned up over her back.
And then the hand is spanking. Crisp, hard spanks to the quivering bare cheeks of Sandra’s bottom. She gives a shuddery yelp as each one lands. They really sting!
Through the heavy, painful spanks Mr Scrope says, a little breathlessly, ‘Isn’t this a nice game!’
----//----
Yes it was pretty awful. But tomorrow Sandra is going to see these men who may have jobs to offer. Though ‘see’ of course is not going to be strictly accurate from what Mr Scrope has said. This little blindfold game. To tell the truth Sandra is a bit apprehensive about it. It does sound just a little bit scary.
Her mother naturally wants to know how the interview with Mr Scrope has gone. Sandra gives a strictly edited version. Cutting out that dreadful bare-bottom spanking and also that other business. Also not telling anything about the blindfold game. So really only saying that tomorrow she is going to Mr Scrope’s to meet some gentlemen who may have jobs to offer. That of course is very good news to Daphne Mullins. Does she suspect there may be more that Sandra isn’t telling her? If she does she doesn’t make any comment.
One other thing. Before he left Mr Scrope indicated what he thought she should wear tomorrow. A blouse and skirt with maybe a pair of smart court shoes, but more particularly underneath the skirt: stockings and a suspender belt. Together with a pretty pair of knickers — then laughingly saying that of course Sandra could leave off the knickers if she wished.
That naturally was something else to think about (and something else also that Sandra didn’t tell her mother). It was something else to be a bit apprehensive about. Naturally of course she would wear knickers. She hadn’t thought that was a very funny joke of Mr Scrope’s. But the thought of stockings and a suspender belt and that talk of possible spanking games.
----//----
Mr Scrope has a nice big garden with lots of trees and attractive shrubs. Behind the house is a paved terrace With seats and a table and beyond that a wide lawn. At the other side of the lawn in amongst the shrubs is a summer house. Sandra can see all this because she has arrived before any of the gentlemen and so has not yet had to put on that blindfold. (She is still half hoping that she won’t really have to do it, that maybe Mr Scrope has been joking.)
But now in the summer house he produces it. A large black silk square that he folds corner-ways and then a couple of more times to make a wide black blindfold. He places it on the summer house table, where there is also a wide-brimmed straw hat. Sandra is to wear both of these.
‘So, shall we get ready, Sandra dear?’ Mr Scrope asks with a grin. ‘Before our first mystery gentleman arrives.’
He gives her the straw hat to put on and then, as Sandra stands trembling, fastens the folded black silk round her head. Firmly knotting it at the back of her head. It is not so tight as to hurt — but sufficient to prevent her seeing anything. Sandra feels a little surge of panic in the sudden darkness. But Mr Scrope’s hands are there. Reassuring, though not exactly reassuring when they move to cup her tits.
Mr Scrope leads Sandra to the wall of the summer house. The first guest will be with them shortly he tells her. He will be on the terrace and all Sandra has to do is walk across the lawn to him. No problem, just take her time And then… take it from there.
Mr Scrope’s hands are gently stroking her. ‘And you’ve got the suspender belt on?’ he queries. Sandra says a shaky yes — but her host is checking. His hands are sliding her skirt up, plus the slip she has on underneath. She whimpers as his hands explore her legs. The stockinged thighs — and then above, to the soft bare thigh-flesh.
‘Oh yes,’ he murmurs. And then… he is sliding her brief white knickers down.
She tries to prevent it, struggling with his hands, but is told to keep still, Mr Scrope is only checking. Checking what? Her head is in a dizzy whirl — because Mr Scrope’s hand is now on her bare pussy… and then after a bit of confusion, a confused pause, it is something else. Something else.
Sandra yelps. From behind the blindfold she knows, can guess, what it is. It is what she had to sit on yesterday. Only now… it is bare. The bare flesh. A hot stiff column of flesh. Pushing in between her bare thighs, at her pussy. She yelps again. It is jabbing in at her. And then… there is wetness. A lot of sticky wetness.
----//----
Stumbling across the lawn like a blind person. Which in effect is what Sandra is for there is not a glimmer of light from behind Mr Scrope’s very effective blindfold. Stumbling, arms outstretched. The first visitor is here, or so Mr Scrope has indicated. Seated on the terrace now, waiting for her. She must concentrate her mind, to present herself as a smart and willing girl to this man who can give her a job. And forget what has just happened in the summer house. That is not at all easy, it is still filling her mind. Mr Scrope clutching her, embracing her. And with her skirt up and her knickers down, thrusting at her. His penis thrusting between her bare legs. Not in, not inside, but right there. And then that sudden sticky wetness.
Afterwards Mr Scrope, breathless, said, ‘There! Wasn’t that a nice little game!’
She does her best to forget. Her knickers are up in place again now, and her dress is decently down. She has that straw hat on her head — and of course there is the black blindfold. A pretty girl stumbling warily, unseeingly, in her smart medium-heel courts across Mr Scrope’s manicured lawn.
‘Almost here!’ a voice calls encouragingly. A smooth middle-class, middle-aged man’s voice. Sandra orients herself towards the voice which indeed sounds close. Shortly her feet encounter the paved terrace. She remembers the lay-out, the wide concrete flower container and behind it the picnic table and bench. That is where he is sitting.
‘Lovely,’ the voice says. ‘A little closer. That’s it.’ A hand takes her hand. She is drawn forward, close to him.
‘Mmm… aren’t you lovely! Sandra isn’t it? A lovely name for a lovely girl.’
One hand is gently, unhurriedly exploring her. Feeling her thighs, and then her bottom. ‘Are you keen and willing?’ her unseen companion asks.
‘Y…Yes sir.’ She wants to think of something else to say but can’t. For one thing the hand is now going up her skirt, which doesn’t aid her concentration. Up the backs of her thighs to the top of her stockings, and the bare flesh beyond.
‘I should need to check that of course,’ the soft and amiable tones continue. ‘Check that you are indeed a keen girl and are able to accept discipline. Alright Sandra? And by the way, for the moment you can call me Mr Smith. OK?’
His fingers are at her bottom, through the tight brief knickers which Mr Scrope has taken down to so devastating a purpose only minutes ago. Can she guess what this unseen Mr Smith is going to say next?
‘Smacking a girl’s bottom Sandra. That is always an excellent means of testing her willingness to accept discipline.’
Has she known that was coming? Sandra’s head is whirling in her darkness behind the blindfold. Certainly these words, mildly spoken, do not come as a surprise. She makes some stuttery answer, while the fingers explore her bottom. She is going to have her bottom spanked. And then maybe pleasant-sounding Mr Smith will say she can have a job. Doing what? An office girl, making the tea? Well it would be something, she would be able to say she had a job, and of course there would be pay at the end of the week. Yes she will allow herself to be spanked if that is the reward.
Mr Smith is telling her to take her things off. Her blouse and skirt. And the rest. Everything off except her stockings and suspender belt, and her shoes. She can keep her bra on too if she wants to, if she’s a shy girl. And of course the blindfold, that must remain in place.
Her things are on the table, the straw hat is fallen to the ground although Sandra can’t see this. She is over Mr Smith’s lap, across his spread thighs, stripped down as he has instructed. So she is virtually nude. Mr Smith’s hand is fondling her bare nates — and shortly it will be spanking hard down. But it will be worth it, she tries to tell herself fighting the panic that threatens to invade her mind. It won’t really hurt. Though Mr Scrope certainly did yesterday, his hand really stung. But this Mr Smith sounds nice, quite gentle. Although of course it seems given to messing about with girls if he gets the chance. The sun is not out but it is quite warm. Warm on her bared flesh. She gives a little whimper.
And then a more urgent yelp. The fondling hand has stopped fondling and instead has cracked sharply down. The start of the spanking. And it hurts! As bad as Mr Scrope, Yes!
Aaaoooohhh…!’ Yes quite as bad in spite of that mild-mannered talking. ‘Aaaooowwwwwhh…!
Sandra is wriggling and writhing, she can’t help it. Although she knows she has got to take the spanking. She has the urge to yell out and tell him to stop, it is hurting too much, but she can’t do that. Not if she wants this job. And then Sandra has a thought, as the hard stinging spanks continue to rain down. If she gets a job Mr Smith won’t want to keep on doing this, will he? Regular spankings at work? That thought hasn’t really come to her before. She couldn’t cope with that. Could she?
----//----
Two days have passed and Sandra is in Mr Scrope’s garden again. There have been two days of those games. Games with gentlemen who may give her a job, but… has she got a job?
‘I should think so, very likely,’ Mr Scrope says when this question is rather desperately put to him. ‘But of course they have to give some thought to it. You have to consider all the angles when taking on a new person.’
And meanwhile Sandra must keep on playing whatever games the gentlemen want. Mr Smith and the others. There has been Mr Green and Mr Jones and also Mr Henry. These are not their real names, she knows that. She is seeing Mr Jones again this morning, also another new gentleman.
When are all these games sessions going to end? Sandra is getting just a little bit desperate. For one thing the games have not been just spanking.
No. Spanking, in the light of some of the rest, now seems like child’s play as it were. Mr Green and Mr Henry both wanted to use a cane — which Mr Scrope kindly provided. That cane! Oh God! It hurts just to think about it. And Mr Jones and also Mr Smith, they didn’t want the cane but something else.
She had another game with Mr Smith yesterday. Mr Smith was still making up his mind about the job. And this time he wanted a different game. He wanted Sandra with her clothes off again but this time kneeling between his knees. And then what he wanted… Well Sandra doesn’t like to think about what Mr Smith wanted. But she had to do it. And Mr Jones, later on, wanted something similar. Not with Sandra’s mouth but her hand.
Yes she is getting just a little bit desperate. But Mr Scrope assures her that something is definitely going to develop from all this. From all this game playing. And meanwhile, naturally, Mr Scrope wants to continue to enjoy his own games. Several times a day.

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