From Blushes 29
She was in the back hall of the rectory. Shivering. Not because it was cold exactly because it wasn’t, not at half past four on a quite warm June afternoon. But the rectory was a sort of shivery place. She felt that ever since they had come to live in the village two years ago. When she was 18. Was it the rectory itself or was it its occupant Mr Crumley, the Rev Crumley? Probably both.
Although it wasn’t cold one reason in particular that Janet was shivering now was that she had only vest and knickers on — plus her high-heeled shoes. No bra, Mr Crumley had made her take that off as well. And she was waiting for Mr Crumley to come back. Altogether that would make you shiver even on a warm June afternoon. It would make any young woman shiver, any of Mr Crumley’s acquaintances certainly.
She had not been at all keen on going to Mr Crumley but there didn’t seem to be anyone else and she needed two references. Dr Mitcham was one and Rev Crumley, being the vicar, would seem to be the other obvious one. That was what her mother said and on the face of it yes, it might seem obvious. But then Janet’s mother didn’t really know what Mr Crumley was like. Janet did not like the idea of having to ask him for anything but really there didn’t seem to be any choice. Mr Crumley would give her a reference, she didn’t doubt that. But at a price.
She took a look through the glass of the door. It wasn’t quite clear glass but if you put your face close you could see. There was no one in sight. Just the rectory garden. But any time now there would be the bulky figure of the Rev Archibald Crumley. Janet shivered again.
She had been in the group ever since they came here. The Young Women’s Group. Run of course by Mr Crumley. Janet hadn’t been particularly keen to join but her mother had insisted. ‘If we’re living in the place we must join in. And I think they’re so nice, these village activities.’ Her mother had joined the local W.I. That was mostly older women and had nothing to do with Mr Crumley.
The Young Women’s Group sounded all right, young married women and unmarried girls of 18 plus. Discussion groups and a choir. And also of course private chats with Mr Crumley, at the rectory.
Mr Crumley liked the private chats best of all. A nice cosy session in the rectory sitting room, just the two of you. Side by side on the sofa with Mr Crumley encouragingly patting your knee. ‘Just tell me, Janet. All your little problems. I’m sure you have little problems, all young women have. And it’s so much easier if you can talk about them, isn’t it? After all that’s what I’m here for?’
What Mr Crumley wanted to hear, what he grilled you about, were all the intimate personal details. Of anything you might have been up to. The things that you didn’t want to tell anyone. Certainly not Mr Crumley. But he kept on. And on. And eventually wheedled things out of you. And when he’d got them out of you…
Janet bit her lip and suppressed another shiver. Another peek out of the door. No sign, but he wouldn’t be long. ‘Just two minutes, my dear,’ he had said. And familiarly squeezed her bottom. And of course he could do that when he’d got something on you, something that he’d kept on and on at you about until in desperation and not really knowing what you were saying you blurted it out.
Mr Linwood. Henry Linwood who was married and also as it happened a churchwarden. It had been Mr Linwood of course, keeping on at her until… That had been six months ago and Mr Crumley had found out about it soon afterwards and made Janet take some punishment. Her skirt off and her knickers down and the cane. She had thought she was going to die with that cane. But she hadn’t done it again with Mr Linwood and it was all over. But then Mr Crumley when she reluctantly went to him with her request for the reference, for that job in town… Mr Crumley had acted as she could have guessed he would act.
That plummy, sanctimonious voice. ‘Yes, Janet my dear. Of course. But I do think…’
What Mr Crumley thought was that if he was going to give a girl a reference he had to make sure she had learnt her lesson. ‘That most regrettable business, Janet. You know what I refer to. I have to be sure that you are fully cognisant…’
He said he had to go out on an errand. Meanwhile if Janet got ready now and waited in the hall and spent the time in silent contemplation of her sinful behaviour. Then when he came back he would give her another good hard caning. And then he would write the reference. Gladly. Janet had thought about it for a moment and then done what Mr Crumley wanted. Taken off her dress. Then her vest and bra. After looking thoughtfully at the big bare breasts Mr Crumley said she could put the vest on again but not the bra. Maybe Mr Crumley thought that would be more humiliating, in vest and knickers but no bra like a young girl whereas clearly with those big, mature boobs Janet was not a young girl. Whatever the reason that was how Mr Crumley wanted her.
She was wondering whether to take another frightened peek through the door when she heard sounds. Crunching on the path. And then a shape there on the other side of the door. Indistinct from a distance through the opaque glass but it was Mr Crumley. The lock working. Glancing desperately round, like an animal in a trap, for some possible escape. But there was none. She needed that reference and she had come here willingly. Well, not really willingly. But she had come. And she would have to take it. That cane. That dreadful cane.
Mr Crumley coming in and carefully closing the door behind him. ‘A lovely afternoon, Janet. Old Mrs Rilkins said it quite made her feel young again, this weather we’re having. Mmmm.’
Janet was back against the wall, as far back as she could get. Really shivering now. Her heart going bump, bump, bump. Now it was going to happen.
‘Well, have you been thinking, my dear? Seeking forgiveness? I know you said you did before but I have to be quite sure of it if I am to take the moral responsibility of recommending you for this position. I owe that to your prospective employer. You can see that, I am sure.’
He had moved in close on her, his eyes fastened on the big boobs jutting out the tight vest. Ripe unbrassiered breasts, their womanly nipples clearly delineated through the thin cotton. Mr Crumley’s hands came up. A squeaky gasp as he took hold of them.
‘I trust you are telling the truth when you assure me there has been no repetition?’
Vigorously nodding her head. An awful sicky feeling as the hands squeezed and mounded her tits. ‘Nothing at all, Janet? No one else?’
‘Good. Well I certainly hope that is true.’ At last he let go of her. ‘So now to business. As I said I intend to give you another warming with the cane as a reminder for the future. Now then…’
He was fetching a wooden chair. Putting it close against the wall. The last time, the last caning, had been in the sitting room. But this one evidently.
‘Kneel up on the chair, Janet. Stretch your arms up against the wall. That’s it.’
Doing it. She had to have the reference. And it wouldn’t take long. Not really. Though afterwards the pain… Mr Crumley was tugging down her knickers. And running his hands over her bare bottom. Making little appreciative sounds as he did so. She pressed her face against the cool wall. It wouldn’t take long, it would soon be over…
Oh God. No! She couldn’t… The pain was impossible.
‘Keep still, Janet. You’re a big girl remember.’
No! No! No! No…oooo…
Outside the rectory, with its pistol-like sounds of cane meeting flesh and those attendant yelps of distress, the life of the village proceeding in its quiet, time-honoured English way. People remarking once again on the weather. Old Mrs Rilkins sitting under a sunshade noisily sipping hot strong tea. Janet’s mother pruning roses. Also one young married lady, another member of Mr Crumley’s Young Women’s Group, with her husband away for the day, doing what she shouldn’t be doing, in other words engaging in extramarital sexual intercourse, in her bedroom. And vaguely wondering, as she did so, whether Mr Crumley could possibly find out. Or wheedle it out of her.