Yesterday had been really deadly, sitting in school all day listening to first one then another old teacher droning away, while out of the window you could see the hot sun blazing down out of a clear blue sky. Seventeen-year-old Sandra Nicholls had told herself that if tomorrow was the same then she’d do it: she’d just take the day off. Play truant.
And today was the same, not a cloud in the early morning June sky and the radio confirming that the South of England was all set for another scorcher. OK: so she would do it. She could fake her mum’s writing, no problem, for a note tomorrow. With a pleasant feeling of excitement Sandra got ready for school as normal and went off in her school uniform and with her bag. But instead of getting on the bus at the corner she walked on, to the newspaper shop.
She went in, browsed around, then bought some sweets. Mr Smithson said wasn’t she going to be late? Sandra smiled and said Oh No. Her mum left for work a quarter of an hour after Sandra went out. And twenty minutes after leaving the house Sandra was back inside — feeling rather pleased with herself.
She planned a leisurely day. A bit of sunbathing in the garden in the morning — there was a secluded corner where the neighbours couldn’t see — and then go out for some fish and chips at lunchtime. And then? Well she just might walk by the garage, where that boy Derek worked. She knew he rather fancied her.
But things immediately started going awry. Sandra had just taken off her knickers prior to putting on her bikini. when there was a sharp knock at the door. Her heart shot up into her mouth. She toyed with the idea of lying low and ignoring it but then the knock came a second time and she decided she’d better go. It might be the postman with that dress for her that her Mum had ordered from the catalogue. She hurriedly pushed her knickers and the bikini under a cushion on the sofa.
It wasn’t the postman, it was the man for the rent. She had seen him before — fortyish and going bald — and she didn’t really like him. He had a sort of way of looking at you as if he was imagining what you looked like without your clothes on. He looked at her like this now as, eyes rounding, he said, ‘Hello, young lady.’
Sandra said her Mum was out and he’d have to come back next week, and anyway her Mum went to work at nine. He should have known that. She pushed the door to close it, but then found he had his foot there preventing it closing.
He said heartily, ‘No school today then?’
Sandra sort of blushed and said she wasn’t very well. The man said, ‘Really? You look pretty good to me. Not playing truant, are we, on this nice sunny day?’
Sandra said ‘No of course not,’ but her blushing gave her away. And he just pushed the door with his foot and went in. Then shut the door behind him.
He gave her a knowing look, his sharp eyes taking in the pretty face framed by the short blonde hair and the shapely form in the white blouse and grey pleated skirt.
‘Something tells me, young lady, that you may be telling a little fib.’
As her blush deepened he added. ‘Look, why don’t you make me a nice cup of tea? I’m dying of thirst what with this weather.’
Just my bloody luck, Sandra thought, but thought she had better humour him. She went out to the kitchen, conscious now that she had no knickers on under her skirt. The man’s eyes followed her: the back view was as nice as the front. He shook his head thoughtfully, then sat down on the sofa. Making himself comfortable he moved one of the cushions. What was this? He lifted up the two parts of a red bikini swimsuit — plus a pair of knickers, pale pink nylon.
Sandra made the tea and took it in. She gave a nervous glance at the cushion which had her knickers under it. She was just about to make an excuse to go upstairs and put another pair on when, grinning, the rent man held up bikini and knickers in front of her.
‘Been doing a striptease, have we?’ he asked.
Sandra couldn’t think of anything to say and he went quickly on. ‘Haven’t you got any on then?’
In red-faced embarrassment she mumbled something about just going to put the bikini on.
He took a big mouthful of tea. ‘Not bad!’ he pronounced. Then:
‘Look: it seems to me there’s some sort of what you might call poetic justice intended here. By the Fates or something. Because here we have a pretty girl caught playing truant, and caught not so much red-handed as bare-bottomed. Now I don’t know what a bare bottom suggests to you, but to me it suggests that it is asking for a spanking.’
Red in the face, Sandra now nonetheless found her tongue. ‘You’ve got to be bloody joking!’
‘Oh no I’m not.’ He took another mouthful of the tea she had made. ‘No I’m not, young Miss. You’ll let me spank that bottom or I’m afraid I’ll have to report you.’
Sandra felt sick. The thought of it — having her bare bottom smacked by this horrible man — made her want to throw up. Grown-up 16-year-old girls just did not get their bottoms smacked. And as for getting it on the bare bottom… She cringed.
‘Look… please…’ she said weakly.
But he simply shook his head, his mouth set and his eyes with that greedy look which, with the thought of what he was going to do, was now greedier than ever.
‘Come on!’ he said, ‘Or I’ll phone the school and your mum right now. But if you take your punishment then that’ll be the end of it and you’ll have the rest of the day out in the sun.’
Looking and feeling sick Sandra got over his lap. Her skirt was pulled up round her waist and there was that full round bare bottom which she didn’t like even her dad to see. She cringed, then let out an anguished wail as he took hold of it. His big slightly moist hand cupping one bare cheek.
‘Stop that!’ she yelped, but of course he didn’t. The hand slid intimately over her whole bottom, feeling, fondling.
And there was another anguished yelp as the hand stopped fondling and started smacking sharply down: Smack!… Smack!… Smack!… Smack!… Rhythmically juddering her soft flesh.
It really hurt, really stung. But worse than that was the very fact of having it done — this awful man taking these awful liberties with her. There was nothing she could do, though, except lie there, yelping out at regular intervals, and take it.
Finally he had finished. Red-faced, she got to her feet. His grinning face: ‘Not so bad, was it?’
‘It was bloody awful!’ blurted Sandra, fighting to keep back the tears of humiliation.
‘All over,’ he said. Then held up her bikini. ‘So you can get this on now.’
Giving him an angry look she grabbed the swimsuit and made to get the bikini bottom on under her skirt.
‘No, no, not like that!’ His eyes greedy again. ‘Take your things off first!’
‘Look…’ she said.
But he made her do it. Made her take off blouse and skirt and bra so that she was nude in front of him.
‘Nice!’ he said. And the big moist hands were grabbing at her pointy bare breasts. She struggled but he got his hands on them just the same. And then one hand made a sudden dart down below, to briefly take hold of something else. Then he let her go.
‘Have a nice day, then. I better be off on my rounds. And thanks for the tea!’
And he went out. Sandra looked at the closed door, then burst into tears. What an absolutely diabolical bastard! Still it might have been worse, she told herself a little later as she lay on a towel in her bikini, oiled limbs spread out under the hot sun. He just might have tried to do her. Well, you certainly heard of such things.
You might think that was enough for one day — too much in fact — and that Sandra had well and truly paid for her day off That was certainly what Sandra thought but unfortunately it seemed as if the Fates had really picked on her for her one little bit of backsliding. Because it had not finished yet.
It was just after 12 o’clock. Feeling a bit peckish she had got dressed — her blue summer dress, not her uniform — plus also putting on a little touch of pale pink lipstick, and then gone out to get herself some fish and chips She was halfway there, walking along and minding her own business and now with the thought of what that awful rent man had done receding just a little, when she was suddenly aware that a car had stopped alongside her.
She looked… and, Cripes!, recognised both car and driver. It was Mr Billington, her dad’s boss! There was an exchange very similar to the one she had had with the rent man. No school today? No, she was, uh, not well. It didn’t look as if Mr Billington believed this either. But he then said hop in, he would buy her some lunch.
She could hardly say No, not with him being her dad’s boss and on the face of it — well, a free lunch was OK. The thing was, though, that Mr Billington, also fortyish like the rent man but not going bald, also could give you the impression at times that he would like to know what you had under your dress. Very knowing eyes and there was the feeling that if he got something on you…
And unfortunately, under the mellowing effect of a chicken-in-a-basket and a shandy — mostly the latter — Sandra did admit that she was playing truant.
‘You won’t tell, though?’ she breathed, looking across into Mr Billington’s knowing eyes as they sat in the corner of the pub. ‘My mum would go bonkers. And also Miss Roberts at school…’
Mr Billington smiled. ‘No, I’m sure your little secret will be safe with me.’
But afterwards, in his car, he said they’d go round to his place first. And when they got there, in his lounge, he said, of course when he was young what you got if you played truant was the cane. And looking straight at Sandra with those very alert eyes he said what did she think of that?
Sandra felt an icy little shiver down her spine. It wasn’t after all going to be a repeat of the rent man, was it? With a sick feeling in her stomach she realised, as Mr Billington continued to talk, that it was. The trouble with today’s youth, etc., etc. Where would it all end? He felt a moral obligation, he couldn’t just let it pass.
But he wouldn’t tell anyone, Oh No. No. he would be happy to deal with it himself. And as it happened he did have a cane! He had bought it at a jumble sale, he said, thinking that you never knew when such a thing might come in handy. He was pretty sure he could lay his hands on it and, yes, he came back almost immediately with it in his hand. A two-foot-long, whippy rattan cane that made you feel sick just to look at it.
‘Take it like a big girl, Sandra,’ he said, ‘and then you’ll hear no more about it.’
As she stood in front of him, struck dumb, he added, ‘Just slip your knickers down and then bend over the arm of the chair.’
Sandra looked at him, then looked around, as if there might suddenly be some miraculous way of escape. There wasn’t. Numbly, she did the only thing she could do. Comply. Walked a bit unsteadily to the armchair, reached her hands up under her skirt to the pink nylon knickers which earlier the rent man had found hidden under the cushion, and slid the knickers down. Then, still like a zombie, laid herself over the arm of the chair.
The skirt of Sandra’s dress came up and her pretty, plump bottom was bare again. And that rattan cane came whistling down to land THWACK!… squarely across the pretty, plump bottom. It simply took her breath away — for a long second — and then her breath came back, and out, in a gasping ‘Oooowwhhh!’
It stung like bloody murder, more than you could ever imagine. Sandra wriggled and jerked her bum and brought both hands back to clutch desperately at it.
But Mr Billington was pushing her hands back, out of the way, and saying ‘Keep still!’ And then another diabolical THWACK!… And another desperate anguished cry.
He gave her six: six mind-boggling, breath-stopping cracks with that awful cane. She was unashamedly crying by the time he finished, her bottom feeling like she’d sat down on a red-hot frying pan. Her face blinded by tears, she felt herself being pulled to her feet, and then she was down again, this time over Mr Billington’s lap. And he was making soothing sounds… as he ran his hand caressingly over her smarting flesh.
‘Had a nice day at school, Sandra?’ asked her Mum when she got home. ‘My, but it’s been a scorcher again!’
She started bustling about getting the tea. ‘I remember when I was about your age playing truant from school on a day just like this. I didn’t do much, just sat around in the garden, but I suppose because it was a stolen pleasure it seemed even better than if I’d gone to the seaside or something. Not that I’m suggesting that you play truant, dear.’
‘No,’ said Sandra. Truancy was one thing she would not be trying again in a hurry. She had paid for her day’s stolen pleasure all right, and she rather thought there would be still more to pay. Because Mr Billington wanted to see her again.
‘We won’t tell anyone, though, will we?’ he had said.