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Tuesday, 30 October 2018

Fancying Fiona

From Blushes 57
Fiona Gilbert was quite delicious. Fiona Milway as she had been until only a few weeks ago. Stanley Gilbert’s gorgeous new young wife. A real dazzler. Aged 20 but really scarcely looking that: she could easily be a mouth-watering schoolgirl of 17 or 18. A lovely face: big doe-like azure eyes, and ripely soft so-innocent mouth. Framed in a cascade of shoulder-length ripe-corn hair. And her figure too of course, it was equally stunning. Breasts like twin melons thrusting out the front of her blouse; and below the slim waist the lovely swell of curving hips and from the rear as she walked the sublime twin cheeks of her bottom doing mind-boggling things under her skirt.
Yes, all quite mouth-watering. Stanley Gilbert’s new wife. Stanley who was 42.
And that was the next thing that sprang to everyone’s mind. After seeing how dazzling she was. The fact that Stanley was 42. How could a man like Stanley, a good old sort no doubt and certainly worth a bob or two but also, most certainly, staid and not a ball of fire. How was Stanley really going to cope with this? Had he really considered the situation soberly? And you had only to ask yourself this question to come up with the answer that he could not have. Stanley Gilbert could only have been in some sort of dream world, to imagine he could cope with this dazzler.
In particular in that no one seemed to know much about her background. Anything reliable that is. One rumour said she came from a west country rectory — but then we all know what these vicarage girls can be like. Butter seemingly won’t melt in their sweet mouths but at the same time they’re fucking away like rabbits. Was Stanley’s new young lady going to be engaging in non-stop sexual intercourse of a promiscuous nature? Quite a few leering-faced persons were extremely keen to find out. Hoping to be able to satisfy young Mrs Gilbert’s keen appetite in that direction. But the rectory rumour was only one of many, with others ascribing much less romantic backgrounds.
What was pretty well established was that Stanley had got her through some sort of matrimonial agency. High class of course, as one would expect with Stanley Gilbert’s money, but nonetheless one of those places. And why would a sublime looking girl like this Fiona give her name to such an establishment if she was not at the very least a gold-digger. And when a gold-digger had dug gold and was no doubt bored — well, the chances were that one who looked like that and was 20 as opposed to Stanley’s 42 would, like the rectory girl that she might be anyway, be fucking like a female rabbit. All and sundry. Or at least whoever took her fancy.
A lot of people thought that. Indeed just about everyone. Some of them mentioned it to Stanley. Obliquely. Their fear for his future happiness. Their fear of what this undoubtedly lovely young thing could do. One who mentioned it somewhat less obliquely than most was Monica Smithford. Monica who was the wife of Harold Smithford and was not at all bad-looking herself. Aged 30, though Monica claimed 28. Not in the same class of looks as this dazzling Fiona of course. Handsome but less soft and sensuous looking.
What Stanley didn’t know was that Monica was to a certain extent partial to members of her own sex. In spite of being Harold Smithford’s wife and therefore for all to see officially heterosexual. But… that doesn’t necessarily mean exclusively so, does it: Monica could fancy a very special girl. A very special feminine girl. Soft and sensuous. A blonde to contrast with her own brunetteness. Yes, she could really fancy this lovely Fiona.
Stanley was not to know this. No one had told him about Monica and he was not himself very perceptive about such matters. No one had told Stanley because for one thing not very many people knew. Harold Smithford knew but he was certainly not going to tell. It rather amused him. It was rather amusing to see if Monica could really…
Monica told Stanley he would have to be very careful. With an exquisite young girl like Fiona and all the men about. Rodney Filford. George Hanway. James Artright. And all the others. The only thing they thought about from morning till night (and from night til morning) was, well, she didn’t wish to be crude but Stanley knew what she meant. Everyone knew what they were like. And Stanley’s Fiona so young and innocent. And if by chance she wasn’t so innocent (well, it was possible these days), well, you also knew what young girls were like. Nowadays. Easily persuaded. Unless…
Unless they had some training. Preferably from another woman. A slightly older, more mature one. You couldn’t trust a man of course. But a woman to advise her as to the pitfalls of social intercourse. And to teach a little self-discipline.
Stanley listened to all this. It seemed to him that Monica was talking a lot of sense. He was inexperienced with women, which was why he had finally decided to go to the agency for a partner. And what an unbelievable creature they had found him! Stanley had not believed the human female could be so exquisite. But by the same token she was clearly going to be as attractive to other males. Rodney Filford and James Artright. George Hanway. Experienced men of the world. Who could easily toy with Fiona’s affections, just for fun. Or even worse, more sickening, toy with her exquisite body. So yes, he was listening to Monica.
----//----
Monica’s large and pleasant house was out in the country and some five miles from the Gilberts’ own country property. Monica’s and Harold’s house of course but Harold is not here, he had some business that has taken him off for a week. Which is very convenient. For Monica.
Monica has Fiona here for the week, with Stanley’s blessing. Fiona has just been delivered on this March morning, by Stanley in his large Mercedes. The Mercedes and Stanley have departed. Monica and Fiona are in the sitting room, alone, looking out of the French windows on a dull, grey-skied March scene.
Monica slips her arm lightly round Fiona’s slim waist. ‘It’s so lovely to have you here, Fiona dear. All to myself. I know we’re going to have a lovely time.’
Fiona shivers slightly. It is not a very nice day. She is not sure what they are going to do here all week. But Stanley was very keen for her to come. To get to know Monica better. Monica seems quite nice, although Fiona has seen very little of her as yet. Very… self-confident.
Fiona starts. The hand has slid down onto her bottom.
‘You know why you’re here, Fiona dear? Mmm…’
Fiona squirms away, embarrassed. Monica’s hand had slid intimately down onto the undercurve of her bottom. An intimate feel through her light tweed skirt.
‘No… Not… ah…’
Monica comes in close again. A little laugh, but her voice comes harder. Firmer.
‘You’re very fidgety, dear. We mustn’t be like that.’ Her arm sliding round Fiona’s waist again. ‘You’re here for a little training. It was remiss of Stanley if he didn’t explain that. He wants you trained a little. Otherwise… he’s not sure if you can look after yourself. Don’t fidget, Fiona.’
The hand is down there again. The underswell of Fiona’s surging rear. Fiona can’t help… trying to get her bottom away.
‘Keep still. I’m just… investigating. What do you do… if a man does this? If a man gives you a feel. At a dance or a party. Not Stanley of course, another man. They do it all the time of course. And with a gorgeous thing like you, Fiona… well they are bound to.’
‘Please…’ Fiona has slid away from the window but only into the corner of the room and the pressing Monica has pursued her. Her hand is still at Fiona’s sweet-cheeked rear.
‘So what do you do, dear? When they give you a sneaky little feel. Or something not so sneaky. Mmm…?’ With now a frontal attack Monica’s two hands reach for Fiona’s full globes, her ripe breasts under the thin pale blue silk blouse. Fiona squeals.
‘It’s what poor Stanley is concerned about, Fiona. Those awful predatory men. With their grubby hands. And not only that. Their whispers in your pretty ear. Hot whispers, Fiona. That they’re desperate to fuck you.’
The obscene word, enunciated with seeming relish by Monica, is as shocking as Monica’s pressing hands. Fiona feels almost as if she is going to cry. Monica is very forceful. Both her hands and her questions. She won’t let her go. Fiona babbles something while ineffectually pushing at the hands. Well of course men do want things. They want to touch a girl, and they do want to make suggestions… of other things. Although Fiona is certainly not interested. She doesn’t want to be fondled up by other men, or anything else from them. She has had a cloistered rectory upbringing, but at the same time she is not one of those vicarage girls who want to fuck and fuck. She is a sweet, shy girl. Although she looks such a dazzler. And now she is Stanley’s wife all she wants… is what Stanley wants. To be his sweet young wife.
‘Stanley is concerned,’ Monica repeats. ‘He feels so vulnerable, poor dear. That is why he wanted me to… ah… check you out, Fiona. So I hope you will be cooperative. For Stanley’s sake.’
What can poor Fiona say to this except: Yes. Of course. The words gasping almost hysterically out. But of course. Naturally Fiona will cooperate. In what exactly, though…?
Monica has let go now. For the moment. Her hands have stopped grabbing. Groping. Monica is quite pink in the face. From the excitement of all this. The excitement of having got her hands on luscious Fiona.
‘That’s sensible. Have you ever been caned, Fiona? Whipped?’
What a question! Can Fiona have heard correctly? Weakly shaking her blonde head. Girls who are brought up with loving care in rectories generally are not whipped or caned.
Monica can scarcely contain her excitement. The cane is what she really wants. Or her horse crop. Slicing it into Fiona’s mouth-watering rear. Nude of course. The thought is almost too much for Monica. That and then a session in bed with the lovely innocent young thing. But the cane first. Or her riding crop.
‘Well we shall have to do that, Fiona. It’s a very basic test. To see how you take it. My riding crop I think. And… I shall want you with all your things off. Nude. Except perhaps your shoes, they can stay on. All right?’
All right? Fiona cannot believe this. Cannot believe her ears — or if she can, Monica must be joking. But Monica does not look or sound as if she is joking. Her voice is hard. Sharp. Her brilliant dark eyes are shining. As she repeats the unbelievable words. Her riding crop. Fiona to take off all her clothes. Except perhaps her white patent leather courts.
‘Come on, Fiona dear. We’ll go out into my scullery.’
Fiona can’t believe this but very shortly they are out in a stark and very basic looking scullery and Monica now has in her hand a vicious looking riding crop. She says in passing that the scullery is due to be modernised, which is easy to believe, but Fiona is not thinking about the somewhat primitive state of the room but of something else. The thing which is going to happen here. Because Monica means it. She means to hit Fiona with that sickening thing.
Another desperate attempt at protesting. It is like some awful nightmare. Monica’s hard voice cuts her short.
‘Don’t be silly, Fiona. I am going to do it right away. I’ve explained that it is a test I have to do. You’re just a soft and silly girl and would be such an easy prey to those men. Unless we toughen you up. Now get those things off!
Monica accompanied her words with a firm and wristy slice of the switch in across the tight seat of Fiona’s tweed skirt. Fiona lets out a shrill yell at the sharp, stinging pain. It has really hurt and that was through her skirt and knickers.
‘Get your things off at once,’ Monica hisses. ‘Or I shall take them off for you — and thrash your bare bottom until it’s raw.’
This threat is enough. With little whimpering sounds Fiona fumbles at her clothes. Her skirt. Her blouse. Everything Monica said. Fiona is half crying. How could Stanley have agreed to this?
Monica watches with rising excitement as Fiona’s lovely flesh is disclosed. There are delicious pale-blue silk bra and knickers under the skirt and blouse. ‘Everything, Fiona dear. Everything off.’
Fiona does it. Face red, whimpering. Slipping off these two remaining delightful garments. Oh look! Monica’s eyes are like laser beams. ‘Stand straight!’ she barks. ‘Get your arms away.’
Because Fiona has her hands coyly covering herself. The hands come unhappily away. To now reveal fully the ripe melons with their pink puppy-dog noses, and the delightful swatch of medium-blonde curls at the top of Fiona’s silky thighs.
It is almost too much. Monica can scarcely resist the urge to get her hands, her mouth, on this exquisite flesh. But of course there is the other heady pleasure. Of whipping her. Pretty young girls of 20 or so did need a good whipping. And when one is as delicious as this Fiona… she needs whipping until she doesn’t know which end is up.
‘Over here,’ Monica says thickly.. At the other end of the room a rope is dangling from a hook in the ceiling.
‘Take hold of that. Grip it high up, as far as you can reach. With both hands.’
Please… No…’ Fiona yelps, but obeying. The feeling of being naked is dreadful. She has only her white high heels on. And stretching up holding the rope… she is nuder than ever. Her lovely ripe breasts lifted high and thrusting in this stretched-up posture. And her bottom, the twin globes quivering as she sways slightly on the rope… Fiona’s defenceless bum is of course the target.
No…ooo… you can’t…
THWACKK…!
Aaaiiieeeeeeeee…!
The riding crop has come wristily in. Squarely across the fullest meat of Fiona’s quivering bum. A mind-numbing pain is welling out from the stricken nates.
‘Hang on. Don’t you dare let go. And get your legs up. Off the floor.’
THWACKK…!
Aaaiiiyyaaaaaaaa…!
‘I said get your legs up. Lift…
THWACKKKK…!
Aaaayyyeeehhh…! NO… NO… NO more…!
Fiona has her legs up now. Her feet off the floor. Swinging from her arms on the rope. There are splendid red stripes across the meat of her bottom. One across the rear tops of her thighs. The pain… Fiona thinks perhaps she might faint.
Monica looks hot. Her face red. Her dark eyes intense. Perhaps Monica feels a little faint too. With the intense excitement. She puts the switch down on the table.
‘Just a moment. Fiona dear.’ Monica’s hands going to her own blouse. Pulling it roughly open and then off. Underneath is a lacy black bra. ‘Just a moment.’ Her hands now at her skirt. A nervous, excited laugh. Sliding down her skirt. Underneath are matching brief black knickers and a slim-strapped suspender belt for her dark nylons. Plus of course Monica’s slim and shapely body. She flings the skirt aside.
‘That’s better.’ Stepping in to the whimpering Fiona who is still hanging onto the rope though not now at full stretch.
‘That’s better. It’s a little hot in here. Fiona darling.’ Monica’s arms going round Fiona. Round her sweet and now hot flesh. ‘That was just a start. How does it feel. Mmm…?’
Monica is caressing the marvellous body. Those surging breasts and also the surging buttocks which have been viciously whipped. Fiona cries out. Monica turns her. Her mouth seeking Fiona’s ripe and trembling mouth. Closing on it. Thrusting her tongue in. And thrusting her hot and eager pussy against Fiona’s silky thigh. Monica is almost coming.
She backs off, with difficulty controlling herself. Not yet. Fiona has got to have more of the riding crop. Quite a bit more of it. She has not been hurt yet. Not really hurt. Fiona may think she is hurt but that is just because she is so soft and unused to pain. She has got to learn what real pain is like. And then…
----/----
In bed. Fiona in bed in this attractive room Monica had prepared for her visit. It is still daytime of course. Late morning. Still that grey March day outside but Fiona has no thought for what is outside. That mind-stopping whipping is not long finished, some 15 minutes ago. Right afterwards Monica advised Fiona to go to bed. To rest. A girl needs to rest after a whipping like that, especially if it is her first.
Fiona was not about to argue. She was not going to argue with anything Monica said and certainly not the thought of going to bed. Not in the state she was in, the state Fiona’s bottom was in.
Monica came up with Fiona. Her arm solicitously round the sobbing and still nude girl. Fiona with her red-striped, red-hot bottom. The red stripes also descending down the backs of her thighs. Sobbing. Unable to stop. Monica was solicitous. Solicitously helping Fiona into bed. Her hands solicitously at Fiona’s hot bottom. Monica has now gone to get some drinks.
Fiona has more or less stopped sobbing now. Her bottom feels slightly better. But otherwise she is still quite devastated. That diabolical riding crop. Looking up at the ceiling. She has been here at Monica’s for only a couple of hours. And is to stay all week. Fiona bites her lip to stop the tears that are threatening to return.
The door opens. Monica of course. No one else is here. Monica with a dressing gown on now and carrying a tray with glasses, bottles. Smiling. Closing the door.
‘How are you, darling?’
Fiona doesn’t answer. Monica puts the drinks on a little table, then sits on the side of the bed. Smiling again at Fiona. ‘Feeling a bit better, you poor dear?’
Monica’s white dressing gown is belted at the waist and somehow the belt has become loosened. The gown is sliding open. As Monica leans over Fiona. Leaning right down to kiss Fiona’s mouth, Monica’s tongue pushing aggressively in. Then she is standing.
‘I expect you’re still feeling sore, Fiona dear. But I’m, going to make it better.’
Monica is sliding the loose dressing gown off. She is nude underneath. Just as Fiona is nude in the bed. Monica’s body is harder, firmer perhaps. But still very attractive. Fiona looks with bewildered eyes, still feeling Monica’s sexy kiss on and in her mouth. Fiona is still dazed, shell-shocked, from the whipping. Looking at Monica’s nude body, her nipples stiff and erect. Monica is pulling back the bed cover. Sliding in with her.
Later today, at tea time, Monica has a surprise visitor for Fiona. Rodney Filford. Rodney who is so keen to get at Fiona, to have a taste of her. Well Rodney is going to be given that opportunity. Probably in this very bed where now Monica is embarrassing Fiona. It will be so amusing for Monica, and so exciting, to let Rodney have Fiona. And of course it will be so good for her. A young girl can be too innocent. Especially a young married girl. A young married girl needs a little experience. Fiona will get that valuable experience. Later today. Rodney Filford will eagerly provide it.
And later in the week there will also be George Hanway and James Artright. Separately of course. A young and innocent girl such as Fiona is perhaps not ready for both together. But separately the two of them will add considerably to Fiona’s experience. Yes it is going to be such an interesting and valuable week for Fiona.
Monica thinks that perhaps she might also let the men watch when she whips Fiona. That could also be intensely amusing.
Yes.
But for the moment it is just Monica experiencing the heady pleasure of being at close quarters with Fiona. With shaken and quivering Fiona. Quite delicious Fiona. Marvellously and sensuously nude Fiona who hardly knows what is happening. At least can’t believe it is happening. Monica greedily between Fiona’s sweet thighs. Monica’s hot mouth greedily devouring her.

1 comment:

  1. Beautifully shot. That blonde is such a stupid twerp in the film's she 'stars' in. Glad she realised the height of her modelling career was getting caned.

    ReplyDelete