Down the stairs, forcing her feet to go one in front of the other, then out into the cosy little sitting room. Not looking, not focussing her eyes, but she knew without looking they were there: a room full of people it seemed. All of course with their eyes riveted, glued, on her. Her body. Nude. Or as good as.
As good as nude. The drum-majorette’s cap and the knee socks and shiny, white, strap-over shoes. And that was it. Virtually. Apart from a gold belt round her nude waist and red tassels stuck on her thrusting nipples. And a length of red cord wound around, covering nothing, going finally in between her legs and up between the bare cheeks of her bottom, to the gold belt. That was all. Apart from the majorette’s baton in her hand. She stood in the centre of the room. Mr Vilney on one side, the others sitting on the settee opposite. In this travesty of a majorette’s uniform she was in fact more than naked. Her body decorated like some kind of human wedding cake or Christmas tree.
‘Stand up nice and straight.’ Mr Vilney said. ‘Shoulders back and boobs out. Not shy I hope?’
Biting her lip Serena shook her head. She was shy and it was devastating to have to stand here like this. In front of all of them and wearing this dreadful outfit. But the reward was enough to make you forget your fears and inhibitions. £500 and a screen test. That reward, glittering as it was, was enough when you were thinking about it before. But thinking about it before and the actuality of standing here… They weren’t the same. Not at all. And also this outfit. She hadn’t really known what it would be like, not until a quarter of an hour ago when Mr Vilney had shown her in that little room.
Mr Vilney though had been quite dismissive of her qualms. ‘Don’t be silly, Serena. You want a screen test. Screen actresses have to wear all kinds of outfits. It’s part of the job.’
She stood quivering in front of Mr Vilney. Conscious of his eyes on her big exposed boobs with the red tassels sticking right out. Conscious also of her bare bum which the others on the settee were no doubt gazing at. She could hear some giggling. and muttered comment. Mr Vilney’s voice:
‘Stand to attention. And give me a salute.’
Serena brought her arm up. Concentrate on the prize if she won. £500 and the screen test. Which would take her out of her boring job licking envelopes for Mr Muspratt. Away from her humdrum and boring life into a world of glamour: big cars, expensive dresses, glittering restaurants.
Mr Vilney’s big car had brought her down here, to this place in the country. His country cottage, he had called it though it wasn’t what Serena thought of as a cottage, it was a biggish place and full of lovely furniture. ‘An overnight stay with a few friends,’ he had said. ‘We’ll do some tests and you’ll be able to meet some people in the business. How does that sound?’
It had sounded really super — partly because at that stage she hadn’t known about the majorette outfit. Serena had been really excited, as she had been ever since her mother saw that ad in the magazine and said, ‘Why not try, Serena? With your looks and figure you’d win. Easily.’
She was nice looking, a pretty blonde, and with a good figure too. Big boobs, that Mr Muspratt was always trying surreptitiously to get his hands on. Accidentally of course, or maybe pretending it was a joke. ‘Are you ticklish this morning, Serena?’ Yes it would be really great to get away from Mr Muspratt with his envelopes to be licked and his tea to be made and his gropy hands to be fended off. A screen test.
So she had sent off the snap of herself in a swimsuit that was required and right away got an answer from Mr Vilney. She looked very promising and he was very pleased she had applied. Then the bit about how they were running it. Not like a Beauty Contest with all the girls parading on a stage in front of a judge: no, each girl would be looked at individually. Could she come down to his place in the country the next week, at the weekend. He would naturally pick her up.
Oh yes it had been almost unbearably exciting. Serena not telling anyone, except of course her mother. Certainly not telling Mr Gropy-Hands Muspratt. She would spring it on him, if she won that was. ‘I shall be leaving Mr Muspratt. I’ve got a screen test actually. So I shan’t need to do any more envelope licking. Or have your hands on me all the time.’
Yes, unbearably exciting. The waiting and then this morning Mr Vilney calling for her in that big car. What had the neighbours thought about that! The drive down, on a lovely early autumn day, with Mr Vilney who was a real gentleman. He looked a real gentleman and also spoke and acted like one. His company was putting up the money and the winning girl would advertise them a bit. Serena would be happy to do that. They stopped at a pub for a light lunch and arrived shortly afterwards. But then…
Shortly after that she was up in that little room with Mr Vilney and he was showing her what she was to wear. ‘For our little test.’ Downstairs in front of those other people she had just met. Looking at it, unbelieving. The tassels, the red cord that was to go round her nude form in the way Mr Vilney described. He wasn’t quite such a gentleman now, telling her in a firm, hard voice not to be silly, of course she could wear it. What did she expect? If he and his friends couldn’t see her body how could she possibly hope to get a screen test.
Finally putting it on. Just as he had said. And then forcing her legs to take her downstairs. With them all down there. Hushed. Waiting.
Doing her salute to Mr Vilney… as behind her a man’s voice said, ‘She’s got a lovely bum. Wouldn’t you just love to pinch it, Harry?’
A giggle, and the woman’s voice said, ‘I think it’s a bit fat.’
‘Oh no. I like a bit of flesh on a girl. I’d just love to give it a big pinch. What d’you say, Harry?’
Harry was Mr Vilney. ‘She’s got to do some marching. We all want to see how she shapes up. Time for pinching later.’
Then Serena saw that from somewhere he had now got a cane in his hand. Long and whippy looking. ‘Look…’ she said. ‘I…I’m not… I don’t like this.’
‘Don’t be silly, Serena.’ It was Mr Vilney and now his cane came out and flicked her thigh. ‘Every girl gets the same tests. We want to see some marching. Nice high knee action and plenty of body movement. Plenty of ‘oomph’, Serena. Come on!’
She felt sick. The others on the settee were shouting things now. These people — a woman and three men — whom she had thought were nice when Mr Vilney introduced them not half an hour ago. Just as she had thought Mr Vilney was nice — and why shouldn’t she when he was buttering her up in his lah-di-dah accent. Maybe it was just a trick and there wasn’t any £500 or screen test.
‘I’m not doing this,’ she blurted, close to tears.
There was a sudden flash of bright light. One of the men on the settee had a camera. ‘Don’t be silly, Serena. You don’t want us to send your picture to the papers, do you? Or to all the people where you live, in your street? We have to take some shots of course, for our records. But you don’t want to be a silly, awkward girl.’
‘And don’t forget the prize, Serena,’ the woman chimed in. ‘You look really good, the best we’ve seen. So be sensible. Enjoy it. Have a good time!’
Sick. She felt sick. Glancing at Mr Vilney… who flicked her with the cane again. ‘Come on, Serena. We’re being nice but we’re going to get impatient. We don’t like time-wasters. A time-waster could get her bum really roasted with this cane.’
The woman said, ‘Give her one, Harry. Sting that fat bum.’
And Mr Vilney did just that. Without warning the cane came lashing in. Hard. CRACK!… Right across the full bare cheeks of Serena’s bottom.
‘Be sensible then, young lady.’
The pain was killing. ‘You bastar…’
‘No swearing please. And start marching. Or I’ll cane it so hard you won’t know what end is up. You won’t want to sit on it for a week!’
Serena started marching. With her bum on fire she marched across the carpet then turned and marched back. What choice was there? With that dreadful cane and also with that man taking pictures. If her friends saw her like this — or Mr Muspratt. The thought made you sweat.
‘Get your shoulders back. Stick the boobs out. Come on you’ve got nice big ones, let’s have some ooomph! And twirl that stick.’
Oh Christ. Marching up and down, her bottom still hotly stinging. The voices calling out, ringing in her ears, urging her on. Legs higher! Stick her tits out! Shimmy her bottom! Twirl the stick! Punctuated at intervals by the flash of the camera. On and on.
All right, stop now. Face the others. At attention.’
She was sweating. her bare body prickling. Forcing her arms to stay at her sides and not come over to cover her pussy, her bare be-tasselled tits. The camera flashed again. Mr Vilney’s voice behind her:
‘How did she do? All right? Or does she need a little something?’
The four faces were all talking at once, shouting out. They were all saying the same thing. ‘Cane her! Warm her up! Cane that fat bum!’
‘Yes. Carried unanimously. Don’t worry, Serena, every girl has to take a caning. It’s part of the test. And if she can take it sensibly, without arguing or fighting it, she gets a better score. But you get the caning anyway, even if we have to hold you down. So why not be sensible and co-operate. Over the table.’
They were nutters. And Serena didn’t think now there would be any prize, they were just using her for their enjoyment. Enjoying seeing her being humiliated. Even if there was a prize Serena didn’t want it, not if it meant all this. Mr Muspratt’s groping hands were nothing compared to this. ‘You can’t cane me,’ she whimpered.
Just to prove how wrong that was the cane zipped smartly in again.
Are we going to have to hold you down, Serena? And cane you twice as hard?’
Wailing, she got down over the polished gate-leg table. Mr Vilney making her put her hands behind her back and hold the baton. His hand held her down. ‘And stick your bottom out. Let’s all see what a nice big one you’ve got.’
There was a bright flash as the camera clicked again. And then it seemed like another flash of light before her eyes. A flash of light and a hot, sizzling flash of pain. As the cane stung into her out-thrust nates.
‘Keep it still, Miss.’
Serena’s desperate yells were joined by excited cries from the settee, urging Mr Vilney on. Not that he needed a lot of urging. Harry Vilney enjoyed caning pretty girls. As far as he was concerned it was the ultimate pleasure. To feel his favourite rattan splat into a ripe but tender rump. Momentarily sinking deep into the flesh and then springing out again. To watch the buttocks writhe and jerk and clench. The twin red tramlines rapidly developing on the silky ivory surface. Yes, it was a never-failing source of exquisite pleasure.
Not of course that Harold Vilney was an unpleasant man, or really a cruel one either. Certainly not in his own eyes. He could indeed be most charming to young females, as Serena had found out on her trip down. But he did have this little thing about caning which, not wishing to see himself as an ogre or villain, he was able to rationalise. It didn’t really hurt the girl. Well, not really. She imagined she was being hurt but it was really all in the mind. Wasn’t it? Certainly there was never any actual injury or lasting hurt. And in any case girls nowadays were so undisciplined and wayward, they needed something of this sort. It was good for them in fact. To imagine they were feeling pain.
Serena. as the cane cracked repeatedly down, was doing a very good job of imagining she was feeling pain.
Mr Vilney gave her six, which was what he normally gave them. In the first session, that was. There would be more later but six was enough for the first go. He wasn’t a cruel man, an ogre, after all. Serena was permitted to get to her feet. She felt pretty awful, as a girl usually does if she’s never had a proper caning before. She was feeling really awful but perhaps her ordeal was now over. They had had their fun. Perhaps she could now put her clothes back on.
No. No she couldn’t.
‘Go and show your bottom to the others, Serena. So they can see I’ve done a proper job. Go on, let them have a close look.’
Standing there, close up, bottom towards them. Moving along. Slowly. In front of each one in turn. While the hands fiddled about. Fondling. Pinching. The woman’s hand as well as the men’s. Trying not to listen to the things they were saying.
‘That’s good, Serena.’ Mr Vilney when this latest ordeal was at last over. ‘Now we’ll go and make some tea for our friends. You and me. Come on.’
In the kitchen she pleaded to be allowed to put her clothes on now. Mr Vilney, smiling, shook his head. ‘Not yet, my dear. You’re still being tested, you know. And you’ve such a lovely body. It would be a crime to hide it, don’t you agree?’
His hands came up and took hold of her big boobs. Fondling. ‘Don’t be silly,’ he said when she tried to object. ‘You’ll have to learn to take a bit of this. If you want to be in films.’ He pulled the tassels off and began playing with the nude nipples. Tweaking and rubbing them. Serena took a deep breath.
‘Is… is there really a prize? A contest? Or… is it just a trick?’
Mr Vilney laughed. ‘Of course, there’s a prize. And I think you’re going to win. So just be sensible and friendly. Enjoy it. The cane didn’t really hurt, did it?’
‘Yes it bloody did,’ wailed Serena, her nipples now hard and stiff. She blinked away tears. She looked very appetising and Harold Vilney pulled her in close, thinking again of the cane. His tongue slid into her hot mouth. A lovely succulent girl. And when they’d had tea…
When they’d had tea, Serena carrying it in on a tray, still in her majorette outfit, it was the cane again.
‘Another little go with the cane,’ Mr Vilney said. And this time we want her up on the table, don’t we, my friends.’
She had been serving them their tea. Standing there like a waitress with the tea pot, handing out cups and plates. Still in that awful outfit, still virtually nude, but telling herself that after this, surely… Then Mr Vilney said that about the cane again.
She yelped out that no she couldn’t, she wouldn’t, but once again it wasn’t having much effect. Mr Vilney said she had to. And up on the table.
What could that mean anyway? Standing on the table? No, it seemed it didn’t mean that. It meant lying on it. On her back. With her legs up in the air. So that the underside of her bottom would be up in the air as well. And also…
‘No!’ Her voice low and full of horror as what Mr Vilney was saying focused in her mind, became a picture. A dreadful, dreadful picture.
‘Oh yes, Serena. All the girls have to get a caning in that position. It’s a further test, of course. Of their self-control and discipline. Come on, let’s do it. I’m sure you’re going to handle it splendidly.’
Staring up at the ceiling. The ceiling of the little bedroom, not of the sitting room downstairs where 20 minutes ago she had been looking up at its ceiling, seen beyond her raised knees and shoes as she lay upside down on that table. Don’t think about that, it was too impossibly horrible. Mr Vilney caning her like that and all the others watching… Don’t think about it. But it was hard not to.
Serena was in bed. In the little bed. ‘Go up and have a rest,’ Mr Vilney had said when he’d finished. ‘Have a lie down.’ And she had run off up the stairs, her bare bottom burning again and her eyes blinded by tears. In the bed now, under the covers, trying not to think. It wasn’t late, there could be more dreadful things before night time. Don’t think. Try to sleep perhaps…
Then she saw the door was opening.
Mr Vilney? No. And not one of the other men either. It was that woman. Mrs Silwood or something, Mr Vilney had said. That woman who had been just as bad as the men, shouting out things and also squeezing and pinching her bum. She was closing the door behind her and coming over.
Sitting on the side of the bed. Smiling down, a funny look in her eyes. Thirty perhaps. Quite good-looking. ‘Aren’t they awful,’ she said. ‘Those awful men.’ That was rich, when she had been just as bad.
She was standing up. And doing something to the waist of her skirt. ‘We girls should stick together, Serena. Don’t you think?’ The skirt was coming off. Sliding down. Oh God!
Mrs Silwood was sliding her knickers down too. And then pulling back the bed cover. Climbing in. Oh Christ! Taking hold of Serena, pulling her close. Her breath hot in Serena’s ear.
‘I didn’t mean that about your bottom, Serena. It was just because of the men. It’s lovely. Super.’
She was sliding her hand over it. And then her tongue was in Serena’s mouth. Like Mr Vilney’s had been…