She shivers slightly but in fact the room is warm and cosy. This room which is the sitting room and indeed the whole of Mr Pirtley’s house, or cottage more precisely, this very old place but done up with all the conveniences deep in the southern English countryside. All nice and snug and cosy under its thatched roof although outside now, October, you can get those cool autumn days. That little attic room up under the low angling roof with its ancient oak beams, that is snug and cosy too. Though it can be scary. To make a girl shiver. Bite her lip apprehensively. Her vulnerable full, ripe, softly pink lower lip.
She is something like that all over. Vulnerable. And all the rest. Her soft smoothly rounded body. And her shimmering halo of ash-blonde hair. Are blondes more vulnerable? Or just seem to be so. Seem so especially perhaps when in just these sort of old-style schoolgirl-type of navy-blue knickers. Plus a wispy insubstantial vest, tight and sleeveless with a low V-neck with clearly nothing else under. She shivers again. Squirms.
Squirming her deliciously rounded hips in the tight schoolgirl knickers. Her hips in motion. And that bulge of flesh at the tight V of the knickers: the mound of Venus. She is standing close in front of Mr Pirtley who is sitting on his settee and the squirm of her hips sends that tight mound in motion too under the tautness of the tight-stretched navy cotton. Mr Pirtley’s eyes are on it. A keenly interested gaze.
She is not looking at him. Not focussing the deep blue eyes but letting them rest somewhere in the middle distance. But no doubt she knows he is looking at it. Girls do know that. They know gentlemen’s interests.
Mr Pirtley is sixtyish with white-grey hair around a balder centre and a pleasant, amiable expression. With that sort of expression you wouldn’t expect, a girl wouldn’t expect, what Mr Pirtley can do. Perhaps that is what she is thinking about. To cause the shiver, the squirm. A little squirm of apprehension. Because it couldn’t be that she is deliberately squirming. Flirting her hips in the skin-tight knickers. To thrust out to Mr Pirtley that delectable girl-bulge.
Inviting… something… No. Surely not.
‘Well Janice, been a quite day has it? No visitors?’
Janice, that is her name, nods then shakes her head. Eagerly it seems. And eagerly adds, ‘Yes. I mean no. No one.’
Mr Pirtley has had to be out today. Business. Janice has been here by herself, partly at least. For part of the day Mrs Burnham, Mr Pirtley’s housekeeper, has been here. Mrs Burnham has gone off now to her own home, some ten minutes ago, she doesn’t live in, so that now, five o’clock-ish, it is just Janice and Mr Pirtley. Yes, for part of the day Janice has been here alone. She hasn’t had any visitors has she?
‘No? No one? Not Mr Simbell?’
Mr Simbell is a friend of Mr Pirtley who has offered to work with Janice’s French. So that when Mr Pirtley takes her to France she will be, if not fluent, at least able to string a few words together.
Oh yes. Mr Simbell. I thought you meant… anyone else. Yes Mr Simbell.’
Mr Pirtley has taken his fountain pen from his shirt pocket and is twiddling it in his hand. It is expensive looking: black with a gold clip and trim. ‘Yes Mr Simbell. And were you good for Mr Simbell, Janice? Or did he perhaps… have to smack your bottom?’
Janice makes a face and does another little shivery squirm. At the memory of Mr Simbell no doubt. A mumbled, ‘Y… Yes.’
‘Yes?’ Mr Pirtley rubs his ear with the pen. ‘Took your knickers down, did he?’
‘Um.’ Eyes wide she nods her head.
‘Yes. Of course. I’ve no doubt you needed it.’ Mr Pirtley leans forward. With his pen. Holding it like a pointer he pokes that tautly-knickered bulge; her mound of Venus. Pokes it and then pokes it again. Janice gives a little yelp.
Another poke. ‘And nothing else, Janice?’
‘No. No…ooo…’ Rolling her eyes. The poking pen has moved a bit lower on her mound. Towards the undercurve.
‘Nothing else at all?’
And now the pen does what maybe Janice has been expecting since first Mr Pirtley brought it out. If he is in the habit of poking girls’ parts with his pen. It slides into the little tunnel formed by her closed thighs and her crotch. The space at the very top of a girl’s thighs above where they touch together. The pen slides in along the enclosing knickers which form the top of the tunnel. The gusset. Which encloses of course Janice’s very private part. Her pussy. Along the line of its closed lips.
She makes a gurgling sound. The pen slides in and then out. Its top pushing firmly up as it does so. In and out along those exquisitely sensitive lips. ‘Aah… haa… hhh…’ A shuddery wail. A girl can’t take that sort of intimate manipulation in silence. Nor can she stand still. Gasping, she squirms more violently. The whole of her delectable body.
‘Stand still,’ Mr Pirtley instructs. ‘You need more discipline, Miss. Eh?’
He still has the pen there. Firmly rubbing. In and out in a measured cadence. ‘Yes. Slip them down.’
The pen comes away. Janice opens her mouth. Rolling the big blue eyes. ‘I… uh…’ Wanting to say no perhaps. Because with knickers down… there are various possibilities. There are always various possibilities when a girl has her knickers down. Spanking of the bare bottom is one. But only one. ‘I… oh…’
Refusal is clearly not an option. Although it may be that Janice doesn’t want to refuse. Could it be?
Her hands have gone now to the knickers’ waistband. Thumbs inserting. Pushing. The navy knickers sliding down over her full pale-fleshed hips. Silky smooth flesh. And then something that is not silky smooth. Her blonde bush. Blonde fuzz a couple of shades darker than her fair head. More of a golden blonde. A golden fleece.
‘Right down,’ Mr Pirtley instructs.
Meaning right down onto her thighs. So that the tunnel is disclosed again. But it is a tunnel now free of any knicker encumbrance. That protective layer, the roof of the tunnel, is now removed. There is only…
The pen again. ‘Keep still, Janice. ‘You really are…’
‘Uuhh… hhaaa… aaaahh…’
‘I can’t… keep still… That… kills me.’
The pen. In and out. Where there is only… the super-sensitive flesh. And the fuzzy fur. And now a sticky wetness. Along the line of the groove. With the top of the pen now disappeared… Inside.
‘Was there anyone else, Janice. Mmm? Any other visitor. Eh?
Upstairs now. In the attic room snug under the thatch. Where it is warm and snug, but a girl may still be shivering.
Kneeling on the bed, as Janice is. Kneeling with her knees wide. Her hands holding the flimsy vest down so that it covers her pussy. Because her pussy is otherwise bare now. There is only the vest. Stretched down so that it is yanked tight over Janice’s boobs. They are quite good-sized ones which stick out nicely as we saw downstairs, though now more flattened by the tightly-stretched-down vest so that it is mainly now her nipples that are sticking out. Janice’s quite mature looking blushing-pink nipples. Mr Pirtley is eyeing them.
He is seated on a low stool close by the bed, in his shirtsleeves and tie still. His eyes keen on the thrusting nipples.
‘Now pull it up, Janice. Right up. And tell me again. So that we are quite clear. About visitors.’
Janice’s big blue eyes wide. With alarm? Panic? As she hastens to comply with the vest. Alarm that he can somehow see inside her head at what she can see. She tries to thrust it out of her head so that it doesn’t exist. It didn’t happen. But Mr Pirtley seems to know. Something. And the picture is there in her head, it won’t disappear. Mr Osling.
The doorbell ringing and it is Mr Osling. Mr Simbell has left. Mr Simbell with his French lesson and his hands. Hands that all the time want to be reaching out and touching things. Touching parts. And in particular taking down knickers and spanking the bottom at the merest excuse. Spanking the bottom and at the same time of course more touching. Yes Mr Simbell is gone and Mrs Burnam is not here either, gone shopping or something. So when Mr Osling rings it is only Janice. Which is very fortuitous. Very providential for Mr Osling. Unless by some chance Mr Osling is somehow privy to all these, Mr Pirtley’s included, movements.
Janice has been instructed not to let anyone in. No gentleman. Or any other male person for that matter. ‘You know what gentlemen are like, Janice,’ Mr Pirtley has said. ‘And men who are not gentlemen, men of the lower classes, well, they are going to be that much worse, aren’t they?’ Janice doesn’t know about men of the lower classes, she has no experience, but she has experience of gentlemen. Mr Pirtley is a gentleman and so is Mr Simbell. There are others. Oh yes, Janice has experience of gentlemen. Gentlemen like to have their pleasures. They like to greedily take their pleasures. Greedily take what is offered. Or if not offered, take it anyway.
Is Mr Osling a gentleman? He is an acquaintance of Mr Pirtley; not as old as Mr Pirtley and Mr Simbell but still old to Janice: fortyish maybe she guesses. They met him in the little shop. Mr Pirtley and Janice. Passing the time of day as they say with Mr Pirtley saying, ‘Let me introduce my new girl, Janice. Say hello to Mr Osling, Janice.’ Mr Osling’s eyes had taken her in. Searching out the details. And saying ‘My word. Lovely!’ Janice had flushed under that keen gaze — and now here Mr Osling was at the door.
And somehow, moments later, he is in the house. In spite of her stuttered protestations. Mr Osling saying something about a note he has to leave for Mr Pirtley — but then of course he doesn’t leave a note. Quite possibly there wasn’t a note at all.
‘I really… mustn’t have visitors in…’ she stutters. But of course Mr Osling is in. In the house that is. And smiling his pleasure. Because here he is and here is this lovely Janice. Mr Pirtley’s new girl. Mr Pirtley’s delicious new girl with her blonde halo of hair and her soft pink mouth and her delightful tits which are pushing out the front of her blouse.
‘It’s alright,’ Mr Osling says, smiling but with excited eyes as he closes in on Janice. Taking hold of her right there in the hallway with the door closed behind them. ‘It’s quite alright, I’m sure Mr Pirtley would like us to get acquainted. You delightful creature.’ And then he is giving Janice a hot and greedy kiss. With his big tongue pushing out. Pushing its way greedily into Janice’s trembling mouth.
And then, after that… Janice doesn’t want to remember after that but it is there, vivid in her head. On the settee with Mr Osling. She didn’t want to do it but Mr Osling had got her all hot. Hotly aroused. So that at the same time she did want to do it. It was so headily exciting. Making her giddy, light-headed with excitement. Mr Osling’s thing. Enormous it seemed. Thrusting up and out. From his open trousers. In her hand. And then… in her mouth. Although it had seemed impossible; it couldn’t go in her mouth. But it did. She could open her mouth that wide and take it in.
Shaking her blonde head. As if to shake away that vivid scene inside. She has her vest up now. Yanked right up, above her firm, high-thrusting tits. Pushing them out at Mr Pirtley. Maybe he will just think about her lovely tits and forget about this other thing. Visitors. Allowing gentlemen into the house. And then… consorting. Is that the word? Shaking her head again. That picture in her head: could she have imagined it?
‘Mr Osling,’ Mr Pirtley says.
Oh. Ohhh! ‘M… Mr Osling?’ Janice repeats the name while franticly arching her back. To stick out her tits for Mr Pirtley. And there is all the rest of her too. Her really super body in just the yanked-up vest and the little white socks and white high-heel shoes. There is her blonde-bushed mound. Her pussy. Thrusting that hard out too. Isn’t Mr Pirtley interested in that. And little games with his fountain pen. Or other games. Any games. Anything except.
‘Yes Janice. There is no need to repeat the name to me. Who else? Or did you perhaps have several? Various gentleman visitors? Mmm? is that it?’
‘No! No…ooo. Oh no…’
‘Well then. Shall we talk about Mr Osling. Yes. Shall we?’
Mr Pirtley is getting up. And going over to the cupboard. Of course he’s going over to the cupboard. That is where he keeps his cane. And naturally he is going to want his cane. When talking about Mr Osling.
Janice begins babbling protestations. Oh yes Mr Osling. Somehow she has forgotten about Mr Osling. Yes he did come. And she couldn’t stop him, really she couldn’t. Coming in the house. He had a note. Although of course there isn’t a note, there wasn’t a note. Janice knows all this babbling away will do her no good. But she can’t help it, it just comes gushing out. Because when there is the cane, that really diabolical cane, you can’t think. Not properly. The fact that all this babbling can do you no good at all although you do know that perfectly well. All you can think of is that cane. Searing into your poor bare bottom.
Mr Pirtley has the cane now. Coming back with it. ‘Right. Do you want to get in position, Miss. We won’t discuss for the moment what you did with Mr Osling. Perhaps later, eh? But right now, let’s have you in position. Let’s have that bottom in position.’
Yes. Janice’s bottom. Which is already bare of course. She is in just her vest so her bottom is bared ready for a caning. Over the side of the bed. Lying across the bed with her hips at the edge. And her bare bottom.
Janice grasps the bed cover, her breath now gasping out. Because now in just seconds her poor bare bottom.
Is going to feel that diabolical kiss.
‘Aaarraaaghh…! Aaa… hhhaaaaahhh…!’
Mr Pirtley takes his cane when they go to France. A trip to Paris. They are going to see the sights and also it seems maybe meet someone, though Mr Pirtley hasn’t been too specific about this. But he does seem to know someone who lives in Paris. A gentleman? Yes, no doubt it will be one of Mr Pirtley’s gentleman friends.
The cane is in Mr Pirtley’s big suitcase. Janice sees it go in. Mr Pirtley smiling: ‘Our little friend eh? We wouldn’t want to be without our little friend.’
Janice doesn’t say what she thinks to this of course. Not wishing to risk the chance of Mr Pirtley deciding that a dissenting comment is a disciplinary matter. A matter calling a disciplinary session with that awful ‘little friend’.
It is two weeks since the Mr Osling episode. Since that awful caning. And Mr Pirtley knows the whole story. Janice had to tell it, all the detail, after the caning. And she did. When you’ve just been caned like that, with your bottom absolutely killing you, there is certainly no holding, back, it all floods out. Like the flooding tears.
Mr Pirtley insisted on hearing all the details. What Mr Osling made Janice do on the settee. In her mouth. Sucking him off.
They have met Mr Osling subsequently, in the little shop again. With Mr Pirtley of course now knowing about Mr Osling’s visit and exactly what he did, or made Janice do. But Mr Pirtley was amicable enough with Mr Osling, a brief but seemingly friendly chat. Even referring to Mr Osling’s (illicit as it were) visit.
‘Yes, I believe you and Janice have met again. When I was out.’
‘Oh yes,’ Mr Osling says. ‘I did drop round. Some little matter I wanted to mention to you, I forget what it was now, couldn’t have been anything much. But your delightful girl was good enough to invite me in. Yes, a charming young hostess.’
Janice can only stand hot-faced in an embarrassed silence. With both men knowing what happened. What she did. She wonders vaguely if Mr Pirtley possibly deliberately arranged the whole thing. Let Mr Osling know there would be no one else in. Just to amuse himself. Is that possible?
Because there is then another meeting. Just before this trip to Paris. ‘Can you take this round to Mr Osling.’ Mr Pirtley says. You know where he lives. You can take your bike.’
It is a letter. A sealed envelope on which Mr Pirtley has written ‘Mr W. Osling.’ Janice looks at the letter and then at Mr Pirtley. Her face reddening. ‘That’s alright isn’t it?’ Mr Pirtley says. ’No problem is there? A nice little bike ride.’
Janice with her face bright red doesn’t say anything. She has to go. And Mr Osling does it again. Or rather makes Janice do it again. The same. He invites her in and Janice doesn’t have any choice with Mr Osling taking hold of her arm. Mr Pirtley hasn’t said anything about this; that Janice shouldn’t go into Mr Osling’s house. But anyway she has no choice. Mr Osling gives her tea in his cosy sitting room. Tea and cakes etc. And then of course on his settee it is the same as before. Telling Janice what he wants. And she has to do it. In her mouth, that big thing in her mouth again. She thinks she is going to choke.
Mr Pirtley doesn’t mention anything immediately. Not when Janice gets back. Well only vaguely. Saying, ‘Was that alright?’ Janice says a quick yes, not wanting to talk about it. But then when they are on the plane Mr Pirtley finally does bring the subject up.
‘Mr Osling. Janice. You never told me. Did he invite you in?’
Janice is looking very smart for the trip to Paris. Carrying her stylish plum-coloured coat which Mr Pirtley has now placed up in the overhead luggage-hold, she has on a smart sort of uniform outfit: long-sleeved grey pullover over white blouse and red tie with a knee-length grey pleated skirt. Plus her very smart white stiletto heels with white seamed nylons. Looking very fetching and there have been admiring (and envious) male glances in the departures lounge. Janice is certainly looking forward to this trip. Even though of course she knows what Mr Pirtley has packed in his large suitcase. But Janice is not thinking about the cane. Or wasn’t. Until Mr Pirtley mentioned Mr Osling.
Mr Pirtley’s hand gently on Janice’s thigh. ‘Did he?’ he repeats softly. ‘Invite you in?’
Janice is caned in her hotel room. They have two rooms with a connecting bathroom on the third floor. The hotel was evidently quite grand at one time, decorative in the pre-war style, but now is somewhat decayed. Their rooms have a pleasant view down onto the leafy street and are large with ornate French furniture including two double beds, but Janice’s room also has this plain wooden chair. It is this chair that Mr Pirtley uses for the caning.
Janice has to stand on the seat and bend herself down over the splay-spoked back. The reason is Mr Osling of course. Janice should not have gone inside with him because she must have known what Mr Osling would want. What he would want her to do. And Mr Pirtley can’t have Janice doing that to all and sundry. Sucking off the cocks of all and sundry.
That is what Mr Pirtley said in a low voice on the plane when Janice first of all admitted she went in with Mr Osling and then admitted the other. Janice of course tried to protest that Mr Osling made her but Mr Pirtley dismissed that. Janice could also have said that Mr Pirtley shouldn’t have sent her round to Mr Osling, he also must have known what Mr Osling would do. And if he knew that… maybe he really wanted Mr Osling to do it. But Janice doesn’t say that of course. She doesn’t know if she really thinks it or not.
So anyway there is the caning. When they arrive at the hotel which is in the afternoon. Janice up on that chair with her knickers down. She has on a pair of tight white knickers and also a white slim-strapped suspender belt for her stockings under the grey skirt and the knickers have to come down. Bending with her head down over the back of the chair with her skirt up over her back and her knickers down. Janice’s bottom bare for that awful ‘little friend’.
It is terrible of course. That unbelievable pain again. The thought for the moment that maybe her bottom has been cut in two or something. She can’t…
Hanging on. For dear. life. She can’t take any more. Not possibly. But Mr Pirtley has said… six…
No. No she can’t.
Mr Pirtley tells Janice in bed. Later that night after they have been out for a meal at a swanky restaurant. They are in Mr Pirtley’s bed and he tells her. This gentleman, who is called Mr Clairford. Mr Pirtley’s gentleman friend who lives here, in Paris. Janice is going to stay with him. For a holiday. While Mr Clairford’s girl goes back with Mr Pirtley for a holiday in England. Mr Clairford’s French girl. Suzette, Mr Pirtley thinks her name is.
‘What about that?’ Mr Pirtley says. ‘A lovely holiday here in Paris. You’ll be able to really improve that French. Super eh? But I’ll miss you of course, Janice darling.’
It is all something of a shock. Will it be super? It all depends very much on this Mr Clairford. What he’s like. What he wants from a girl. Yes it is a shock alright, but right now Janice can’t really think about it. There is what Mr Pirtley wants, here in this big double bed. He wants what Mr Osling always seems to want. Janice doesn’t have to worry about Mr Osling and nor at this moment Mr Clairford. Right now it is Mr Pirtley. Her blonde head under the bedclothes. Prodding what Mr Pirtley wants.