Biting her lip Jane makes herself stand still, although she is shaking. Her whole body trembling. Standing here in this room in her schoolgirl outfit and not too sure if she might start crying or something. Because Mr Milport… is that Mike. Mike Vulker.
They didn’t tell her this, that it was going to be Mike to shoot the story. That it would be Mike waiting for her in this flat in south London. Mike who was so awful on Grand Canary. She should have asked who was going to be in the shots. Before coming here. Then she could have refused, said she wasn’t going to do anything else with Mike. Jane had assumed he was still out there. Grand Canary. He lived there, didn’t he? Out there in that super tropical sunshine. He should be out there. Looking for girls perhaps… But instead he is here.
Jane’s heart gives a big thump as the door opens. Yes it is Mike. And he has put on a black academic gown over his shirt and trousers. Plus he is carrying a camera and tripod. That is another thing. There is no one else here. It perhaps wouldn’t be so bad if there was someone else: a photographer, Bill Rawlins perhaps. But there isn’t. Mike is going to shoot it himself, with his tripod.
He stands the tripod to one side and turns to Jane.
‘I liked the story. It was really good. That Richard writes a good story but of course he did it with you, eh Jane. You telling him all the details. Mr Milport.’
Jane shakes her head in a vague way. She is not really sure herself how much of that story is real and how much is fantasy. The Mr Milport character is real (though his name has been changed of course). With the whispers at school. Whispers about what he would do to a girl if he got the chance. And Jane did have to go back to see him about a reference for a job. But then… what happened.
In her mind Jane can see those things happening. Mr Milport doing those things to her. Spanking her bare bottom. And caning her. As in the whispers. And the other. Doing that other at his house.
Mike has hold of her now. Jane is pulled tight in against him and one hand is groping her bottom. Mike’s big hand. Mr Milport’s hand.
‘We’re going to shoot the second part,’ his voice in Jane’s ear says. Round at Mr Milport’s house. That second visit you had to make. That was when he really went to work on you. Mmm?’
‘Stand up straight,’ Mike/Mr Milport says.
He is sitting on the small armchair and Jane is standing close in front of him. Wearing her white short-sleeved blouse with a tie and a short navy skirt. Her long bare legs ending in white ankle socks and trainers. Jane’s head has a confused, dizzy feeling. Mike… Mr Milport… The story… and what actually happened. What is happening. Is she in Mr Milport’s house?
‘You could have worn something smarter, Miss. Those trainers aren’t very smart. If a girl was making an effort to impress she would have worn something smarter than that. Smart high heels. With a suspender belt. Don’t you think, Jane?’
She mumbles something.
Mr Milport laughs. ‘And I daresay if a girl was really trying to impress… Really trying to get a good reference… she would perhaps have come without her knickers. a we just check that? Lift your skirt Miss.’
Jane’s mouth feels dry. As if she maybe is going to be sick. But she can’t be sick, she didn’t eat any breakfast today. Couldn’t face any, not with this second visit to Mr Milport this morning and knowing that he plans to cane her again. Her hands have taken hold of the skirt’s hem and she is sliding it up. To show her soft bare thighs to Mr Milport. Bare, vulnerable soft flesh.
‘Higher up,’ Mr Milport tells her. ‘And come in closer.’
Jane has knickers on of course. She wouldn’t come here without any on. She could never do that. Unless perhaps Mr Milport told her to. If he told Jane she wouldn’t get the reference if she didn’t come round to his place with no knickers on. What would she have done then? She needs the reference. Maybe she would have come without them. But he didn’t say it. He did say he was going to cane her though.
Jane’s skirt is right up now. To reveal the tight, figure-hugging navy knickers. Hugging the firm bulge of her pussy right above where her bare thighs begin. Mr Milport’s eyes immediately fix on the bulge. His eyes attracted like a magnet.
‘Come on. Closer.’
Jane shuffles forward, to stand between Mr Milport’s spread legs. With her skirt still held high, round her waist. He is going to…
Although she is half expecting it Jane’s breath gasps out. As the hand takes hold of her. Cupping her pussy in the tight-stretched navy knickers. His hand there is like an electric shock. The whispers at school, some of them, included this. That Mr Milport would feel a girl’s pussy. As well as spanking her bare bottom and caning her he would get his hand on her pussy although Jane hadn’t really believed it. And he hadn’t done it the other time, in the Head’s study. It was one thing he hadn’t done. But now…
‘Have it from that Ian last night, did you Miss? His stiff prick up here?’
The meaningless sound popping out from her soft lips. His hand is there intimately holding her pussy and there is nothing Jane can do except stand and let him do it.
‘I asked you a question. Did you Jane?’
No Jane didn’t do anything with Ian last night. She didn’t see him. Jane tries to tell Mr Milport this but he won’t believe her. Or pretends he doesn’t.
‘No, I’m sure you did, Jane. I know you do it all the time. You can’t keep away from it. You’re crazy for it, eh? To have that thing up you.’
Mr Milport is saying these awful things while he continues holding Jane’s pussy. Sliding his fingers in between her legs now, rubbing a finger along the line of her slit. She is close to tears, and also close to having her legs give way so that she will slide in a shuddering heap onto the floor.
‘And because of that, Jane dear, we’re going to need an extra go with the cane. A double dose I think. Yes,’ The fingers keep working at her. ‘But first a good hard spanking. Turn round and I’ll take your knickers down. I’m always ready to assist a pretty girl by getting her knickers down.’
Mr Milport has finally taken his hand away. Both hands are turning her. So that Jane’s now hot and somewhat aroused pussy is facing away. But her bottom isn’t of course; Jane’s bottom is very much in the action area.
Mr Milport’s thumbs have inserted into the waistband of the tight little knickers. He is tugging them down. To bare Jane’s flinching bottom. His hands do some groping. It is pretty awful — but it could be worse. With her knickers down it is not only Jane’s bottom that is bare. Her pussy is too. Mr Milport could be groping and squeezing that. So it could be worse. Anyway…
Anyway Jane is shortly over his lap. Lying face-down across those big thighs. And Mr Milport’s big hand is coming down. Slamming with breath-stopping force into the soft bare flesh. Jerking desperate yelps from her trembling mouth. And there are tears now. Jane’s cheeks wet with hot salt tears.
She struggles, but only feebly and in an automatic response. There is no way she can prevent or get away from what is happening. The hand is continuing to slam down. Jane’s poor bottom is red hot. Raw. But Mr Milport won’t stop.
He does stop eventually. Mr Milport’s hand stops cracking down. And instead it goes in between Jane’s legs. She is all wet. Perspiration possibly, from the desperation of what has been happening? Or possibly it is the other. That is what Mr Milport chooses to think.
‘You’re all wet, Jane darling. Like a nice bit of spanking, do you? Gets you all hot and excited, does it?’
But there is still the caning to come. Six strokes of that diabolical cane, Mr Milport has said. The same as yesterday. And yesterday… that caning was impossible. Six killing strokes across her bare bottom. It is an entirely different world of pain to a spanking. Even a spanking as awful as the one she’s just had. That was why Jane couldn’t face any breakfast: the thought of that impossible cane across her bare bottom again. That cane which now is in Mr Milport’s hand again.
Jane shakes her head. Standing again now, with her skirt held up and her knickers still down round her knees and her bottom bright red from the spanking. Unable to face the thought of that cane. But she doesn’t have any choice. She has come round here. To get the reference — and to get the caning. One goes with the other. She could have not come — but that would mean no reference. Jane has come. Which means…
‘Take the knickers right off. And then get up on the chair. Kneeling on the seat. With your bottom nicely out, to make a nice target.’
Jane shakes her head again. Her pretty blonde head is in a daze. But she’s got to go through with it. She knows that. And she is fumblingly pulling down the knickers. Stepping awkwardly out of them. And then… up on the chair.
‘Right over. Come on, head down. I_ want you with your hands right down on the floor.’
A moan of desperation from Jane.
Her head is hanging down over the back of the chair, her blonde hair tumbling round her face, and she has her hands flat on the carpet. This dreadful position means she is completely exposed. Mr Milport is tucking her skirt up round her waist… And then pushing her knees apart… to further expose her pussy. His hand slides onto it.
‘Yes, a nice touch of the cane, Miss. Will that make you hot too? Hot and wet? Let’s see, shall we?’
‘No!’ she yelps, from down there close to the floor. At this last moment there is the panicky thought that she really can’t take it. She’ll do without the reference but she can’t take another session of the cane.
But even as Jane thinks this the cane zips in. Slicing smoothly through the air. Accelerating. And then its smooth motion brought to an abrupt halt as it meets this solid barrier which is Jane’s bare bottom. Solid but resilient young flesh which gives with the force of the impact, but can only yield so much, perhaps a quarter of an inch. And in that quarter of an inch all of the cane’s energy is given up. Generating heat and of course pain. Heat that feels white hot. Pain that feels… like something that is quite impossible to take.
Jane’s stricken bottom jerks. Writhes. As her frantic cry bursts out.
Two more slice in. Mr Milport with one hand on the back of Jane’s head keeping her in position. Since that first impossible stroke she has been trying to say she can’t take any more, she doesn’t want the reference. Not if it means… this. But the words aren’t really coming out. And anyway Mr Milport doesn’t want to know that. What he wants is the heady pleasure of caning this pretty girl who has been there, tantalisingly off-limits, week after week in his class. Who now… is in his power.
But he stops after three. Stops for the moment. The three juicy cuts have definitely got him going. He is putting the cane down.
‘Come on, you can get your head up now. A little break…’
Mr Milport is hauling her back up from the floor. Jane is still kneeling on the chair but now pulled into a more upright position. She has the feeling of not really knowing where she is, of scarcely knowing who she is. There is only that excruciating, red-hot throbbing on her poor bottom. But after some seconds (or minutes? She doesn’t know) her mind does begin to focus. And her eyes… At first Jane’s eyes can’t take it in. And then slowly… Mr Milport…
He is standing close in front of her. His big bulk filling her view. The gown Mr Milport has put on is open, pulled back. Under it… his trousers are open too. Unzipped. And whatever garment there is underneath is pulled open, or down, Jane’s widening blue eyes cannot identify these details. What her wide eyes do unequivocally identify is there in centre view and only inches away. Mr Milport’s thing. Erect. Purple-headed. It is quite bare. It is enormous.
‘OK Janey? If you didn’t have that Ian last night, like you say… you probably feel like a bit of fun. Right? Just…’
Mr Milport tells Jane what he wants. It is pretty obvious what he wants. As he pushes his hips forward. That final inch or so between himself and Jane’s face. She opens her mouth to protest. No! No… But clearly opening her mouth is not a good idea. She splutters.
Afterwards Jane has to have the remainder of the caning. After she has gaggingly taken Mr Milport in her mouth. The three more cuts of the cane that are still to come. Now to be taken in a straddle-legged position, her legs through the spaces under the chair’s arms. With her head again bent forward and down. It is a position in which she is more exposed than ever. Everything wide open. But it is her bottom that is the only concern to her. Jane’s already suffering bottom. Which has to take the three more killing cuts of the cane.
Again that feeling of not knowing where she is, her mind aware only of her scorching bottom. Like a thousand bee-stings. The angry pain pulsating. Throbbing.
Did you get the reference? Did pretty Janey get the reference from that bad Mr Milport?’
She is desperately trying to focus her mind. To get it off the hot hurt in her bottom. What did he say? And it is…?
It is Mike. It is Mike who has been caning her. Big Mike in the black schoolteacher’s gown. Because anyway Mr Milport didn’t wear a gown like that, did he? She doesn’t think so. Yes it is Mike. Of course. She came to the flat and there was Mike, to shoot the story. Mr Milport.
She is standing between Mike’s legs. He is sitting on the chair. The one she was caned over. The chair with the arms that Jane had to put her feet through, to spread her legs wide.
‘I said did you get the reference. After Mr Milport had whipped you with the cane. Did he give you a good reference? But I bet he wanted something else first, eh? A nice fuck. That’s not in the story but I bet he did. Once he’d got you round at his house. I bet that was his main object, to give you a nice hot fuck.’
‘No. No…’ Jane’s mind is still only half focussing; it still would like to concentrate only on the throbbing heat in her bottom. Mr Milport what did he do? He didn’t… do that?
Mike is pulling her close. His hand bending her head down, to his face. Kissing her. Jane gags as his tongue thrusts deep in her mouth. Like… that other. The other that he made her do earlier. She was choking with it. His mouth comes away.
‘I bet he did. You just don’t want to admit it, Janey. You let that Mr Milport have a fuck. For your reference.’
‘No! No I never…’
But Mike doesn’t want to believe that He wants to believe Jane did fuck Mr Milport, even though it’s not in the story.
‘Yes Janey. And even though it’s not in the story, the one that’s going in the mag, we can have our own private ending to the story, can’t we? In this story there is a fuck. Jane does fuck Mr Milport. And so… we’ve got to do that part as well. OK?’
‘No! No… ooo…!’
‘Yes! We won’t shoot it. It won’t be on film. It’ll just be our own ending. Jane and that awful Mr Milport. Come on.’
She is protesting but of course it doesn’t do any good. Mike, standing now, is undoing his trousers. Or Mr Milport is. Jane has got to bend over the chair. Lying herself over the seat. So that Mike/Mr Milport can come at her from behind. So that Jane will get her reference. She gives a shuddering moan as she feels it. His thing. She has had it before from Mike of course. On Grand Canary. But not from Mr Milport. Mr Milport didn’t do it. Didn’t fuck her. But he is now.