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Sunday, 16 December 2018

The Cartwheel Girl

From Blushes 66
‘You don’t want to be sent down, Miss?’ Mr Singley says. ‘Expelled from college.’ The pretty blonde-haired girl desperately shakes her head. The thought is unthinkable. She would die of shame. ‘Well then, Miss Lamming, we will have to think of something else. If we can. Yes?’ And Mr Singley’s hand reaches round and squeezes her bottom. A deliberate, no-nonsense grope.
She gasps and automatically jerks away. Mr Singley’s keen eyes become even more intense. ‘We don’t want to be sent down, do we, Miss Lamming?’ Another desperate shake of the blonde head. She is trembling now. ‘Well stand right here, Miss.’ Indicating a point immediately in front of him. ‘And stand still.’
They are in his room, Mr Singley sitting behind his desk with his chair swivelled to face the side. It is 5 o’clock and afternoon lectures have finished. Students have very largely left, for their digs, to do some shopping, perhaps to spend time in a coffee shop. There will be one or two still in the college building, chatting in a corridor, but that is all. Amanda herself would certainly normally be gone, she is not one to hang around, but today is an exception. With that note from Mr Singley who is her tutor. ‘I should like to see you at 5 o’clock…
Amanda could half guess what it might be. Some sort of warning that she must do better. She has had criticism from Mr Singley regarding her essays, and indeed from one or two other lecturers. So Amanda was expecting some sort of warning. She has already resolved to make a big effort to improve but it is not easy. She is not a great genius to whom the work comes easy and she also has other demands on her time: a boyfriend and additionally she is on the college hockey team. She has told Raymond that she’s got to spend more time with her work, and also told Miss Fothering who runs the hockey team that it is difficult to find time for the practices. But of course neither Raymond nor Miss Fothering really wants to listen. They each know what they want. They each want their piece of pretty, 19-year-old Amanda. Amanda with her tallish, splendidly developed and athletic body. Those rather large but firmly jutting breasts. And the ripely rounded bottom… which Mr Singley has now in his room at a little after 5 o’clock on this dull Thursday afternoon in June suddenly and shockingly groped.
Amanda is trembling from the shock of Mr Singley’s hand and also from the shock of his words moments earlier. She has expected a reprimand, to be told to pull her socks up, figuratively speaking, but not… that threat of expulsion. It has left an empty, nauseous feeling in the pit of her stomach. Almost as if someone had punched her there. Zombie-like she does what Mr Singley has told her. Stumbles forward again to stand close in front of him.
‘That’s better, Miss. I’m sure you don’t want to be sent down. Although with your dreadful record you should be. Take your knickers off, Miss Lamming.’
This last sentence is delivered in a quiet, not-emphasised voice which in a way makes its shock value even greater. She can’t believe he has said it. But Mr Singley has. He repeats it, more sharply. ‘Take your knickers off, Miss.
The pretty face framed in the thick mass of ash-blonde hair is suddenly bright pink. The full, lightly-lipsticked mouth opens, to show even white teeth, and then closes. The blue eyes blink. ‘Wha… Wha…’ now comes from the pretty mouth.
‘Take your knickers off, Miss.’ Mr Singley’s voice a harsh hiss now. ‘Or I shall send in the recommendation for your expulsion right now.’
‘H… Here…?’ she stutters. And is told, ‘Yes. Right here, Miss. Take them off.’
Mr Singley can’t tell her to take her knickers off, it is unthinkable — but the thought of being expelled is also unthinkable and for all Amanda knows he can and will do that. Frantic jumbled thoughts whirl through her head. One thought is what a girl she knows, Stacy, has told her. Stacy was in trouble with her landlord about the rent and he suggested that if she didn’t have the money Stacy could pay in another way. He wanted to fuck her in other words. Stacy said she would have had to let him, but she was finally able to get a part-time job and pay it off. Is this what Mr Singley has in mind? Telling her to take her knickers off. Mr Singley is fiftyish and not at all attractive, a thin face with glasses and eyes that look at you in a certain way. Look at Amanda’s well-developed tits for one thing. That thought — that Mr Singley perhaps wants to screw her — makes Amanda feel really sick. But the thought of being expelled…
Amanda’s hands have finally moved. In the welter of frantic thoughts in her head is one which says she has no choice but to comply. Whatever may happen. Trying not to look at Mr Singley, her eyes looking straight ahead and not focussing, Amanda’s hands slide up, under her dark skirt. Up the sides of her thighs to her flanks, her knickers. Fingers fumblingly at them… And then the knickers are coming down. A brief white garment appearing below the rucked-up skirt. ‘Right off,’ Mr Singley says. He sounds as if he’s licking his lips.
The room seems to be dipping and rolling as Amanda’s hands fumble the knickers off over first one shoe and then the other. The shapely, athletic legs lifted one by one feel as if they are made of rubber and are simply going to give way, cease to support her. But somehow that doesn’t actually happen. Mr Singley is holding his hand out for the knickers.
‘That’s better, Miss.’ He places the crumpled garment on his desk without really looking at it and then… his hand comes round again. As it did that first time. Only now it is lower, at the back of one knee. But sliding up. sliding up under Amanda’s skirt. Up the back of one silky smooth thigh. ‘That’s better, Miss,’ he repeats. Amanda stands trembling on the shapely legs which are finely muscled and fit but nonetheless are going to give way. Because Mr Singley’s smoothly advancing hand has reached her bare bottom.
The hand cups it. Cups one warm soft cheek. Fingers sliding in the cleft between the two cheeks. Amanda’s breath comes out in a sibilant, unbelieving hiss.
Quietly, in that same licking-his-lips voice, Mr Singley says, ‘This, Miss. If you’re not going to get a recommendation for expulsion I shall have to deal with this.’ The hand jiggles the soft bare cheek. ‘The cane, young lady. I can offer you the option of the cane. On your bare bottom.’
Mr Singley’s hand is holding her bare bottom: Amanda’s mind is still scarcely able to grasp this impossible, unthinkable thought. But somewhere in her frantic head says: at least he doesn’t want to screw you. Caning… would not be as bad as that. As it would not be as bad as the unthinkable humiliation of being expelled from college. Because dreadful as it would be, no one would know, no one except Mr Singley and herself would know that he has caned her.
‘All right, Miss?’
Amanda doesn’t answer. No words will come out of that pretty mouth. The dreadful hand is still there, jiggling her intimate bare flesh in a sickening way. All she can do is stand still, with this faint feeling and her blood thudding in her ears.
‘Yes, Miss. If that is preferred I think we can arrange it. No one will need to know, naturally. I shall do it in private of course.’ The hand gives the cheek of Amanda’s bottom a pinch and lets go. But it doesn’t come away. It slides round Amanda’s bare flank under her skirt… to her front.
‘Aah… aaahh…!’
‘Keep still. No need… to get alarmed.’ Mr Singley’s hand is at the soft curls. The blonde bush at the top of Amanda’s thighs which is now of course, like her bottom, bare under her skirt. His hand is there… and the fingers are sliding in between her thighs. Amanda gives a convulsive squirm. She is desperate to push the hand away. But…
‘Keep still, Miss. Keep still, Miss. Keep quite still. This is a lot of your problem, mmm…? Getting too much action here, is that it? That boyfriend…?’
No!’ Amanda gasps. She can’t help it, her hand jerks across over her skirt — to indecisively try to stop Mr Singley’s hand which under her skirt is holding her pussy. ‘Take that hand away,’ he barks. And after a moment’s hesitation Amanda does; She is very close to bursting into tears. The hand is right in between her legs. One finger is at the wet cuntal lips.
‘Yes, young lady. Much too much action here I am afraid.’
Sunday morning. The sports field. There would be no one here on Sunday morning, Mr Singley said, and there is no one. Only Amanda. Standing nervously at the gate. She is in a pleated hockey skirt plus white short-sleeved blouse. White ankle socks and sneakers. This is what Mr Singley has told her to wear. With a skimpy pair of sports knickers underneath — and no bra. With a leer he said he wanted to see her do some exercises first. As she was supposed to be such an excellent athlete. After that he was going to use the cane on her. ‘When you’re nice and warmed up, eh young lady?’
It is five to 9. Nine o’clock Mr Singley said, but in her nervousness, anxiety, Amanda is here early. There has been no thought of not turning up (though definitely a panicky desire to run away — from college, everything — but that is not a real option). So Amanda is here on this quite pleasant morning — or at least it would otherwise be pleasant if there wasn’t this dreadful ordeal in front of her. Inevitably she has been able to think of nothing else ever since that dreadful Thursday afternoon when she had to take her knickers off in Mr Singley’s room… and then stand in front of him like that with his dreadful hand first of all at her bare bottom and then even worse fingering her cunt. Inevitably with his hand at her bottom and then there she had got moist… and Mr Singley’s dreadful fingers slipped in. And though hating it Amanda had got more aroused, more wet, as his fingers found her swollen clitoris. Wes, just as I thought, Miss Lamming. You’ve been getting much too much action here. That is no doubt why your work is so bad.’
No. Amanda has been able to think of nothing else. That mind-zonking interview with Mr Singley and what is to take place now, the result of it. Naturally she has not been able to say anything to Raymond because what good would that do? It would make things worse because Raymond would want to do something — and anything at all could simply mean that Mr Singley would send in his recommendation for expulsion. So Raymond has no idea — except that it has been evident that Amanda has been in a very low mood. ‘We mustn’t see each other so much,’ Amanda has blurted out on a couple of occasions. But ironically she has also yesterday, Saturday evening, let Raymond fuck her. That is something Amanda will only very rarely agree to, in spite of Raymond being eager for it virtually all the time.
Miss Fothering, coach of the hockey team, is very much against fucking: it takes the edge right off of a girl’s game and will ruin her general fitness. Miss Fothering, thirtyish and slimly attractive but not at all keen on the male sex, is especially keen to dissuade the good-looking members of her team from indulging in sexual intercourse. Especially Amanda who is the best looking and with the most stunning figure. Perhaps Miss Fothering thinks that if that stunning body needs arousing then she, Lis Fothering, is the one to do it rather than any fumbling male.
Generally speaking Amanda takes the advice to heart — it anyway reinforces moral advice from such as her mother and the vicar that a girl should not indulge. But last night, with the thought of this morning to come, Amanda couldn’t. She needed what Raymond was so eager to provide. Afterwards of course Amanda was in tears and tearfully said that perhaps they’d better stop seeing each other.
It is two minutes to 9 when Mr Singley appears, walking from where he has parked his car. Smiling that leering, licking-his-lips smile when he spots her. Coming up, close, as Amanda trembles. Perhaps she should have run away. Gone off somewhere, disappeared, and got a job waitressing or something. Mr Singley squeezes her bare arm. ‘A lovely morning, young lady Eh? Just right for a spot of vigorous exercise. Don’t you think?’ The hand leaves her arm… and slides down and then up. Under the front of Amanda’s short pleated skirt. To take hold of her pussy through the brief sports knickers. Automatically Amanda jerks away…
‘Don’t be silly, Miss. We mustn’t be silly, must we?’ The hand comes back… and this time Amanda makes herself stand still. Trembling but still. ‘That’s better, Miss Lamming.’
Some long moments — an age — to be endured and then the hand lets go. Right. Must get on, mustn’t we?’ the hand takes Amanda’s arm and Mr Singley walks her in, through the big iron gates. ‘Now Miss Lamming is going to give a little demonstration of her physical skills, yes? I have heard it rumoured that she is a bit of a gymnast.’
How has he heard that? Through Miss Fothering perhaps? Amanda has done handstands and cartwheels for Miss Fothering in a jokey sort of way although for Miss Fothering, who suggested the performances, it wasn’t really a joke, not from the intent look on her face as she watched the ravishing display of limbs, of those marvellous thighs — and also no doubt the brief crotch of the knickers between them. As Miss Fothering has also looked avidly at what is on show at times in the hockey changing room and in the shower. This look of Miss Fothering has not registered with Amanda, though. And it is not likely to register now, since Thursday, when the only thing she can think of is… This dreadful man. Her tutor. Who now says, ‘Let’s see it then, go through your routine, young lady.’
Mercifully there is still no one else out here as Amanda is forced to go through a routine of handstands and cartwheels and all the rest. Amanda is very good although of course big for a gymnast. Big especially in terms of those marvellous tits which this morning are unconstrained by even the lightest of bras under her blouse. Amanda is good, she did gymnastics at school and normally she would enjoy going through her paces. But not for Mr Singley. Mr Singley whose riveted eyes are determined not to miss one second, one millimetre, of the mouth-watering thighs, the rounded but muscular buttocks in the skimpy white pants, and of course the tightly delineating crotch of those pants too. Mr Singley who watches it all with such intensity and then says to red-faced Amanda when at last she stops for a breather, ‘Very good. And now I’d like you to go through it all again. This time without your knickers on.’
A little room in the basement of the gym building. ‘No one will be down there on a Sunday morning. And I’m sure you wish for privacy,’ Mr Singley has said after Amanda had done her second run through of the handstands and cartwheels and all the rest. Doing it and shutting her mind as best she can to the awful reality… of what Mr Singley can now see at every cartwheel, every handstand. At last that was over but there is now the other ordeal. The real one you could say. Because down here in this little room Mr Singley is going to do the caning.
Amanda in her blouse and skirt and ankle socks and sneakers but nothing else because she has already had to take the knickers off for Mr Singley outside in the sports field. Amanda to be bent over this table top. Her skirt slid up over her back. For that cane…
A squealing gasp as it slices in. Biting into those tender cheeks unwillingly thrust out over the edge of the table to receive it. The pain takes Amanda’s breath away — breath which bursts out in that squealing gasp. Her whole body shuddering. ‘Keep still. And don’t be so noisy,’ says Mr Singley’s smug but excited voice. ‘Big girls don’t make that noise. And you are a big girl, aren’t you?’
As he speaks he slices the cane in again. Onto this magnificent, trembling rump which now bears a bright red transverse stripe from the previous stroke. The second lands almost on top of the first. Another shuddering, gasping yelp. Mr Singley’s eyes are shining. The cane is transferred to his left hand… and the right takes hold of the shaking, squirming rear. It feels red hot where the cane has landed. His hand strokes.
‘How does it feel, young lady? Are you enjoying it? Are you?’ Amanda emits a whimpering gasp, almost a sob. The hand slides down… in between her legs. Perhaps it is the shock of the cane but she is wet. Fingers slide in between the wet lips.
‘That’s two, Miss. I’m giving you twelve altogether. Do you think that twelve will be enough to get you working properly? Do you?’
Amanda lets out another sobbing yelp. Her bottom is throbbing red hot already after two. The thought of ten more… And there are also those stroking fingers at her hot cunt.
‘And I don’t want you rushing back to that boyfriend immediately after, Miss. I certainly don’t want that. Understand?’
In fact it isn’t Raymond that Amanda sees later but Miss Fothering. Miss Fothering who comes round to Amanda’s digs. This is a surprise, a shock even, because Miss Fothering has never come there before — although Amanda is still in too much of a shocked state from Mr Singley’s caning to respond to the shock of Miss Fothering’s sudden presence.
But there is a shock that Amanda shortly responds to. Miss Fothering it seems knows about Mr Singley. Knows about the caning. And that isn’t the only shock. Miss Fothering with this knowledge wants something. Something that Amanda hasn’t even dreamt of.

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