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Thursday, 31 January 2019

Linda’s Column — Letters

From Blushes Supplement 6
Dear Editor,
As an avid reader of your magazine from issue number one may I add my plea to that of G.P. (Hants) that Linda’s column may become a regular feature (Blushes Supplement 4)?
Linda’s eminently ‘smackable bottom’ surely epitomises what the majority of your readers really want to read about and to look at.
To be sure it is jolly nice to be able to read your yarns of put-upon young ladies with their blossoming tits and curly pussies but in fact your superb photographs of beknickered bums, stocking-framed thighs, pouting peachy pubes and piquant fear-filled faces are what makes your magazine stand out from the majority of the soft porn press: all bare boobs and beaver shots.
Let us by all means see more of delectable Linda. Your first shots of her getting her no doubt well-deserved comeuppance on pages 31 to 38 could hardly be bettered.
What will you have Linda doing next? Please let her retain her schoolgirl uniform of white blouse, grey jumper and mini plaid skirt. By all means let us see more of her delightful bum, page 38 but I for one found her portrait fully clothed on page 33 a tremendous turn on — Superb!
Let us please have another shot of Linda as per the heading of her column, page 31 but enlarged.
Surely Linda’s obviously high class and exclusive public school for young ladies will have an indoor swimming pool? What better venue for the young darling to disport herself in regulation black body-clinging swim costume?
If you need a story line just refer back to Blushes No. 3, page 9: ‘The Victim’.
‘…If you stood too close to the pool you could get pretty wet so sitting back against the wall on a bench was the sensible way to oversee the school’s senior relay team at training… Far better to have them swim a length, clamber out — wet tits against the edge of the pool, firm young hips hauled out of the water, tummies against the coping stone, bottoms up in the air — then run back to the shallow end and dive in again. Naturally they had to pass the bench, their damp bums bouncing inside clinging costumes as they ran.’
Could not this be a ready-made scenario for Linda?
While this may be for Linda a very embarrassing idea it would I am sure, satisfy the fantasies of some of your readers for quite a while.
P. Colesworthy
P.S. Referring back to the earlier numbers of Blushes, could you please reintroduce that most titillating and erotic feature: Illustrators Corner? Linda as a choirgirl would be just fine.

Dear Blushes,
I am writing on behalf of a newly-formed group of bottom-worshippers in Liverpool. We think that Supplement No. 4 was great. We’re eagerly looking forward to the promised regular ‘episodes’ of Linda’s Column.
We particularly like that picture on page 32 (Supplement No. 4) where Linda is standing, facing the camera and lifting up her skirt to reveal that soft, tender, fleshy, succulent bulge of a pussy bursting forth through her white panties. Please let us have some more of such poses. How about the same pose but with Linda clutching a teddy-bear — a look of horror on her face as if in dread of some ‘impending doom’? White panties please.
Martin O’Shea [for all the members]
Name and address supplied.

There will be more of Linda — and her bottom, whether she likes it or not — in forthcoming issues of Blushes Magazines. Look out for them!
[If there were any additional features with Linda I haven't yet found them.]

Wednesday, 30 January 2019

Bottom Line II — Sorority Spanking

A sequel from Firm Hand Spanking video featuring the same models — Shannon Carson, Natasha Edwards, Amber Thompson and Amy Denison.
F/4f; time: 34 minutes
The concept of a spanking sorority gives Firm Hand the vehicle to have four girls put through various paces in several settings. FH has always been short on plot, but long on hard spankings and pretty bottoms.
After a California-style residential exterior shot opening, four girls enter a house — Natasha, Amy, Caron, and Shannon all named in the opening credits. They are greeted by an older Sister and without any further ado, each is spanked OTK, skirts up. Since the thong is the thing, there is mostly bare flesh.
The four girls are marched into a bedroom. ‘Take your shorts down and bend over.’ The Sister moves down the line with a very large fraternity paddle, laying 10 swats on each bottom. Blotching and bruising begin. The intensity seems to relax, suggesting some complaining on the set.
Next Day: The girls sit around the pool at the sorority house. One of the girls has received a written notice from the college Dean, which they know will mean the ‘leather strap’ for her. Definitely fantasy — girls strap Deans nowadays.
Dissolve: two men from the college show up at the sorority. They will punish the girls there, and the girls are angry about it. They wonder, just who is NOT going to punish them? They are given the choice — the Deans will spanks them or call the police. The girls mutter, ‘You know what it is… they get their rocks off… young girls.’
Brunette Amy is taken first, over as couch, for a large and loud tawse. Caron, Natasha, and Shannon follow. The girls seem to know to drop their pants without direction. Each girl then gets a brief caning.
Back at the Sorority House: More paddling from the Sister; the girls’ bottoms are still red — this is surely a one-day shoot. Since Shannon and Natasha are the ringleaders of the group, they get the cane.
Dissolve to the pool again and a girlie scene, the girl parading in bikinis. They plan to pirate and sell some CD’s, which sets up a confrontation with authorities for a sequel.

Tuesday, 29 January 2019

The Way of the Bhagwan

From Blushes 69
‘He didn’t look like a great guru,’ Jenny said doubtfully. ‘He doesn’t even look Indian.’
Sylvie shook her head sadly. ‘If you’re determined to be sceptical you can’t hope to get anywhere. You won’t let yourself believe so of course you can’t. It’s as simple as that. If you won’t believe in the earth and the stars and the force of nature then they won’t mean anything for you. Bhagwan Sanvar has great powers but if you’re negative it won’t get through. You have to let yourself go to experience the Life Force.’
Sylvie and Jenny were both 19 and worked in the bank. On this Wednesday evening they were in Sylvie’s flat for a meal she had prepared. Vegetarian of course; vegetarianism was part of Bhagwan Sanvar’s teaching and Sylvie was a keen member of his group, Hajilana Karma. Jenny had shown some interest and had gone to one meeting. That was partly why she was here this evening, the meal being an excuse for Sylvie to give a further exposition of the Way of Hajilana. Jenny, though, was clearly not yet on the right wavelength; not when she could make superficial remarks about his appearance.
The Bhagwan of course had both European and Indian blood, as he explained to his disciples. He was tuned in to both Western and Eastern mysticism which was partly why he had such great powers. The fact that he didn’t look purely Indian was a superficial irrelevance. Jenny still looked sceptical. Part of the trouble was that she was not in a very good mood. Jenny had been fairly low for a week or so now mainly due to problems with her boyfriend Eric. They seemed to be arguing all the time. Jenny had been low when she went with Sylvie to the Hajilana meeting two days ago. Perhaps it was true what Sylvie said: Jenny was in a negative state, due mostly to bloody Eric of course. That had prevented the Bhagwan getting through to her.
Jenny said she would come to another meeting and try and be positive. Sylvie knew about the Eric problem of course. If Jenny followed the Way of Hajilana she wouldn’t have such problems. Why didn’t she bring Eric along? Jenny was doubtful about that but she would come herself. Sylvie’s meal and perhaps even more the wine she served with it had put Jenny in a more mellow mood. She would go to the next meeting and think positive.
‘She’s been having some problems. Her boyfriend. So she’s got a lot of negative force in her,’ Sylvie said. ‘But she’s going to come to the next meeting and try. I tried to explain that if she’s got these problems she’s in need of the Way of Hajilana even more.’
The Bhagwan was inquiring about Jenny of course. He was always most concerned about new female acolytes, especially attractive ones. Jenny was very attractive, as attractive as Sylvie who was one of the Bhagwan’s particular favourites. Brunette as opposed to blonde but variety was the essence of life. A nicely rounded nubile brunette from what the Bhagwan had seen, though naturally he had not seen all the detail yet. He was extremely keen to see all the detail. To get to grips with it. As he was at this moment to a certain extent with blonde Sylvie.
He had driven her out in the country and they were parked in a quiet and secluded spot. Where they would not be disturbed and where the forces of nature could flow stimulatingly over them. Bhagwan Sanvar frequently brought female disciples here, especially when they were on to Higher Teaching. As Sylvie of course was. Bhagwan Sanvar had her top pulled up. A girl on Higher Teaching when she was taken out in the country by the great guru did not wear a bra or anything else under her top or blouse. So Sylvie’s ripely-rounded tits were bare; bare apart from the Bhagwan’s hands that is, busy massaging the splendid boobs. Stimulating them. Sylvie’s nipples, pinkly erect, showed every sign of being well stimulated. She gave a little moan, such as a girl will when getting this stimulating treatment.
What Sylvie was getting was very much part of Higher Teaching for a Hajilana pupil. Beginners would not get such teaching, it could easily be too much of a shock, a trauma, with the new disciple possibly precipitately removing herself from Hajilana Karma. Equally of course it was not the sort of teaching Bhagwan Sanvar would engage in with a male disciple. There were young men in the group but they were in the minority and their training and teaching was generally delegated to the Bhagwan’s assistants. But Bhagwan Sanvar liked to handle his girl disciples himself. Handle was very much the operative word.
‘Very good,’ the guru commented. ‘Jenny would be an excellent addition to our numbers. Once we got over that little problem and I am sure we would.’ The Bhagwan’s voice when he was thinking about it had the sing-song intonation of the Indian subcontinent (not too much as to sound ridiculous of course) but at other times, as now, this could be less evident and instead his native Lancashire would show through. Native because Bhagwan Sanvar had been born in Bolton and not, as he claimed to his disciples, the foothills of the Himalayas. Born also it must be said of purely English stock. He was 52, short and rounded and with a round, bald head. At Hajilana meetings he would always appear in maroon wool robes but on other occasions he would be more conventionally attired for the English scene, as now in short-sleeved shirt and grey flannel trousers.
Sylvie said a dutiful ‘Yes Bhagwan.’ What his hand was doing was getting her aroused, a good positive reaction to the Master. Shortly, as Sylvie knew, be would proceed to another discipline. One that was physically arousing like this one but painful too. Having your tits played with, massaged, was not painful. Sometimes with that other exercise you would want to yell out ‘No! No more! Please!’ when you were taking it. As, at the beginning, you wanted to refuse what Bhagwan Sanvar was doing now; the palpation of the mammary glands. These reactions were of course caused by your weaknesses. The Way of Hajilana was to overcome the weaknesses of mind and body and thus achieve Enlightenment.
Very shortly the Bhagwan was ready to proceed to that other discipline. His hands left the aroused tits and Sylvie was allowed to pull her top down again. It was a lovely sunny afternoon and they would get out of the car for it. The exercise could be performed in the car if it was not a nice day, raining or whatever, but in the car was cramped. Outside in the one-ness of nature was much to be preferred.
They got out of the car and began climbing the gentle slope of the field. Not too far because Sylvie was not exactly dressed for walking in the country. In particular she had on a pair of white three-inch-high stiletto heels, worn on the Bhagwan’s instruction. He very much liked girls in high heels. The rest of Sylvie’s outfit also followed the guru’s wishes: together with her pale blue sleeveless top, a pair of ultra-brief white shorts plus white patterned knee socks. All very fetching on a girl with Sylvie’s shapely, long-legged form. They walked — Sylvie more accurately stumbled but there was the Bhagwan’s hand helpfully at her briefly clad bottom — perhaps a hundred yards through the tall grass.
The Bhagwan sat heavily down. Sylvie, the well-trained disciple, knew what was required. She got down too, lowering herself across the ample thighs of the Master. Pushing the tall dry grass aside with her hands, smelling the ripe summer smell of dry earth and grass, breathing in the flow of Nature. While Bhagwan Sanvar busied himself with her bottom. The very brief shorts left the ripe undercurves of Sylvie’s bottom-cheeks quite bare as were the soft, pale backs of her thighs. The Bhagwan did not believe in sunbathing, the flesh of his girls should be white, untanned, softly vulnerable. He specified the shorty shorts but the wearer was not to stay out in the sun in them for any length of time. The Master’s hand busied itself with the soft and silky flesh. Stroking, caressing. Plus one or two, the first, sharply stinging smacks.
Sylvie took the stinging smacks with no more sound than a stifled grunt. That was the result of Higher Teaching, you learnt not to yell out. And they were only the first forerunners of what was to come They were nothing to what was to follow. When, shortly, the Bhagwan had taken down the brief shorts and also the skimpy little knicks underneath. Pulled both garments down to the region of Sylvie’s knees. Now it was going to happen. In earnest. A session of one of the Bhagwan’s most frequently practised exercises in Higher Teaching. His hand after just a little groping at the completely bared bottom, slamming down on it with all his force. In a regular, studied rhythm. Onto the twin moons of the cheeks, onto the backs of the softly rounded thighs also.
This idyllic and deserted spot echoing with the repeating pistol shot sound. Sylvie for her part was not entirely silent, although taking this and similar disciplinings of the flesh in silence was advocated for a pupil of Higher Teaching. But sometimes, as now, complete silence was not possible even for a girl well on the road to Enlightenment, as Sylvie was. Gasping grunts and splutterings; also half-stifled yips and yelps. Combined with desperate jerks and writhings, of the legs, thighs, and of course the main target of the Bhagwan’s hard hand, Sylvie’s now bright pink bottom. She was doing her best and not doing too badly. Indeed if a pupil was managing to take it in full silence it would cause questions in the Master’s mind. Was he not hitting hard enough? He would attempt to rectify that; and he might feel it necessary to get up and cut himself a whippy little switch from a convenient bush (hazel was an excellent choice) with which to continue the Teaching. Because however hard a man applies his bare hand it will not compare with what can be delivered with a whippy switch.
Sylvie had experienced a hazel switch across her bare nates. She could vouch that this was true. It was true without a shadow of a doubt: a whole new experience. Sylvie, taking the spanking with her anguished jerks and half-stifled yips and grunts had room in her blonde head to wonder if indeed she might be going to get a switching today. A switch was part of Hajilana Higher Teaching, there was no doubt about that, and if the Bhagwan suggested it the only conceivable response was, as always, ‘Yes Master, I humbly agree.’ But the flesh was still weak. The flesh of Sylvie’s bottom was without question weak as far as a switch was concerned. To be fully Enlightened she would have to welcome it. Perhaps even request it. Sylvie clearly had not achieved that excited state yet. Clearly. It was difficult to believe she ever could. The Bhagwan’s hand was bad enough. Please not the switch, she silently begged. Not today. Perhaps… next time…
But when Bhagwan Sanvar had finished the spanking discipline and pushed Sylvie to her feet… She could see that certain gleam in the brown eyes behind the glasses_ A gleam that could mean… He looked at his watch.
Not late. Plenty of time. Time… for another exercise?’
Sylvie could only answer, ‘Yes Master.’ Though it would be nice to get back because she was due to see her boyfriend. Graham was not into Hajilana though Sylvie was trying to convert him. He didn’t know about this sort of thing, Higher Teaching exercises for female disciples, and he wouldn’t either if he joined. The Bhagwan’s female teaching was not disclosed to male members. Yes, Sylvie wanted to get back and she didn’t want any more exercises. Her bottom was really humming as it was. She was standing but not with her shorts pulled up yet, not until the Bhagwan told her, not until he was ready. Please! Not the switch, her mind begged. I can’t take it… That was weakness to let her mind say that but she couldn’t help it.
The brown eyes behind the glasses seemed to be swimming. The superlative pleasure of teaching a pretty and shapely female acolyte. Standing before him with her shorts and knickers still down; her ripe bottom and also the pretty face a ruddy pink.
‘The switch,’ Bhagwan Sanvar said quietly. ‘We will have a session of the switch.’ His hand going in his trouser pocket and taking out his knife. ‘Go and cut a nice hazel switch, my dear. About as thick as my little finger.’
‘Yes Master.’ There was no other response. Sylvie took the knife, then tremulously asked, ‘C… Can I pull my shorts up?’
The Bhagwan said she could. To go and cut her switch. The shorts and knickers would naturally have to come down again for the switching.
Sylvie was a bit late for Graham but not a lot. It doesn’t take all that long for a girl to have her bottom switched. The actual switching something like five minutes perhaps, bending over and touching her toes with her shorts and knickers slipped down to her knees. Six breath-stopping cuts of the green and whippy switch she had cut, trimmed to two feet in length. Six cuts spaced out so that the pupil could get the full feel of each one. Each leaving its bright red signature across the trembling moons of the pupil’s bottom. Hajilana Karma Higher Teaching. Sylvie’s blue eyes swimming with tears at the end. Swimming, brimming over, rolling down her cheeks. Standing shakily upright again while the Bhagwan’s hand inspected the results.
No Sylvie was not particularly late. Back to her flat and then a quick change because she couldn’t wear the very brief shorts to see Graham, they were strictly for Hajilana Higher Teaching sessions. Now with a dress on, the red marks would still be there on her bottom. Still a slight soreness when she sat down, etc, but the pain, the mind-zapping pain, was gone. Leaving that glow, the sense of extra awareness that the Way of Hajilana brought. The secret teaching of Hajilana Karma.
It was something that Jenny would experience if she joined and then progressed to Higher Teaching. Bhagwan Sanvar was very keen for Jenny to join. In the car again coming back he made Sylvie promise to work on her, make sure she came to the next general meeting. Sylvie of course said she would, said also that perhaps Graham might come. The Bhagwan was clearly not so concerned about that. He was interested in her relationship with Graham though. Their sexual relationship especially. The Bhagwan was concerned that his female disciples did not over-indulge in the sexual act. Once a week was the limit, more than that could affect her adversely, interfering with the body’s natural forces. Sylvie dutifully followed this teaching. ‘Only once a week,’ she told Graham. ‘Not more than that.’ Sylvie didn’t tell Graham the reason, that it was Hajilana teaching, guessing that Graham would not accept that too happily. She simply said they shouldn’t do it more often, not when they weren’t married. If Graham joined Hajilana Karma she would tell him it was the teaching. Graham would then have the knowledge to accept it without getting angry.
Engaging in the sexual act with the Bhagwan was of course something else. Quite different from doing it with your boyfriend. Doing it with the Bhagwan had an enhancing effect on a girl’s body forces. It could therefore take place at any frequency. It was limited only by the Bhagwan himself and the fact that he had several girls (four at present) on Higher Teaching, each one needing the benefit of the Bhagwan’s attentions. Bhagwan Sanvar sensibly did not wish to overdo it or overtax his natural forces. Something like once a week with each girl was sensible. Sometimes two. Sylvie being a favourite pupil not infrequently got it twice a week. Whether or not Graham joined the group it was extremely unlikely that this aspect of the Way of Hajilana would be made known to him. As with spankings and switchings. The mysteries of Hajilana Higher Teaching had to remain just that. Mysteries.

Monday, 28 January 2019

My Diary — the misadventures of Christina Winchester 8

From Privilege Club 15
Little Girl Lost
I like to wander alone through the woods during the long, lazy afternoons of the school holidays. I have always loved the woods. The leaves crunch and crackle beneath my bare feet. Trees rustle and whisper their secrets to me and I share mine with them. The woods are a dark place, a place of intimacy, my place. Thick with a private magic. Here, time has frozen. I can abandon myself to the erotic conjurings of my imagination.
Maybe these are the forests of Sherwood and I have come, with gallant whims, to join Robin Hood in his quest. His Merry Men laugh at such a feisty but foolish child. Their mirth is even greater when Robin himself takes a rod to my bottom before sending me home, in tears of shame, to my Mother. Or maybe I am a Victorian serving girl, shirking her duties to meander idly through her Master’s gaming land. Perhaps he will catch me and drag me over a tree-stump, parting my drawers to reveal the creamy prize beneath, which will soon turn crimson under his powerful hand.
Swept away with such ponderings, I venture deep into the wood’s heart. It is a heart that beats. My lithe legs are warm and weary from the walk. I collapse on my back in a small clearing. Through my gauzy skirt the rough, fallen foliage makes tiny indentations on the delicate skin of my rounded buttocks, marring their perfection. Or perhaps enhancing it. My nubile body squirms as I feel the harsh bite of the bark and dried leaves beneath me. They show me my vulnerability. A moist film of sweat begins to form, making my skin shine. A slipperiness between my thighs stirred by my imaginings.
Through my half-closed eyes I realise that I lie beneath a birch tree, richly laden with solemn reminders of my punishment under Aunt Bess. How expertly she turned a simple bunch of twigs into a stinging lesson in obedience. My pulse quickens at the memory. In one, nimble movement I am on my feet prising off the ancient tree’s sturdy twigs. I stand motionless for a short time, gazing at these symbols of discipline in my small hand.
I have never before felt lonely in the woods, but now I crave for someone to join me. A reproachful hand to wield these rods, flash them with lustful fury against my eager buttocks. The sense of longing overwhelms me.
Here I stand, filled with a young girl’s passions, desires. Is no one out there willing to help me realise these fantasies? Where is the stern Master or Mistress who will truly take me under their wing and over their knee? I have so much to learn. Will no one be my teacher? Like a peach ripens in the orchard, my bottom is now ripe for the punishing, but with no one here to witness it but the trees.
I am poised, my hand against one of the trunks for support. I lift the flowing folds of my long skirt, tucking it into itself at the waist. Beneath it, I am naked. My finely-cleft buttocks, as flawless as if moulded in porcelain, now expose their glorious beauty to the world. As if observing some ancient ritual, I bring the rods down upon my beckoning flesh. The sharp sting runs through me, arousing my body.
I close my eyes and concentrate on the sensation. Drink it in. My full lips part slightly as a moan escapes them. My cries are absorbed by the surrounding wood.
I feel alive under this forbidden pleasure. My bottom, the loveliest since the beginning of time, throbs and glows. The rest of my body dissolves and all I feel is the smarting across my buttocks. The rods shoot down like a rain of scorpions, stabbing their stings on to firm teenage flesh. I want it to last forever, yet I can stand no more. I hurl the birch rods upon the ground and nearly swoon at the lingering fire they have left.
Slowly, I lift myself from the fallen tree and let my skirts hide my beauteous charms once more. I press the silky material against the silky skin, trapping the delicious heat beneath it. It is late, almost twilight. I must return home or Mother will worry. A young girl cannot remain forever in the world of fantasy. Reality claims her once again, but I still have hope that one day someone will allow the two worlds to meet.
Extract from the Editor’s Letter in Privilege Club 16:
The irresistibly naughty Christina Winchester, possessor of the most exquisitely spankable bottom in the world, did well in her ‘A’ Levels and has moved on to University, which is currently taking up so much of her time that, for the moment at least, she is unable to share any more of her intimate Diary with us. I feel sure you will join me in wishing Christina well in her studies, which will be sharpened, I’m sure, by summary spankings of the kind we would all like to give her!
And that was it for Christina Winchester, however her alter ego Rosaleen Young did subsequently appear in Janus 153…

Sunday, 27 January 2019

Angela’s First Job

From Blushes 75
It was Angela’s first job and she was naturally nervous about the interview, but her mother told her there was no need to be. All she had to do was act natural and make sure she was looking her best. Wear something pretty that also showed off her lovely figure. This was what counted when a girl went for a job: good looks and figure. Paper qualifications, GSE’s etc, weren’t really that important with most men employers.
This was reassuring, if true, because Angela didn’t have any GSE’s. She had left school a month ago at just 17 with no qualifications to her name the result of spending too much time in the last year with her boyfriend Dave when she should have been concentrating on school work. Of course at that time Angela’s mother had been telling her how essential it was to get qualifications, and she shouldn’t be wasting her time hanging around with Dave. But Miranda Renlow was just being a realist. It was nice to have qualifications but it was also true that many men recruiting a girl in the office were swayed by other qualities.
‘You want to look really nice,’ Miranda Renlow said. ‘Your pretty pink dress, and your white heels. And stockings and a suspender belt. Men do mostly go for proper stockings.’
Clearly what Angela’s mother meant by ‘really nice’ was sexy. Because apart from the stockings and her four-inch-high white heels the pink dress did show off Angela’s shapely figure to excellent advantage. It was tight-fitting at her slim waist and also over her firmly thrusting ripe melons, and had a full short skirt so that a good deal was revealed when the wearer was sitting even in a decorous manner.
No doubt Angela’s mother knew what she was talking about because she worked in an office herself and at 37 was still a very good-looking and shapely woman who wore very attractive clothes to work including, Angela knew, nylons and a suspender belt.
Anyway it did seem that what her mother had said was true. (What she was saying now, that appearance was most important, rather than earlier when it was GSEs which were essential.) With Angela now sitting with Mr Atkins in his office and doing her best not to look (or be) nervous though that wasn’t the easiest thing in the world. Mr Atkins had noted on Angela’s application form that she didn’t have any GSEs, but said this was not necessarily a major problem. ‘Not for a pretty girl, Angela. On-the-job training is most important anyway. And you look like a smart girl who can pick things up fast.’
Mr Atkins was the manager here at Acme Enterprises, who had put the advertisement in the paper for a girl to work in the office. He was wearing a smart dark suit and had a short-trimmed beard and looked to Angela to be about her father’s age, which she knew was 40. They were sitting in two easy chairs in the part of his quite big office where he received clients. The low easy chairs were almost opposite so that Mr Atkins had a good frontal view of Angela’s shapely legs, shown off as they were in that short full pink dress and her white high-heels.
Mr Atkins smiled reassuringly. ‘Is that right, Angela? A smart girl who can pick things up fast?’
Angela flushed slightly. ‘Yes. Well I’ll try.’ It came out a bit nervously. She crossed her legs. Doing it decorously but of course in her short full skirt and with Mr Atkins sitting opposite in his low chair it wasn’t possible for it to be completely decorous. And Mr Atkins was looking at her legs.
Michael Atkins had a glimpse of darker stocking tops and the slim straps of a white suspender belt. Plus the pale, softly-rounded thighs above the stocking tops.
He smiled again. ‘No need to be nervous, Angela. Are you nervous? There’s no need to be. When you’re such a pretty girl, and with such a lovely figure. Lovely legs. Are you wearing stockings?’
Angela modestly tried to push her skirt down further, embarrassed by his words and the question about stockings. She mumbled yes.
‘Good. That’s very nice. Proper stockings — nylons — are so nice on a pretty girl. So much better than tights.’
Michael Atkins could feel a surge of excitement. Her shyness made her even more delectable. Those shyly revealed thighs! He could imagine softly stroking them. This sweet shy girl’s soft thighs. And not only that… Seventeen, she had written in her application. And just left school. But nowadays of course they were already doing it at 17. Even the really shy seeming ones. With their boyfriends of course, not just everyone.
‘And you’ve just left school, Angela. So this will be your first job. Well, there will be a lot to learn of course. Yes.’ He gave her another of those smiles. ‘Tell me, have you got a boyfriend?’
Some embarrassment again it seemed, with another mumbled affirmative. Well, why not give her the chance for some proper embarrassment, Michael thought. Or presumably it would cause embarrassment. He leant forward.
‘I wonder if you could tell me something that is really quite private, Angela? I’m only asking it because I think I can give you the job. And therefore as your employer I shall feel I have some responsibility towards you, to give you guidance and all that. So I hope you won’t mind me asking. But… ah… do you do it with your boyfriend? Have sex I mean. Sexual intercourse. I know lots of girls your age nowadays do.
Yes, this was embarrassing. Clearly. It really threw Angela. She hadn’t been expecting anything like that. Not at all! She didn’t know what to say. Or where to look! Her pretty face certainly very prettily pink now. The truth was of course that Angela did. But certainly not all the time. Not agreeing to it half as much as Dave would like. Though he shouldn’t really be doing it at all. Not until they were engaged at least. But how did she answer this really awful question from Mr Atkins?
Angela made a not very intelligible stuttering reply. Hoping to avoid a proper answer. But Michael Atkins repeated his query. For whatever reason he was keen for a proper answer. And Angela, not very good at lying, even white lies, found herself, red-faced, stumbling out the truth.
‘Well that’s quite alright,’ Mr Atkins assured her. Repeating that he was aware a lot of girls did nowadays. There was no problem — although perhaps some employers might wish to be strict about such matters. No, he had no problem. But he would like to know if Angela… ah… used any protection. Yes, he definitely thought she should. Perhaps Angela should see her doctor? Yes, maybe he would speak to her mother about that.
No!’ Angela was getting to her feet.
‘Well we’ll see. Let me have another look at you, Angela. Stand up please.’
Angela hurried to comply. He had said she’d got the job, hadn’t he? That was really great. And maybe the interview was over now. She hoped it was so that there would be an end to these really embarrassing questions.
‘Lovely. Stand up straight. Yes, you are lovely! You’ll be a real addition to the office, Angela. No doubt really turning my clients’ heads, eh! Mmm… Turn round.’
Mr Atkins was behind her. Close behind her. And his hands came round…
‘Can I just check? These lovely big, firm things…’
Angela yelped. As Mr Atkins’ hands slid round and cupped her boobs. One nice firm big one in each hand. She yelped again. Stumbling on her high heels — but of course Mr Atkins had a firm hold of her. His hands squeezing Angela’s sensitive tits through the thin dress with just her lightweight bra underneath.
‘Oh yes, it’s all you in here. Isn’t it, my dear? All lovely Angela! Mmmm aren’t they lovely. I bet that boyfriend can’t keep his hands off them!’
Mr Atkins’s hands were squeezing and hefting Angela’s big firm tits in a way that was taking her breath away. It was awful and she wanted desperately to struggle away but couldn’t. The shock if it had sort of paralysed her. And anyway it was of course Mr Atkins doing it, who was going to give her this job. It wasn’t as if it was just some boy (other than Dave) trying it on and she could just tell him sharply to cut it out!
Mr Atkins did finally let go. Angela was quite breathless and red in the face. But she had got the job. And also the interview was now at and end. It seemed that Mr Atkins had an appointment with a client. However… he was going to have some more free time this afternoon. And he would like Angela to come back then. They could have some more in-depth discussion about the job and what would be required of Angela.
Angela’s mother was naturally over the moon to hear she had got the job, and wanted to hear all about it. But Angela didn’t want to tell her all about it. Especially not about her return visit in the afternoon. Angela knew she should have refused to let him do that. And she did try — but it simply hadn’t got her anywhere. Mr Atkins had simply gone ahead and done it. It was difficult to believe it had really happened. But it had alright. It had! That hand on her bare bottom! Taking her breath away. Just caressing and stroking at first. And then whacking hard down!
No, she should have refused to let him. And if she hadn’t been able to refuse, and Angela hadn’t, she should have gone straight out the door when he finally stopped it and let her get up off his lap. Saying she couldn’t take the job. Because of course Mr Atkins was going to want to do it again! He had said that. If her work wasn’t up to scratch that was what would happen. Her bare bottom smacked again.
But she hadn’t said no thanks and strode haughtily out afterwards. No, Angela had just abjectly scrambled her knickers back up under her skirt. and just stood there like a silly schoolgirl not knowing where to look. and then Mr Atkins had said about the clients. Maybe one or two of his special clients… She had tried to close her ears to that.
So how could she say any of this to her mother? Angela’s mother worked in an office, but she could not possibly have ever experienced anything like this. Angela didn’t really want to say anything at all. But maybe Miranda Renlow had some inkling of what job interviews could be like for pretty girls. Well, wasn’t she one (though slightly older perhaps) herself?
‘Did Mr Atkins want to… ah… touch you, darling?’ Smiling. ‘I mean knowing what men are like.’
Angela’s mind was blank for a moment — or rather thinking only of the spanking, which certainly was touching alright. And then remembering earlier. His two hands cupping her boobs in that no-nonsense fashion. Yes, she could tell that. Because after the bare-bottom spanking it didn’t seem half as bad. Angela could never tell about the spanking, but…’
‘Y… Yes. He… got his hands on m… my boobs.’
Miranda laughed. ‘Well that wasn’t such a big problem I imagine? I mean men are like that, aren’t they. And I hope you were sensible, Angela. But you must have been, because you got the job. And that was all, darling?’
What was her mother after: a confession that Mr Atkins had screwed her or something? She had let him screw her to get the job? Was that what her mother had experienced in going for jobs? Angela nodded; to say the boob-feeling was all. Because her mother couldn’t have any idea about the other. That men could insist on spanking a girl’s bare bottom.
Angela started on the Monday. On Wednesday, in the morning, Mr Atkins said one of the special clients would be coming that afternoon. Mr Calport. He had told Mr Calport on the phone about his extremely attractive new girl. So naturally Mr Calport was very keen to see her.
Mr Atkins laughed. ‘I daresay he’ll want to see quite a lot of you, Angela! But I’m sure you’ll be cooperative. If we want to have a little fun, eh? I mean it’s all part of the job, isn’t it?’
What did all that mean? Could it mean something unpleasant? Angela had the feeling it definitely could. She could feel that scary, empty sensation in her stomach. She wanted to tell Mr Atkins she wasn’t feeling well — and could she please go home. But she couldn’t really do that, when she had only been in the job two days. With this Mr Calport expecting to meet her.
Another thing of course was yesterday afternoon… Mr Atkins had repeated what he had done on that very first day. He had spanked Angela’s bare bottom. Because of an error in a letter she had typed. Well it hadn’t actually been Angela’s first mistake and he had warned her he was going to do it. And he had. In spite of her pleading. Over his lap again. Her skirt up and then tugging her knickers down. And then… that feeling that could make a girl think she was going to faint. His big male hand on her bare bum.
That was yesterday afternoon. Still fresh in Angela’s mind. And somehow this business with Mr Calport… Somehow Angela had the scary sensation — a sixth sense that something very similar was going to happen. Something similar to those bare-bottom spankings. ‘A little fun…’
Yes she definitely wanted to go home and not have to meet this important client.
Mr Calport came after lunch and Angela’s feeling of apprehension was now tempered with a sort of fuzzy feeling — which was the result of Mr Atkins taking her to the pub at lunchtime. Maybe he thought it would put Angela in an amiable frame of mind for the afternoon. Or maybe he simply wanted to do that other stuff. Which was in a secluded corner of the pub to feel Angela’s boobs and also get his hand up her skirt.
She tried to stop him of course but Mr Atkins didn’t want to be stopped. Angela was sure someone would see… but he just told her not to be silly and to drink her drink. Gin-and-tonic. As he opened her light coat and got his hand on her boobs. And then… up her skirt. Getting his hand up above Angela’s stocking tops. At the front of her thighs… and then pushing in between them.
It was pretty awful and of course there was still that Mr Calport to think about. In between trying to control the hand Angela was trying to ask Mr Atkins about the afternoon visit. What was she going to have to do?
Mr Atkins wouldn’t say, nothing serious at least. At least Angela hoped it wasn’t serious.
‘This,’ he said. ‘He’ll want to do this. Get his hand in here. Feel your pussy.’
In desperation — trying to stop Mr Atkins’s hand from getting too close to her pussy (or actually on it!) — or maybe not too sure what she was doing, Angela was taking some hefty swigs at the gin-and-tonic. Mr Atkins went to get her another one — which was a relief — but then resumed where he had left off.
Anyway that was lunchtime; pretty awful and not leaving Angela in the best state for the afternoon. When Mr Calport arrived and she got up from her desk to be presented, Angela had the feeling of not being too sure her feet were on the floor. Two gin-and-tonics and not much to eat.
‘Oh yes! Isn’t she lovely!’ Mr Calport said. He was Mr Atkins’s age but without the beard; another businessman in a dark suit.
‘What about her figure!’ Mr Atkins said. ‘Isn’t it fantastic! Although I suppose we should make her take her blouse and skirt off in order to really appreciate it.’
The room seemed to Angela to be swaying gently. Mr Atkins and Mr Calport were both laughing. Was she laughing?
‘What d’you think, Angela dear?’ Mr Atkins asked. ‘You wouldn’t mind, would you? To show our friend Mr Calport what a lovely shape you’ve got.’
He was joking of course. They were laughing. Angela tried to laugh as well. And then Mr Atkins told about the spanking. That he spanked Angela. When her work wasn’t up to scratch. He said it was the proper way to deal with young girls who were just learning a job. A young girl straight from school.
Angela was standing with her hand on her desk to stop that swaying feeling. Not knowing whether to try to laugh or not. She shouldn’t have drunk those two drinks.
Mr Calport was saying… something about… a cane… Angela’s mind didn’t want to focus. With an effort it did. Yes.
‘What about the cane? Does she get the cane? A girl should get the cane, that’s what she needs. You should get her on the table. With her knickers down of course. Spread out on the table.’
Yes that was what Mr Calport was saying. And then, ‘Why don’t we do it? Make her take her things off. Her blouse and skirt. And then up on the table. With her knickers down.’
And then… it was happening. She was yelping. Protesting. Not able to believe it. Angela’s mind with the gin having trouble grasping it. But the effect of the gin was clearing now… As she struggled weakly with them. Mr Atkins and Mr Calport. Both of them laughing. As they took her things off. Her blouse and skirt. Leaving her in just bra and knickers and suspender belt and stockings. And then pulling the knickers down to her stocking tops. And getting her up on the table.
Spread out on her front. Stretched out. And Mr Atkins from somewhere… now had a cane. A thin switchy cane. Mr Calport was holding her hands. Stretched out. The cane was patting her bare bottom… And then.
Angela let out a wild, frenzied howl.
She couldn’t tell her mother of course. About Mr Calport. About the cane. Those red stripes that were still on her bottom. Oh she certainly couldn’t tell her mother.
Angela’s mother anyway had something else to tell her. Mr Atkins had called her. To mention that other thing. And her mother agreed. She had arranged an appointment with the doctor. To get Angela something. Get her fixed up. Angela’s mother agreed with Mr Atkins. It was a sensible thing to do. For a girl who had left school and had a job. Who was grown up. Well, she didn’t want to get pregnant. By her boyfriend. Or of course her boss.