From Blushes Supplement 15
Mr Grimwood had said. ‘Next week as you know, Charmain, the master and Lady Constance will be going away and I shall be in charge.’ His horrible smug smile. ‘And I shall be keeping a particular eye on you, my girl. It is my opinion that the master is entirely too lenient with you. Oh yes. So if next week I for instance catch you sauntering around wiggling that bottom I shall know just what to do with it. Because I shall be in charge.’
For answer Charmain had stuck out her tongue at Mr Grimwood and blown a raspberry. What was a butler anyway? He was only a servant like she was.
The trouble was of course that Mr Grimwood fancied Charmain, and fancied her bottom which he was always going on about. Could she anyway help the shape of her bottom, or the way she walked? And the black dress she wore in the house had been issued to her (though Charmain had secretly taken some thread and tightened the skirt a bit). But Mr Grimwood fancied her and she didn’t fancy him. He called her a ‘slothful creature’ and other such terms but he nonetheless would like her to go in his room in the evening and watch T.V. And sit on his lap.
She had once, just to tease him. Mr Grimwood had got really excited because she was sitting on what was getting especially excited. His nasty hand had slid almost imperceptibly up her skirt and Charmain hadn’t done anything about it. Until he got his fingers above her nylon tops. And then she had said quite coolly, ‘Please don’t do that, Mr Grimwood you dirty old man. Or I shall tell Sir Edward.’
Mr Grimwood had taken his hand away and had been really furious. calling Charmain a slut etc. which was a bit much. But maybe she should have been more careful and also not been cheeky when he had said about being left in charge. Because when you got right down to it Sir Edward probably wouldn’t take any action against Mr Grimwood if he did something nasty to her. Sir Edward liked a quiet life and no hassle from the staff.
Sir Edward was all right: a proper gentleman. He certainly was not going to call her a slut or accuse her of deliberately wiggling her bottom when there were male guests in the house. And for her part Charmain was quite ready to sit on Sir Edward’s lap whenever he might want it — or anything else. Although of course you had to be careful of Lady Constance. As she was Sir Edward’s wife that was not surprising.
What Sir Edward really liked, though, was not having Charmain sit on his lap, though he did quite like that: nor was it doing you-know-what — which no doubt Mr Grimwood would be at like a shot if he got half a chance. No, what Sir Edward liked best was spanking Charmain’s bottom. With her tight black skirt up and her knickers down. Charmain did not really like it: it hurt for one thing and also it was undignified and embarrassing being upside down with your bottom all bare. But Sir Edward was Sir Edward, a baronet of the realm etc. and also her employer, and so it was best to be co-operative and not argue. Especially as he was otherwise very easy on her.
Lady Constance didn’t know about the spankings — or at least Charmain didn’t think she knew. Sir Edward was careful to do them when his wife wasn’t around: sometimes in his study but also for instance behind the summer house or down in the cellar and suchlike places. Lady Constance didn’t know but Dirty Old Grimwood did. He was always creeping around, spying, and he had seen Sir Edward in action. And of course he would very much like to spank Charmain’s bottom himself. He had in fact on the quiet suggested it. ‘Get lost,’ Charmain had replied. But if he went ahead and just did it would Sir Edward do anything?
The day before Sir Edward and Lady Constance went away (to the South of France) it seemed to Charmain that Mr Grimwood had a special gleam in his eye. Almost licking his lips, it seemed. Recalling all those cheeky occasions Charmain did not feel too happy. It would have been really great to be going with Sir Edward. In his study that afternoon and having a final go at Charmain’s juicy bum before leaving, Sir Edward in fact said he wished she was going as well, but Lady Constance wouldn’t be too keen. Charmain almost said, ‘I wish anyway you’d warn that Old Grimwood off me.’ But she didn’t.
The next day…
The next morning Bloody Grimwood burst into her room first thing while Charmain was still in bed. Sir Edward and Lady Constance had gone. And here was horrible Grimwood grinning down at her. ‘I am in charge now,’ he announced. And then jerked the bedclothes back off of her.
Charmain gave a yelp. She slept in the altogether and it was suddenly all bare to Grimwood’s lustful eyes. ‘You rotten sod!’ she squealed, covering up what she could with arms and legs. It was not an expression Charmain would normally use being ladylike in her speech but it just burst out.
Mr Grimwood sat down on the side of the bed, grinning still. He grabbed the arms that were covering Charmain’s big tits and pulled them off, pinning them at her sides. His hot eyes bored into the juicy, big-nippled knockers.
‘I should make you wash your mouth out with soapy water, you foul-mouthed creature,’ he said. ‘Now just you listen to me. I’m in charge and I’m cracking down on you, Miss Wiggly Bum. I’m going to make you toe the line. And as you like wiggling it so much and showing it off I’m going to give you the chance. Today, all day, you will not wear your dress. Nor any knickers. You will wear just a little top of some sort.’
He must have gone bonkers. ‘Get off!’ she yelped. And Mr Grimwood did. He got up and went over to her drawers. And began delving around as if he owned them. Shortly he was coming back, holding one of her tee-shirts.
‘This will do nicely, my girl. Put this on and nothing else. Then go down and have your breakfast. And then I want you to start off today blacking all the shoes. Every pair that Mrs Fulton can find.’
It wasn’t possible. None of this could be possible. ‘Look…’ Charmain gasped. ‘Please…’ she had pulled the bedclothes up again. He was joking, and perhaps ‘rotten sod’ had been a bit unwise. But how could he…
‘Get up!’ barked Mr Grimwood and yanked the covers off her again, this time right off the bed. ‘Get up at once. And do as I say. Or I shall have Mrs Fulton in here to hold you down and I shall cane that wiggling backside until you howl for mercy.’
Mr Grimwood had gone mad — and what can you do with a madman? He said he’d give her 10 minutes to be washed and downstairs in the kitchen. ‘In this top and nothing else.’ He went out and slammed the door.
What could you do? Except perhaps cry a little… and then get up. And wash. And put the top on.
‘There’s no point sniffing, my girl,’ said Mrs Fulton in the kitchen, eyeing the half-nude Charmain. ‘You can’t say as you haven’t had something coming to you. Very impertinent you’ve been to Mr Grimwood. Now eat up those cornflakes.’
No, there was no sympathy from Mrs Fulton. Naturally. Being housekeeper she was bound to side with Mr Grimwood even though she knew, and disapproved of, the fact that he was interested in Charmain. But that was largely due to the girl flaunting herself and leading him on. Yes she did need taking in hand, Sir Edward was much too soft. Mrs Fulton was not too sure about making Charmain go about her duties virtually nude, though. That was clearly for Mr Grimwood’s own delectation. No, she didn’t approve of that. And another thing: young Mr Cressley, Sir Edward’s nephew, was due later in the day. Had Mr Grimwood thought of that? It would not be at all proper for the young gentleman to see the housemaid wandering around with her bottom (not to mention the rest) all bare…
Charmain did not know about the visit of young Mr Cressley. Her thoughts were anyway fully occupied with the humiliating exhibition she was presenting of herself — plus that matter of blacking the shoes. That was not her job, there was a boy, Stanley, who came in from the village for such tasks. She had made this point to Mr Grimwood (meekly — the aggressive tone of ‘get lost’ and ‘rotten sod’ had disappeared with the forced acceptance that Mr Grimwood was in charge). He had just said, ‘You are going to do it, Charmain.’ And smacked his hand across her bare bum.
Mrs Fulton, when Mr Grimwood mentioned the shoes said, ‘Oh I’m sure I can find one or two pairs. Black ones? Brown?’ Mr Grimwood said just the black ones. Charmain could do the others tomorrow. Mrs Fulton went off and came back with what looked like a hundred pairs of black shoes. Charmain almost burst into tears. Some of them probably hadn’t been worn for donkeys years. Mr Grimwood, grinning, handed her the brushes and polish. ‘I want to see my face in each pair, my girl.’
How could he be so diabolical? Charmain should have thought before of course but when you’re 19 going on 20 and he was only the butler, not your actual boss, you didn’t think. She polished one pair, doing her best not to get the bloody polish all over her hands. Mr Grimwood, coming back to torment her, said, ‘That’s no good. Who could see their face in that?’ With difficulty she swallowed the urge to tell him he was a miserable rotten sod and with a face like his how could he want to see it in anything. Instead she forced a wan smile. Ingratiating. ‘Please Mr Grimwood…’
Because she wouldn’t really mind sitting on his lap now, or anything (well almost) if he would stop this. But Mr Grimwood was not responding to her hopeful smile. ‘Get on with it,’ he grated.
Two minutes later it was that boy Stanley poking his head round the door. Probably sent in by Mrs Fulton to mock her. ‘If you tell anyone I’ll bloody kill you,’ she hissed. He stood there looking — at the no-skirt and no-knickers of course. ‘Get out!’ she rasped. ‘Get out. Get bloody out!’ But there wasn’t a lot she could do to make him. he just stood there, grinning, until at last there was a call from Mrs Fulton.
Charmain had managed four pairs without seeming to make any impression on the pile when Mr Grimwood came back. With little pleasantries. ‘How’s it going, my girl?’ ‘You look really cute in that top.’ Etc. She didn’t answer. Then he said, ‘My father was in the Black-and-Tans, you know.’ Charmain didn’t answer that either. Kept her head down. ‘You know, the army in Ireland. I mean it’s very appropriate. Isn’t it, Charmain? Isn’t it?’
What was he bloody on about? She looked up.
‘Black-and-Tan, Charmain. Black polish and tan.’ Mr Grimwood’s nasty laugh. ‘It’s a joke. Because I’m going to tan your bottom. You see.’ He must be bloody mad if he thought that was a joke. But… ‘I’m going to tan your bottom because you’re not doing a very good job. I don’t call those shoes polished, there’s no shine at all. Come here.’
‘No!’ she squawked but Mr Grimwood had hold of her arm and was pulling her up. And leading her outside where not too far away she could see Mr Grudge the gardener and that Stanley. Oh God! Both now looking over. Charmain put her hands down to cover herself in front and tried to keep her bare bottom away from them. Mr Grimwood was sitting down on the low stone wall and then pulling her down. Over his lap. ‘Aaoouhhhh!’ His hand groping her bum. And then splatting down.
Could they see? she wondered frantically. Could old Grudge and Stanley see this diabolical thing that Mr Grimwood was doing to her? They would know because she couldn’t help yelping but from where they were, by that hedge… Please God don’t let them actually see…
But when Mr Grimwood had finally done with her and Charmain was allowed to struggle to her feet she saw that they had both moved forward. To where they would have had a full view.
Mr Cressley. Sir Edward’s nephew. Charmain had seen him once before: quite young and dishy-looking. No doubt Mr Grimwood would have said she was wiggling her bottom excessively in Mr Cressley’s presence on that occasion if he had seen her because she could fancy him. But not now, like this, humiliatingly half naked. ‘No, please, don’t make me,’ she pleaded with Mr Grimwood. She couldn’t go out to Mr Cressley who was out in the garden. Not like this. And also why…? This cane.
‘Get out there. Or I’ll give that bottom a thrashing with it right now.’
It was after lunch. Charmain had somehow done most of the pile of shoes (it had taken her all morning) and rotten Grimwood had given her a second spanking because he said they weren’t shining enough. She had had her lunch in the kitchen, in just her top still. With all of them there: Mrs Fulton, Mr Grudge, Stanley, the lot. Rotten Grimwood had said, ‘Charmain is having a little lesson in discipline today. Please take no notice.’ She could easily kill him. Strangle him. Anything. But now…
‘Go out to Mr Cressley who’s on the croquet lawn,’ Mr Grimwood had said. ‘And take this. And this.’
The first ‘this’ had been the cane. The second was a pair of her own knickers, skimpy pink nylon ones.
‘Get going, girl!’ Mr Grimwood barked again.
Mr Cressley was out there all right, knocking the ball about. There was also someone else, another man, sitting on a chair. Charmain gulped, fighting a frantic urge to turn tail and run. This was just hideous. Showing everything to these two men. And this cane. What…?
Mr Cressley looking up from his game. Smiling. He was dishy, which made it all the worse. ‘Ah Charmain. How darling you look. Mmm yes. Scrumptious.’ The other man hadn’t moved, sitting there with his feet out. He didn’t look like a gentleman, far from it. Jeans and a sweater and mirror sunglasses. He looked about eight foot tall. Mr Cressley was talking again, in his toney accent.
‘Grimwood was saying something about discipline, Charmain. You are being disciplined and that is why you so charmingly have no skirt or knickers on. And he suggested that perhaps I might like to assist. Mmm? All for your own good of course, as Grimwood stressed.’
That bloody Grimwood. How could he. Charmain standing with her hands down in front, over her bare pussy. Her hands holding the cane and her knickers. She shook her head weakly at Mr Cressley. No. He couldn’t. Not cane her.
He was smiling, idly waving his mallet to and fro. ‘And my friend Steve here. He might like to help as well, I daresay.’
The other man hadn’t moved. Was he staring at her? You couldn’t see behind those mirrors. He was scary. Something about him. And then for some reason, no reason at all really, Charmain thought of something she had seen in the paper only two days ago. White slavers. Some girls had been shipped off somewhere. Africa? They went mad about blondes in Africa. A white slave trader. Charmain could easily imagine this bloke being a white slave trader.
‘Let’s see then,’ Mr Cressley was saying. ‘Let’s do some exercises first of all. Can you do me some exercises, Charmain? Keep fit. Come on.’
Mr Cressley making her adopt all sorts of postures. Legs wide apart; toe touching, arms stretching up. All sorts. It was awful because it meant you had to show everything. But all she could think about was this other man. Steve. Just sitting there and not moving. And the more she thought the more she was convinced he was something awful. What was he going to do? Sir Edward and Lady Constance were off for a month. What could white slave traders do to you in a month? What couldn’t they do?
Mr Cressley now making her do some more stuff. Sit on the grass with her knees up while he messed about with the mallet and balls. And also now hitting her with the cane. It really bloody stung. But Charmain’s mind wasn’t even on that, it was on this scary bloke. Just sitting there behind his mirrors. Thinking what he was going to do to her. Mr Cressley now making her get over on hands and knees and giving her some really hard ones. Really sizzling her poor bum. She was going a bit frantic.
Then he told her to get up. And go in and bring out some tea. ‘Then we’ll have some more fun and games, eh Charmain? Some more discipline.’
Charmain ran off, her bare bottom with its now red stripes wobbling meatily but she didn’t care. Running in to Mr Grimwood. Pulling him into his room. Gasping that she’d do anything. But…
Outside Julian Cressley smiling at his companion. ‘A choice piece, eh? And my uncle’s off for four weeks.’ He whacked a hoop with the cane. ‘We can have a bit of fun in four weeks. Eh Steve?’
The other one finally took off the glasses and began polishing them. ‘We could take her off somewhere. A little holiday?’