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Sunday, 10 February 2019

The Girl in the Photo Album

From New Blushes 2.14
The August afternoon is warm and sultry with a threat perhaps of thunder. The garden is deserted, its stillness broken only by the occasional languid goldfish rippling the otherwise glassy surface of the pond. Is the house empty too? The French window of the sitting room is open but no one is in there, though two tea cups on the coffee table might suggest recent occupants.
Also on the coffee table is a photo album. It is open to a page showing shots of a pretty blonde girl in the garden. She is by the pool holding a small bucket and a stick with which she is cleaning out weeds. She is wearing Wellington boots and a green transparent anorak jacket — and nothing else. In this unusual outfit she seems quite oblivious of the camera. In one of the shots she is bending forward and there is a clear view of her ripe round bare bottom.
And then as we look at these pictures there is a sharp little cry from upstairs. From a bedroom probably. And then another. And if we really strain our ears is it possible to hear a girl’s pleading voice?
‘Please…not so hard…’
Angela had gone out for a ride on her bike in a direction that she only knew vaguely. It was the beginning of the summer holidays which she had been looking forward to of course, but then the previous evening she had had an argument with her boyfriend Derek; also her best friend Susan had just left with her parents for two weeks in the South of France. So today, on this nice sunny afternoon, 17-year-old Angela was cycling alone and trying not to feel sorry for herself.
The countryside was mostly wooded on this side of the village with criss-crossing lanes. A quarter of a mile back she had come to an unsignposted crossing and had decided to go left. The lane had twisted and turned and now she came to a second fork. She hesitated, then turned left again. She was pretty sure she had been this way with her parents in the car. Shortly the lane came out of the woods and she passed a house on the left. There was a man outside trimming the hedge and he stopped and smiled as she approached. At the last moment Angela saw his gaze was directed primarily at her legs, and she realised that the skirt of her gauzy summer dress had slid high up on her thighs. She yanked it down at the last moment.
She felt a little surge of embarrassment as she rode on past. She suspected that her skirt had been really high up, maybe showing the man the whole of her thighs. Maybe her knickers…?
But Angela didn’t dwell on the thought as she became increasingly uncertain as to where she was. She couldn’t actually be lost she told herself, but maybe she had been day-dreaming and gone further than she thought. When she came to another unmarked crossroads she decided to go back the way she had come.
She came to the house again and saw that the man was still outside working on the hedge. Remembering, and flushing, she made sure her skirt was well down as she approached. He had seen her and stopped what he was doing. Standing out in the road a bit now and grinning. He was tall, fortyish, with a short trimmed beard. As she came close he asked, ‘Are you lost?’
She stopped. ‘Uh… not really. But I’m not quite sure of the way. I want to get back to Bingford.’
‘No problem,’ he said. ‘If you come in I can show you on the map. And perhaps also make you a nice cup of tea?’
Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to go in. That was certainly what everyone would tell you: Angela’s mother, or Miss Brekingdale who was Headmistress at the local girls’ grammar. But the man was very pleasant and not at all threatening, and if you were too ultra-cautious you were going to live a pretty dull life. Also of course there was that argument with Derek the night before. So after a moment’s hesitation Angela said, ‘Yes. OK. Thank you.’
It was a big 1930s house set back from the road behind that long hedge in a large mature garden. The man told her his name was Maurice Harper and he was a freelance writer. There appeared to be no one else in and he didn’t mention any Mrs Harper — was that perhaps a bit scary? She had briefly told him her name, Angela Varling and that she lived in Bingford, and now she sat somewhat gingerly on the sofa in the large airy sitting room while Mr Harper went to make the tea. The French window was open on this warm afternoon and Angela could see part of the garden including an ornamental pond. Of course she had the memory of riding by that first time with her skirt right up. Showing her knickers? She thrust the thought out of her head. It hadn’t been that bad.
But yes it had as it turned out! As she realised ten minutes later, after Mr Harper had brought in the tea and sat down beside her on the settee and then showed her where they were on a large-scale map. ‘So that’s where you are. It’s simple enough, isn’t it?’
But then….
‘By the way, Angela, did I mention what extremely pretty legs you’ve got? And very fetching knickers as well. Pink ones, yes?’
It hit her like a bucket of cold water. Angela felt her face go scarlet. Maurice Harper grinned. ‘You knew you were showing them, didn’t you?’
‘No!’ she gasped. ‘Well I mean I’d been sort of dreaming I suppose. I didn’t realise…’
‘Oh yes. I had a very nice view. Just briefly.’ He grinned again. He had put the map on the coffee table and leaned towards her.
‘In fact you’ve got such lovely legs and such pretty knickers that I’d really like another look. Would you stand up… and lift up your skirt for me? Please Angela.’
She flushed again. How could he ask that!
‘Come on. I’m sure you’re not one of those awfully shy girls.’
She shook her head. She didn’t like to think she was shy. But really!
Maurice Harper got up. ‘Let me show you something.’ He went over to the sideboard and came back with what looked like a photograph album. Which was what it turned out to be when he sat down again and opened it. There were large photos of a pretty girl….
‘This is my friend Henry’s niece, Charlotte. About your own age I should say. Seventeen? A lovely girl.’ He turned the page. ‘And not shy as you can see.’
On the first page the girl had been in the garden wearing a pretty dress and smiling at the camera. Now, still smilingly charmingly, she had the dress lifted up to her waist, to show brief pale yellow knickers above shapely thighs.
Mr Harper turned the page again. Angela felt her heart miss a beat. The girl was now bending face-down over a man’s lap as he sat on a garden chair. Her skirt was still up round her waist and her knickers were halfway down her thighs. Her bottom was bare… and the man was spanking it…
‘A little discipline. Have you ever had discipline, Angela? Of the corporal variety I mean. It is awfully good for a girl.’
She was struck dumb. Mr Harper closed the album and placed it on the coffee table. Angela eyed it as if it were a bomb that might explode at any moment. Well what other pictures were in it!!
‘Have you?’ he repeated. ‘Had your bottom spanked. Had it bare over a man’s lap?’
Red-faced, Angela shook her head.
‘No? Would you like to try it then? Some girls find it rather exciting. I know Charlotte does. I’ve had dear Charlotte over my lap of course.’
Angela couldn’t believe any of this. The album or what Mr Harper was saying. She briefly imagined being like that. Over a man’s lap with her knickers down. Mr Harper’s lap! His big male hand on her bare bottom! The thought sent scary shivers through her.
‘No!’ she said sharply. ‘And I…I really think I should be going now. Th…thanks for the tea…’
But Maurice Harper certainly wasn’t ready to let her go yet. Not this really lovely girl with the long soft blonde hair and slim but shapely figure. Those thighs! And the pink knickers! What a marvellous vision to appear suddenly out of nowhere! No he certainly couldn’t let her go just yet. Not that he expected to get her knickers off on this very first meeting. But showing her the album and mentioning the subject, he was sure had been a good idea. Girls of this age had great curiosity. Curiosity about sex! He could imagine she was still quite innocent. Pretty certainly not doing it yet?
‘Oh you can’t go yet, Angela dear. You must see the garden first.’
And so they went out in the garden. There was a lovely show of roses and a pretty fish pool. Angela had the idea that those pictures had been taken here in Mr Harper’s garden. He seemed to read her thoughts. ‘Yes, this is where we took those shots I showed you of Charlotte. Here by the pool.’
Maurice Harper’s hand lightly squeezed Amanda’s arm. ‘And then Henry and I took her inside and took some more upstairs, in the bedroom. But I didn’t show you those, did I?’
Angela moved away from his touch, her heart thumping again. What sort of photos in the bedroom?
He gave her a quizzical smile. ‘It’s the holidays now I imagine. Are you going away? And do you have a boyfriend, Angela?’
She told him she would be going away with her parents but not until the end of August. And then… she didn’t have to tell him about Derek — but somehow she found she was. And about their argument.
‘A lovers’ tiff,’ he said.
‘Oh we’re not lovers,’ Angela blurted, then realised she was blushing.
Maurice pulled her to him. His arms going round her. ‘Not lovers! Not doing it with dear Derek. Not having sex…’
She struggled to get away but he held her tight. The feel of his body hard against her made her giddy. And then his hand was at her bottom. Fondling it.
She managed to break away — but only part of her really wanted to. Hot-faced, Angela nervously dabbed at her hair. She could still feel his hand at her bottom. It had been like an electric shock…
‘You…you…!’ she stuttered. And then, ‘I’ve really got to go now.’
Maurice was feeling hot too. He was getting an erection. He felt a hot urge to grab her again. Get her knickers down this time. To spank that tight, squirmy bottom. And also… something else?
He gave a forced laugh. ‘You can only go if you promise to come back again tomorrow. And if you don’t come… I’ll come over to Bingford and find your house. And tell your mother I found you behaving very badly with that Derek I’ll tell her I found you fucking him. What would she say to that!’
Did Angela really believe Mr Harper would carry out that outrageous threat if she didn’t go again? He would come and tell her mother that awful thing! No, not really. So why did she get her bike out and set off in his direction the next afternoon?
Could it possibly be that she actually wanted some of what Charlotte had got in those photographs? Being made to bend over Mr Harper’s lap… and have her bare bottom spanked… the thought of it made Angela dizzy, almost sick. It was an impossible thought. But also a frantically exciting one. Since leaving him there had scarcely been any other thought in her head. Nothing except Mr Harper and his photograph album. Derek had phoned her in the evening, no doubt wanting to make up after their quarrel, but she had no time to think of Derek and had brusquely told him she was busy.
She had lain awake thinking of Mr Harper and that Charlotte. What were those other pictures in the album? What was Charlotte doing? Or having done to her! Angela tried to tell herself she didn’t want to know. And she wasn’t going back there. But then after lunch she found herself getting out her bike. Biting her lip she still told herself she wasn’t going.
But somehow…
Mr Harper was waiting for her. When she tentatively pushed open his gate.
‘Hello Angela dear! So I shan’t have to go and see your mother after all.’
She stuttered something. She really didn’t know how she had got there. She hadn’t meant to come.
‘I… just thought…’ She had parked her bike outside, like yesterday, and had the panicky thought now of darting out again and getting on it and riding off. But instead she was closing the gate behind her.
‘I knew you’d come. A little bird told me. And today, Angela, I’m going to take some pictures of you. I have an idea for a really lovely set of photos.’
‘No…oooo…’ she breathed. Thinking of those spanking shots of Charlotte.
Maurice, close up now, gripped her arm. ‘We mustn’t say no. Girls who say no get spanked. They get their knickers taken down and their bare bottoms spanked.’
He pulled her close up against him. Maurice had got an erection already and this time Angela felt it, hard against the softness of her belly. She struggled weakly.
‘What colour are they today, Angela? Pink again? Or yellow perhaps, like Charlotte was wearing in those photos I showed you?’
Angela couldn’t remember what colour knickers she had put on. She could scarcely think anything anyway. Except the dizzying thought that it was going to happen. She knew it was. Mr Harper was going to do it. Spank her. And what else? She could feel the scary stiffness…
Maurice let go of her, after a grope at her bottom that drew another gasp from trembling Angela. He told her he wanted to get the shots for the album, and right away while the sun was still shining. He led her inside. She could get changed upstairs in the spare bedroom, he said.
With her heart thudding in her ears Angela preceded him up the stairs. She shouldn’t be going upstairs….
Maurice following close behind eyed the electrifying motion of Angela’s buttocks tick-tocking under her thin flowery summer skirt. There were all kinds of things he wanted to do to the lovely girl. Indeed was quite desperate to do. But he had to concentrate. The photo shots, they were the first priority. After that… all the rest…?
In the little bedroom he told Angela he was going to take shots of her cleaning out the pond. Fishing weeds out with a stick. That didn’t sound so bad — but then he told her what she was to wear. Basically nothing. Just Wellington boots and a green transparent anorak jacket! With nothing underneath the anorak! Nothing at all!
‘No!’ Angela squealed. ‘No, I can’t. Please!
‘Remember what happens to girls who say no,’ Maurice reminded her. ‘Do you want your bottom spanked right now?’
She shook her head. She didn’t — although there were no doubt worse things that could happen to a girl in a strange man’s bedroom. But taking all her clothes off… to be photographed! She couldn’t.
‘Come on,’ Maurice urged. ‘Don’t be a baby.’
The anorak was lying on the bed. He said he would go downstairs while she changed, but she had to hurry up. ‘Five minutes!’ he went out.
Angela bit her lip. Mr Harper had said no one saw the photo album except his friend Henry who was Charlotte’s uncle, and this other man George who also had a girl he photographed. But he had shown the album to her, hadn’t he! She imagined her mother looking through it, or Miss Brekingdale at school. Pictures of semi-nude girls — including Angela Varling!
Angela pushed that distressful thought out of her head. There was no way they would see it. And wasn’t it also a bit exciting…? Taking her clothes off and putting on just that anorak… and then going downstairs to Mr Harper…
She did it! Stripped off. And then put the cool, slippery-feeling anorak on over her nude body. Oh God!! The anorak didn’t come down much below her waist. She could feel herself getting moist between her legs.  No! She really couldn’t go through with this.
But she had to. She crept back downstairs on her bare feet, holding the anorak close round her and with one hand covering her nude pussy. But there was no way she could cover everything. Her bare bottom…
Maurice was waiting. Impatiently! Fiddling with his camera and glancing outside. The sun was still shining though there were clouds about. What he wanted was to quickly get some nice shots and then get back inside with the darling girl. Upstairs! Well she had come back today ready for something, hadn’t she? Something besides being snapped in the garden. Yes! And here she was! Entering the sitting room like a vision. Obediently stripped off and in the transparent anorak. A blonde vision with a scared look on her face!
‘Please!’ Angela gasped as he took hold of her. ‘I… uh… this is… awful… ohhhh’
Maurice’s hand was at her bare bottom. Groping the silky flesh. Angela thought she was going to faint. Or pee herself. Or both…
Angela lying in bed! It is Mr Harper’s bed! Or at least the bed in his spare room. The room is in semi-darkness. It is in fact still afternoon, the sun is still high in the sky outside, but the curtains are drawn closed.
Under the covers which are pulled high up to her eyes Angela is wearing a pink shirt of Mr Harper’s — or Maurice as he wants her to call him. Just his pink shirt. He has got those photos of her, those shorts of her by the pond fishing out bits of weed. Wearing just the anorak. So in his camera he has shots of her bare bottom. And now… Angela, lying there on her back, sees the door open. It is Mr Harper of course. Maurice. She trembles. He is going to spank her bottom. He has told her that.
‘Hello dear. Had a nice little rest?’ He comes over and sits on the side of the bed.
She mumbled something. A scared but excited something.
‘Those shots are going to be really fantastic. I just can’t wait to get them developed.’
Angela manages to mumble something. ‘I… shouldn’t be here. I should… go home…’
‘But you want to be here, darling Angela. Isn’t that right?’ His hand slides in the bed like a snake. She squirms but doesn’t push it away. The pink shirt is not buttoned and the hand finds bare flesh. Her trembly boob… and then down. Her pussy. She gasps. She is wet. Fingers enter her wetness.
‘Hot Angela. Yes? Is she a naughty girl? With that Derek?’
Angela quivering. ‘I…I’m not seeing him.’
‘But she has been naughty. So she’s got to have her bottom spanked…’
She gasps something or other. The fingers work some more at her aroused clit, and then Maurice is pulling the bedclothes off. He tells her how he wants her. Somehow although she scarcely knows what she is doing, Angela struggles into a sitting position and then up on her knees. Holding the open shirt up high to bare her bottom. Her breath is coming in gasps. How can any of this possibly be happening!
The hand cracks down:
The three men are standing looking at the album which is open on the coffee table. Maurice Harper and the two others are his friends Henry and George. Angela has already met Henry, a couple of times, but not George before. They are both about Maurice’s age.
George says, ‘Very nice shots, Maurice. She’s really lovely, isn’t she?’
The shots are of her of course. Angela. As they look at the album she is over on the settee, lying in an upside-down position. Lying on her back on the seat with her legs up over the end. Maurice had her like this a little earlier for some more pictures and has asked her to stay there in the same position. Angela is dressed as she was for the photos. Or undressed perhaps one should say. She is wearing only a white sleeveless blouse, white knickers which are rolled half-way down her thighs, and white ankle socks.
The men are talking about her but she only half hears, her mind is drifting. It has drifted on to that afternoon two weeks ago in fact when she first came here to Maurice Harper’s house. For those first photos. No, that was the second afternoon, wasn’t it?
She shouldn’t have done it of course. Come in with Maurice and had that tea… and then let him take the photos. There are a lot of photos of her now in the album. Those first ones in the transparent green anorak… and all the others. What would her mother think if she ever saw them! Or Miss Brekingdale at school. Or Derek of course! She has begun seeing Derek again but naturally he knows nothing about Maurice and his photography. Or Henry…
Angela has been with Henry. Two days ago. He came over and then Maurice went out for some reason leaving her with him. And Henry of course wanted it. To spank her. And then the other. Maurice didn’t mind he said. Maurice wanted him to.
And now this afternoon there are the two of them. Henry and also this George. Is that scary? But it’s all scary, isn’t it? It’s still scary. Being spanked and all the other! Is Maurice going to go out with Henry and leave her with George? Or maybe… go out and leave her with both of them… yes. It’s scary.
She thinks of Derek. What would he think! Of course if they hadn’t had that quarrel she wouldn’t be here. There would be no Maurice or Henry or George. Would she rather that? Still that innocent Angela?
She abruptly stops her daydreaming. The men have come over and are standing by the settee looking down at her.
‘George thinks you’re just the loveliest girl, Angela,’ Maurice says. ‘Which of course is exactly what Henry and I think. Lift your legs over a bit.’
His hand takes one of her white-socked ankles and pushes it back over her. To further expose her upside-down bottom. And naturally her pussy too. She smiles shyly and puts her hand there to cover her pussy. But Maurice’s hand gently pushes her hand away…

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