From Blushes 45
‘Mr Willent,’ Steven said. ‘Your Mr Willent. What’s he like?’ Jane gave a nervous little laugh. ‘He’s not exactly my Mr Willent. But he’s alright, I suppose.’
‘Come on. All right isn’t saying much. What is he like? What… does he want to do?’
Jane said, ‘They don’t necessarily want to do anything. They might just want to talk. Just someone coming to visit and talk may be all they want.’
That was what they told you on the introductory course. Social Counselling for Senior Citizens. ‘Your client may simply wish to talk. A nice friendly chat over a cup of tea. That may be all that is required.’ But everyone knew, as Steven knew, that that wasn’t all that most Senior Citizens (male ones of course) wanted on a Social Therapy visit. And if they wanted something else… from their attractive female visitor… well the attractive female would have to supply it. That was Social Therapy.
It wasn’t voluntary work of course: otherwise there would no doubt be great difficulty getting volunteers. Social Counselling for Senior Citizens was a State service and therefore citizens of the state were assigned to do it. Specifically young married women without children. Married women with children were of course already performing a key state role: producing and rearing new citizens. It was only right therefore that those without children should perform a similar important duty for society. Social Counselling for Senior Citizens was one a number of such key duties they could be assigned to. There was always a supply of suitable young women because in the first two years of marriage a young woman was not allowed to have any children.
‘But your Mr Willent doesn’t only want a chat,’ Steven said. ‘Does he? I imagine 90 per cent of them aren’t looking for that. What does he want? Does he want to fuck you?’
Jane said, ‘There’s no need to be so basic.’ Steven was moving over on top of her. Sliding her nightdress up and getting over on top of her. It was early, half an hour before Steve had to get up, so there was time. Later, after he had left, Jane would have to get ready. To go to Mr Willent’s.
‘What then?’ Steven persisted.
Jane finally said, ‘Spanking. If you must know. Spanking my bottom. Does that turn you on? That he’ll be spanking my backside?’
Steven didn’t answer as he entered her. Jane thought of Mr Willent as Steven began fucking her. Mr Willent. It would be only her second visit and he was her first assignment. On that first occasion last week Mr Willent had been quick to spell out what he wanted.
Steve, on top of her, between Jane’s spread legs, said ‘Wearing stockings and a suspender belt, I suppose?’
Jane gave a little groan. She was in the mood for it, for sex, partly because she was not looking forward to going to Mr Willent’s again.
‘No. Not a suspender belt. Some little ankle socks if you must know. He gave me these ankle socks to wear with high heels. My black ones. I suppose that turns him on. Oh Christ. I’m not looking forward to it. That spanking. It was awful.’
Steve didn’t say anything. He was probably thinking of her in the ankle socks and high heels. Then he said, ‘Anything else? Or just the socks and shoes?’
Jane gave a throaty little laugh. ‘What do you think?’ Then, ‘I don’t like it, you know. I don’t enjoy Mr Bloody Willent doing it.’
Jane put the ankle socks on when she got to Mr Willent’s place. Parked in his driveway she slipped her black heels off of her bare feet, then replaced the shoes over the ankle socks. She hadn’t wanted to wear them leaving the house, thinking they looked odd. Jane glanced in the car mirror. She had her glasses on. Last time she had worn her contact lenses but she had mentioned that she wore glasses. He said he wanted her to wear them this time. ‘I’d like to see you in them. Yes glasses and the ankle socks and your high heels. Nothing else perhaps?’ He had been joking. Presumably.
Mr Willent was ready for her, opening the door as soon as Jane rang the bell. His eyes drinking her in: Jane in a blouse and short skirt, with her glasses and the ankle socks and her black high heels. His eyes opening wide. ‘My word! Very tasty. Those glasses do something for you, you should wear them all the time. Yes, you’re a very spicy young lady, Mrs Carthew.’
On the table in his sitting room was a surprise: a bottle of champagne. ‘It’s my birthday!’ Mr Willent said. ‘We’re going to celebrate. Champagne and my new Social Counsellor. Just what the doctor ordered, eh?’ He slid his hand up the back of Jane’s skirt. Up the underside of one slim bare thigh to the tight brief knickers above.
The hand gripped Jane’s bottom. ‘Knickers, Mrs Carthew? Hmmm. You could have left them off, eh? And didn’t I suggest coming in only the socks and high heels?’
Jane squirmed as the hand groped her bottom. ‘I… thought you were joking. I couldn’t come like that.’
Though presumably if he insisted… you were told that you had to do whatever the client wanted. That had been spelled out at the introductory course. Including sex. ‘Sex is of course excellent therapy,’ the instructor had told Jane and the three other young women who had been with her. ‘And you’re all married women so there’s no problem, is there?’ One girl had said, ‘Do we have to. I mean I thought… well, it was just a rumour. That you had to do that.’ The instructor had laughed and shook his head. ‘Is it a problem?’ The girl, red-faced, had said, ‘Yes it is.’ ‘Just tell yourself it’s therapy,’ she was told. ‘We must look after our older citizens. And of course he may only want a chat. There’s no accounting for taste, is there?’
Mr Willent didn’t only want a chat. He had made that clear right away last time. At least he didn’t want the other — or he hadn’t then. What would that be like, Jane had asked herself. He wasn’t an unpleasant sort of bloke really — apart from his wish to take her knickers down and spank her bottom, which she hated. Steve hated it too, she knew he did, although he tried to pretend it didn’t bother him. She hadn’t wanted to tell him, and hadn’t until this morning. It was only this morning that Steve had finally kept on at her. Before that he had pretended he wasn’t really interested. Perhaps Steve had thought she was having to fuck Mr Willent and he hadn’t wanted to have it confirmed. Finally, with the second visit today, he had needed to know. Had it been a relief when she told him? She was only getting her bottom spanked. Or at least that first time…
Mr Willent was talking. ‘Shall we take them down now? The knickers. I think you should have them off for our celebratory drink.’
He had sat down and pulled Jane towards him. Both his hands now up under her skirt. Fingers hooking in the top of her knickers. Oh Christ. It hadn’t taken him long to get started again. Jane made herself stand still as her pants were slid down under her skirt. What was Steve thinking about right now? About this? Perhaps he didn’t really believe her, perhaps he thought she did have to fuck Mr Willent but she wouldn’t say so. Having to do that would be worse, even though he wasn’t really a horrible bloke. Worse than this. This wasn’t really so dreadful… Jane tried to tell herself that as the knickers came down… and she had to step out of them. Bare now under her skirt. Mr Willent’s hand came back up there. She gave a little squeal as it took hold of her pussy. ‘On the nest last night, Mrs Carthew?’
She shook her head. It was none of Mr Willent’s business. He had done this last time. Played with her pussy. Got her hot and excited because you couldn’t help if someone was doing that to you even if you didn’t want them doing it. Mr Willent’s voice came soft and silky as his fingers worked. ‘Like this, do you, my dear? Like it being played with?’
Jane shook her head, conscious of her body beginning to react… ‘C…Can we have some of that champagne? Pl… please.’ Anything to distract him from what he was doing.
‘All in good time, young lady. We’ll have a little drink when you’re ready for it. When you’re a little bit hot and steamy. And then you’ve had your bottom spanked. A first going over. Mmmm… I’m sure you did have this in action last night. Yes? I have that feeling…’
‘No!’ she blurted. Jane’s cunt was getting hot now. In fact all of her was getting hot. And she knew what was going to happen. Like last time. Mr Willent getting her all hot and bothered and then… pulling her down over his lap. To start slamming his hand down on her bottom. Like a fiendish Chinese torture.
Jane was right; that was exactly what Mr Willent was going to do. His fingers were in her hot slot, in between the now wet lips. Finding those super-sensitive places. Jane could barely stop herself from squealing out, and thrusting herself greedily against his hand that was driving her crazy. Then when she was about to go over the top — to come, or perhaps go out of her mind, or possibly both at once… Mr Willent abruptly stopped. And…
‘No!’ she squealed. ‘No, please…’
That didn’t help with Mr Willent of course. Possibly he liked to hear those frantic cries. Probably they added to the flavour. As now he pulled Jane down across his lap. Yanking up the loose skirt at the same time so that it was round her waist as she came down. Hips and bottom, rounded thighs and legs, with Jane’s hot pussy flashing between the thighs: all barely and entirely vulnerable as Jane was upended. The ankle socks and high heels, swept off the ground, flailed helplessly in the air.
And then of course Mr Willent’s flailing hand. Cracking devastatingly down. And that thought now filling Jane’s head, the same thought as last time when she was like this with Mr Willent’s hand cracking down: which was that being fucked by him couldn’t be worse than this. Not as bad as this hard hand slamming in on her poor bare bottom while his other hand held her vice-like round her waist. The hand slamming in, on her smarting buttocks and the backs of her thighs. On and on. And then stopping… but only to go in between her legs again, his fingers at her cunt, bringing that close to the boil again… And then once more her bottom getting it. SLAM!… SLAM!… SLAM!…
Afterwards there was the champagne. Jane didn’t want it, she didn’t want anything, she was just so devastated by that spanking — aided and abetted by the intermittent and equally devastating grabs between her legs. She felt so awful that if she could have found the spirit and the strength she could have thrown the glass at Mr Willent — though naturally anything like that could get her into serious trouble. A complaint from a client to the authorities was treated very seriously. For something of that sort — serious anti-social behaviour — you could easily be sent away for a spell at a Rehabilitation Centre. That, for a pretty young woman, was something to be avoided at all costs. Anyway, Jane no doubt wouldn’t actually have thrown the glass, she wasn’t stupid. The thought was a little consolation in her shell-shocked state, though, and as yet the State couldn’t monitor your thoughts.
Jane didn’t want the champagne, or didn’t think she wanted it, but she drank it anyway. It was Mr Willent’s birthday — or so he claimed — so she should be especially nice. Doing exactly what he wanted, although you had to do that anyway. Jane had a second glass and by this time was feeling slightly better, or less awful. Jane’s bottom, bare under the loose skirt, was still glowing, though, and she was still shaking, her legs trembling, feeling like matchsticks that might snap in two at any moment.
‘What shall we have now?’ her host asked. And answered himself. ‘Some exercises I think. You can put your knickers back on, Jane — and take off the skirt and blouse.’
Oh Christ! Exercises! Whatever that meant it sounded impossible after two glasses of champagne on top of what had gone before. There hadn’t been anything you could call exercises last time. Jane said a nervous ‘I can’t…’ But she at least had her knickers back and was fumbling them up under her skirt. ‘I… can’t do exercises…’
‘Exercises,’ she told Steven when he asked about her visit to Mr Willent. Had it just been the spanking again? Jane said, ‘He made me do exercises. And he had some champagne. He said it was his birthday.’
‘You know. Bending and stretching. Dancing. That sort of thing. In my knickers and bra. And after that with nothing on. Well, except the ankle socks and my high heels.’
‘Oh yes, the ankle socks and heels,’ Steve said. ‘Mr Willent wouldn’t want you to take them off. And lots of spanking.’
Jane made a face. There had been lots of spanking. A lot more after that first session. ‘I hate it,’ she said. ‘It hurts — and it’s awful. But I have to be nice and sweet. Yes Mr Willent, if that’s what he wants. I don’t want to be sent to a Rehab Centre, do I?’
Steven agreed that she didn’t. Then he said, ‘Did he fuck you?’
Jane coloured slightly. ‘Do you have to use that word? No. I told you what he wants. Bloody spanking.’
But of course Mr Willent had fucked her. This time. Later on in the morning. Upstairs on a bed. It hadn’t been so bad. Not as bad as the spanking. But she wasn’t going to tell Steve. ‘I hate all this,’ she said. But of course it wasn’t going to end in a hurry. It would be another year and more before Jane could get pregnant and thus be excused her Social Counselling duties.
It would get worse because at the moment she had only the one assignment, to Mr Willent. And in fact the next day Jane received notification of a second assignment. A second client. Mr Harfield the name was. Naturally she would have to continue with Mr Willent as well.As it happened Mr Willent had sent in a very good report on Jane. She was entirely satisfactory. No complaints whatever.