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Monday, 25 March 2019

The Blue Chalet

From Uniform Girls 30
It was situated away from the main chalet area, by the side of the old house which now served as offices. Once upon a time, families from the industrial cities of the Midlands and the North had stayed there, enjoying a few special days of sunshine and relaxation. But now, the punters demanded central heating, and colour television, and heated outdoor swimming pools. Behind the dirty windows, the faded curtains were drawn. The front door was bolted, though no-one ever had need to visit this forgotten building. Unless they had been invited.
It was almost ten o’clock. The sun was setting, radiating orange rays of rippling light across the incoming tide. The holiday camp was quiet, with most holiday makers settling down for the evening, or away from the site, in the bars down by the shore. SWIT… The sound was almost imperceptible. SWIT… SWIT… SWIT… And then another sound. A human sound. Like someone breathing deeply… Then silence. Ten minutes or so later, the door was unbolted, noisily, because of the age and condition of the warped door and its hinges. A young girl appeared in the doorway, in camp uniform. She looked… well, disturbed, in some way. Looking right and left, she hastened away, along the gravel path towards the main body of the camp. The door remained open for some moments until some unseen hand slowly pushed it shut.
Jane was nineteen. To any normal healthy well-balanced male, she was absolutely gorgeous. And that of course was the intention. To be a host at Sunshine Bay Holiday Camp, meant looking good, radiating health and happiness to all those dreary jaded punters who had made the pilgrimage south. Usually, Jane stood by the outdoor swimming pool, or could be found within the warm waters, supervising the youngsters, and generally keeping an eye on the older, more rowdy element. Help was only a radio-paging call away. It was a gift of a job. Just parade round all day in your designer swimsuit. Smile at the visitors. Pretend to be helpful. And get looked over by dozens of different rampant young men every day.
Jane was no longer by the swimming pool. She was standing inside the shabby chalet, close by the dusty wooden table. ‘This isn’t your first visit, is it?’ Looking very pretty, and very innocent. Jane nodded in agreement, her fingers tugging nervously at the stretchy swimsuit, pulling it further down over her very attractive bottom curves. ‘It must be the cane, this time…’ The delightful Jane stepped back two paces, and clutched the table top. ‘Oh no. Please. Not the cane. Please…’ She stood upright again, and brushed her curls clear of her face. ‘There is no alternative, is there?’ She looked dejected, and stared at her bare feet. Her bottom lip quivered as she thought, wishing desperately to extricate herself from this awful situation.
The pretty girl looked up, an expression of doubt upon her face. ‘Please. I won’t do it again. I promise. It was really silly of me…’ She waited, wondering if the admission of guilt would help. ‘Yes. It was… silly of you. And yes, you won’t do it again.’ She allowed herself to relax just slightly. ‘You certainly won’t do it again after I’ve finished with you…’ Young Jane stepped away from him again, shaking her head from side to side. ‘There is no alternative. None whatsoever.’
Jane placed herself across the old table-top, her tight swimsuit stretched so taut against her rounded bottom. ‘Feet together, Jane. Bend right over, and push that bottom of yours well out.’ A few seconds of shuffling settled the girl in the requested position. Outside, the sun finally slipped beneath the blue horizon. Above the sound of the distant waves, breaking against the rocky outcrops, the noise of the thin bamboo cane could just be heard. A cool clean SWITT as the thin bendy wood smacked against Jane’s up-ended bottom-cheeks. The holiday makers were too far away. And too absorbed in their own pleasures to hear Jane’s desperate pleas. ‘Please… no…oooo! Please…’ Jane danced a lively dance that night, her bare feet padding against the rough chalet flooring. ‘Jesus… Christ…’ she gasped, as she anxiously massaged that area of her bottom where the stick had landed, raising long angry tramlines of bright red pain.
Jane never learned a lesson. Not even a lesson well and clearly applied. Before those red tramlines had faded, she had been ordered to report, yet again, to the blue chalet. Yet, despite the knowledge that he would cane her again, right across those cane marks which still ached from last night’s punishment, she was seen to approach the old chalet with almost a jaunty, nonchalant attitude. She rapped loudly upon the old blue door, and almost skipped inside.
Demure as always, Jane listened to the expected lecture. ‘Another caning, Jane. Despite last night. Obviously, that has had no effect on you. No effect whatsoever.’ She remained silent, sweet and innocent, as always. ‘There is no alternative, is there?’ Jane stood upright and stared at the man. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Yes… there… is… an alternative…’ He stood, listening, the cane lying still in his right hand, waiting to be brought into action. Jane stared at the man, fixing her blue eyes upon him. Slowly, she reached to her shoulders, and slipped first one, and then the other strap down her bare arms. Carefully, evenly, inch by inch, she edged her swimsuit down, away from her delightfully-shaped body, until her firm breasts, still glistening with moisture from her final dip in the pool, were bared. The excitement and intimacy of the moment was expressed in her pretty deep pink nipples which stood out firmly and quivered so exquisitely.
She walked slowly towards him, her bare feet making no noise upon the rough flooring. ‘Please… there is an alternative…’ She stood so close to him, and he could sense that strong aromatic perfume which she always wore, even after bathing. Her lips and her breasts were almost touching him as she took hold of her swimsuit, now resting around her hips, and pushed it further down. Then one step back, she raised her arms and allowed the damp garment to slither down her long slender legs to her ankles. Naked, she stood before him. ‘You can do what you like…’
There was silence in the old blue chalet. He stepped towards her, and placed his hands either side of her hips, turning her towards him, and then away, twisting her, staring at her bareness. ‘Well? Do you like what you see?’ she breathed. knowing that he was looking at her so intimately, and knowing that her body was already responding. She knew he was looking at her nipples, now so protruded and red, and firm…
He nodded. ‘Yes. I do like what I see.’ He moved towards her again, her hands about her waist, moving her closer to the table, turning her away from him. ‘You’re a very beautiful girl, Jane. Very beautiful.’ He was staring at her lovely bare bottom, and those strong healthy thighs. ‘Yes. I like what I see very much.’ He moved her closer to the table, and applied gentle pressure against the nape of her neck, beneath her pretty curls. ‘But you are still a disobedient, untrustworthy, unreliable, deceitful young woman, aren’t you?’
Despite her protest, pretty young Jane found herself placed face down across the table with her bare bottom curved and elevated in just the right position for punishment. ‘Don’t ever try that again… Jane,’ was the man’s advice, as the whippy bamboo quivered in the air. ‘Don’t ever try to bribe me, young lady…’
Darkness settled upon the camp site. The families and the young lovers, right across the site, went to bed, and to their own private dreams. From the blue chalet there was but the occasional familiar sound. SWITT! SWITT! Jane danced a lively dance that night, naked as the day she was born. And he gave her a very special lesson, later that night. One which Miss Jane would never forget…

13 comments:

  1. When a pretty young lady seeks to avoid justice by offering up her body in lieu of punishment it is important that her disciplinarian and trainer canes her all the more harshly. And then he may avail himself of her charms regardless.

    I'm sure that as Jane 'parades' around the holiday camp all day in her 'designer swimsuit' the evidence of her canings would be plain for all to see. And rightly so.

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  2. I have distant memories of family holidays at Butlins and Pontins. I remember feeling strangely offended as a youngster - but also fascinated - at the sight of an old coot in the canteen, holidaying alone, smacking a young kitchen girl, who was clearing plates, on her uniformed bottom, in passing, as he was queueing for his food, and saying, "You're a bad'un, aintcha? You're a bad'un!" The girl just ignored him, making no protest: this was the 70s, after all. Think of Wilfred Brambell in 'Holiday On The Buses' and you'd not be far off!

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  3. Aaah, the 1970s. The fun decade. Ever see those programmes on Channel 4 - 'It Was Alright in the 1970s'. All those people tut-tutting at 'outrageous' 1970s 'sexism'. Yet, what they're really saying is "Wasn't it great?!" That's the whole point of the programmes, to revel in what they supposedly condemn.

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  4. I know exactly what you mean about that sort of hypocrisy. The producers of 'It Was Alright In...' know that what draws the viewer in are the snippets of entertainment from the decade in question, and that the framework of ironic disapproval is merely a device for justifying an otherwise inconceivable repeat of some of those entertainment highlights. On the matter of girls working in service industries... there are a good few young ladies serving in my local Starbucks, Costa, Caffe Nero and Pret who I would like to transport with me back to the 70s, just so I might with impunity give their tight young bottoms a smack, playful or otherwise, like the old coot in my anecdote. Most of the girls I'm thinking of are East European. Reason, perhaps, to revoke Article 50.

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  5. Must admit I'm not really a habitue of the establishments you mention, being as it is that I'm more often to be found propping up the bar at the 19th hole of the local golf club along with my good friends Stanley Garding (Girl Training 1998, Blushes 62, 20/01/17), Albert Higginson (Albert Higginson Strikes Back, Janus 47, 27/09/17), Gerald Farcroft (Special Deliveries, Blushes Supplement 28, not on this blog yet) and Arthur Grigham (Fish and Chips and Hot Bottoms, Blushes 62, not on this blog yet). Sounds like we should pay one or two of these places a visit, see if any of these young ladies you mention are in need of having their ideas livened up. Oh I'm a fervent Remainer though don't tell Stanley, Albert, Gerald and Arthur - they could have me thrown out of 'the club' and I'm not just talking about golf!

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  6. The gentlemen of 'the club' might find rather exasperating the kerfuffle of ordering and collecting beverages at those trendy chain coffee shops, and the pretty young East European girls behind the counters who ask for customers' names to pen onto card cups for passing the cups down the line might become flumoxed when, rather than 'Bert', 'Gerry' and 'Art', the gentlemen give their names as Mr Higgison, Mr Farcroft and Mr Grigham. If the gentlemen conclude that these serving girls need their ideas livening up, that would go double for their fellow customers - all the attractive but annoying 'millenial' girls who sit around for hours in coffee shops tapping nonsense into their laptops and 'social media devices'. Need dealing with, the lot of them.

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  7. Yes, I'm afraid the gentlemen of 'the club' take rather a dim view of young ladies who spend so much time gazing into their little pieces of plastic. Fresh air and physical exercise is what these girls need, and plenty of it!

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    1. At this time of year the air is still chill enough in the morning to give them goosebumps and make their nipples stick out. Some nude PT is definitely in order with a riding crop to provide encouragement followed up by some physical exertion of a different kind.

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  8. If only Blushes and Janus magazines had extended to the social media and 'selfie' era of today. The prevalent narcissism of girls and young women who are continually logged in to their silly little plastic devices really does need sorting out. Janus made a worthwhile effort to get to grips with the 'girl power' trend of the 90s, deliciously subjecting ironically self-styled 'babes' to some old-fashioned discipline, but the much missed phenomenon of British spanking in print sadly did not survive long enough to bring a short, sharp shock to the 'selfie' generation.

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    Replies
    1. Sad that this current generation of females will never understand the peculiar pleasure associated with being disciplined and fucked by men old enough to be their grandfathers.

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    2. Peculiar or not, there is certainly pleasure for the gentlemen involved. That is the important thing. As for the young ladies, correct moral instruction is not always a pleasant experience but it is ultimately a beneficial one.

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    3. Quite true. The benefits in question come from reminding a young filly that her primary purpose in life is to bring pleasure to men and she forgets that her peril.

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  9. I very much agree with all the comments above. The young ladies of today, especially the aformentioned "pretty young East European girls", are in sore need of the sort of strict discipline which the gentlemen at Blushes meted out. Narcissism is a horrible affliction but there is one tried and tested method for dealing with it. They may not appreciate it at the time but it is most definitely for their benefit. As the writers at Blushes would put: they need their skimpy little knickers yanking down for a nice taste of the cane on their bare bottoms, followed up with a little bit of the other.

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