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Monday, 15 April 2019

The Bottom Line

From Uniform Girls 30
‘I’ve arranged for you to see Mr Singley at four, Sarah, he’ll be free then. He likes to see every new member of the staff as soon as they arrive.’ Mrs Ramond smiled at Sarah, came close and briefly gave her arm a light squeeze. ‘I’m sure you’re going to fit in just fine here.’
She would be perhaps 30, Sarah Amfield thought, young to be matron of a large hospital department, a good-looking woman with lustrous dark eyes and a full-bodied but firm figure under her starched uniform. Sarah herself was taller and slimmer and at 23 presumably some six or seven years younger. A secondment from her previous post had been recommended to her as a good career move. But what Sarah Amfield didn’t know were the circumstances which prompted that recommendation. If she had been told she would not have believed it. She would certainly have been more apprehensive of this meeting with Mr Singley, her new admin head.
Sarah would have been surprised to know that though she had not actually met Mr Singley she had been in close physical proximity, in a lift at her previous St Margaret’s. And Mr Singley had then followed her down the corridor. Not so close, not inches away, because for one thing at that close range a man could not properly see and appreciate the view. The view of Nurse Sarah Amfield’s rear aspect. Of her bottom especially. Sarah Amfield was tall and slim but her bottom was well-rounded so that with the slim rest of her it could appear enticingly prominent to the appreciative male eye. Certainly to Martin Singley’s eyes.
He had followed her along the corridor. Observing with keen appreciation the ripe sway of those rear-quarters under the well-ironed skirt. After which Mr Singley had had a word with his opposite number at St Margaret’s. A few words, a little sardonic male laughter… and Sarah Amfield had duly received her recommendation for a transfer. Naturally she knew nothing of this. And Mrs Ramond? Did Mrs Ramond with those lustrous appraising eyes know?
How did you go about doing what you wanted to do if you were Martin Singley? It might be thought to pose a serious problem, but not for Mr Singley. He simply told Sarah Amfield what he wanted to do. Simply placed his cards on the table. Told her and then, smilingly, told her that what he had just said he wanted to do, he hadn’t really said of course. He had never said it. But of course he had said it and he did want to do it. Did Nurse Amfield understand? And the obvious and sensible thing for Nurse Amfield to do was to be sensible and co-operative. It would be very silly to make a fuss. Because it wasn’t really anything to get excited about.
Sarah naturally had difficulty believing her ears — believing that Mr Singley could have said it. She wouldn’t be dreaming this, would she? Dreaming that she was here in Mr Singley’s room for her interview with the admin head and after five minutes general chat he had simply said that. He would like to cane her bottom. No, he couldn’t have said it, she must be dreaming.
Mr Singley who had been leaning against his desk stepped forward and lightly squeezed Sarah’s arm — coincidentally rather like Mrs Ramond had briefly done earlier in the afternoon. Sarah was sure she wasn’t really dreaming, it was a real hand on her arm. Maybe she had had a mental aberration then, imagining he had said it.
Softly Mr Singley said, ‘It will be a secret between the two of us of course. Naturally. So there’s nothing to worry about, is there? It’s simply that you’ve got such a marvellous bottom I really feel I’ve got to cane it. We can say it’s in the interests of discipline if you like. So that our lovely new member of staff gets off on the right foot as it were.’
He had said it. Conscious now that her face was pink, perhaps even bright red, Sarah knew that Mr Singley had said it. Not a dream or a mental aberration. She was weakly shaking her head.
Mr Singley was still smiling. His hand still on her arm. ‘I know you’re going to be sensible and co-operate, Sarah. As I say this is all private and confidential. And we both want a nice happy and co-operative relationship, don’t we? I mean we wouldn’t want any adverse markings on our reports, would we?’
That was a blackmail threat. A naked blackmail threat. Because of course a nurse didn’t want adverse markings, it would affect her whole career. And what he had said earlier, what Sarah had thought she had imagined: if she made a complaint Mr Singley would simply deny it. Deny he had ever made such a suggestion. She would be just a silly hysterical young nurse making a wild and ridiculous allegation. That would be the end of any career, Mr Singley’s soft voice said.
‘So we’re not going to be silly, are we, Sarah? Turn round please.’
What did you do? What could you do? Slap his face? Walk out? Go and tell Mrs Ramond? You knew you couldn’t do any of those things. All you could do… With her heart now thudding, her breathing all at once gaspy, Sarah turned… to present to Mr Singley her back. Or more to the point, her bottom.
Her breath came hissing out as his hand took hold of it. Cupping one of those ripe cheeks which had swayed so enticingly in the St Margaret’s uniform. Now in the navy blue of St Oswald’s and of course equally enticing, mouth-watering. Ripe, firm, warm flesh in evidently only a pair of thin knickers underneath. Soft and resilient live flesh. Cupping, and jiggling slightly. the hand with its fingers sliding in the cleft between this and the other cheek. Jiggling it gently as perhaps a person might at the market assessing the quality of a firm but fleshy fruit of some sort.
Sarah feels faint, sick. It is not believable that she is standing here letting Mr Singley handle her bottom like this. But it has to be believed because it is happening. ‘Marvellous,’ he murmurs. And then. ‘We’ll do it now. I really have to. I can’t wait.’
The hand clasping Sarah’s bottom-cheek gives an extra squeeze, fingers digging even deeper into the cleft. Mr Singley lets go. He is walking over to the door. Sarah’s head is throbbing, the room seems to be rolling about. Mr Singley is turning the lock in the door. She closes her eyes. Moments later he is back. With now a cane in his hand. Sarah shakes her head. This has to be some sort of dream, or nightmare, it is impossible to believe she can be here in her new post at St Oswald’s Hospital, her first day, with outside that locked door other nurses, Mrs Ramond, her new colleagues… while here is Mr Singley with a cane in his hand. ‘In the interest of discipline…’
In the nightmare, because she has no choice, there is nothing else she can do but accept what Mr Singley wants. Sarah does it. Hands which don’t really seem to belong to her awkwardly fumble the starched blue skirt up over legs — trembly-kneed, seemingly about to collapse — that also don’t seem to belong to her. Up above these knees to the white-nyloned thighs: to the taut rims of the nylons where they are fastened by the clasps of a white suspender belt. On up, in response to Mr Singley’s further urgings, revealing the pale slim thighs which the suspender straps traverse, to finally the brief tight knickers, blue-patterned on white.
Mr Singley’s hand gropes the tightly-knickered bottom, as moments earlier he has groped it through the extra layer of skirt. Then having placed the cane on his desk his two hands are grasping the waistband of the blue-and-white knickers. One hand on each hip slides them down, to the tops of the white stockings. This has happened and Sarah’s head is in such a state, her mind zapped, that she is only half aware of what is happening. Mr Singley’s hands now on her bare bottom, though, are a further mind-zapping touch of shocking reality. Mr Singley is telling her to bend over. Somewhere in Sarah’s zapped head it tells her she can’t, she won’t, even at this late stage. But other parts in her head know she has no choice and anyway she is too shocked, numbed, to even try to refuse. Mr Singley’s hands are bending her over, from her waist and she is not resisting.
‘Just hold still. It won’t really hurt.
Sarah is not sure if her feet are on the ground, if she is actually walking, or not. She is not sure of anything… except her poor bottom. It is red hot.
Sending out red hot pulses of pain still. ‘It won’t really hurt…’ Mr Singley said… and then he must have whipped that cane down just as hard as he could. The cane feeling as if it was cutting her in two. How many times? Sarah didn’t know how many times. He just kept on. One more… keep in position.’ And then it would be another. And after that…
‘Sarah, Come and have a cup of tea.’
It is Mrs Ramond. Matron. Suddenly here in the corridor leading from Mr Singley’s room, that dreadful nightmare room. Those lustrous dark eyes. eager, intent-looking. ‘Have you had a nice chat with Mr Singley? You must come and tell me.’
Sarah doesn’t want to talk to anyone, or see anyone. She wants to hide away in a tiny corner somewhere. And in fact she is off-duty now, she remembers, she can go back to her room or off, away, anywhere. It is difficult to remember anything after what has happened. And there is that other dreadful thought: what if Mr Singley wants to do it again? is he going to be satisfied with doing it this once… or will it simply give him an appetite for wanting more. He has done it once — simply, unbelievably done it — and what is to stop him doing it again?
Sarah doesn’t want to go with Mrs Ramond but she is going nonetheless. There doesn’t seem any way to say no, not politely. And Mrs Ramond is the matron, Sarah’s boss here at St Oswald’s. She can’t continue here at St Oswald’s not with Mr Singley. Can she request a transfer back? But not when she has only just started.
They are back in Mrs Ramond’s room again. Where earlier this afternoon Mrs Ramond was welcoming Sarah — and telling her about the meeting arranged with Mr Singley. It has all been a nightmare since, the worst nightmare you could ever imagine. Mrs Ramond has come close. Those big dark eyes… ‘You must call me Elizabeth, Sarah. Because we’re going to be friends, aren’t we? Did it hurt a lot? Mr Singley…?’
It is like when Mr Singley first said it. About the cane. Sarah can’t believe what Mrs Ramond has said — or doesn’t want to believe it. With those big eyes close now Mrs Ramond says. ‘Have you had it before, Sarah dear? The cane?’
Sarah doesn’t answer, only a little dazed shake of her head. Mrs Ramond knows. As this realisation floods into her head Mrs Ramond (‘Call me Elizabeth’) closes in. Takes hold of Sarah. Embracing her. Her mouth is on Sarah’s. She tries to turn her head but Mrs Ramond hand is there firmly holding it. Sarah has to take the kiss, a voluptuous, aggressive kiss, Elizabeth Ramond’s ripe, full mouth forcing Sarah’s mouth open. Sarah can’t breathe. Mrs Ramond’s tongue like some invasive creature is in her mouth. There is exactly the same feeling of shock. devastation, as with what happened in Mr Singley’s room.
At last Mrs Ramond’s mouth breaks away. ‘Lovely,’ she breathes. ‘You’re lovely, Sarah. And now you must show me. What Mr Singley did. To your poor bottom. Come on.’
Elizabeth Ramond’s strong arms are turning Sarah. Grabbing up her skirt…


  1. Lovely set of pictures of a retro girl in a skirt and stockings and later with her pants down for the cane. In my many years spanking with my partner Judy she has been similarly attired on occasions.

    1. Would that be Judy who sometimes posts on this blog? If so, she seems a lovely, well-trained lady (from what she says it seems she was put on the correct path quite early in life - those were the days) and you're one very lucky fellow.

  2. Yes, correct! She is not as tall as this lady though!

    1. Fortunately height is not the premium requirement.