From Uniform Girls 47
‘Don’t Derek!’ Angela’s voice was exasperated as she pushed his hands away from her big boobs. ‘I keep telling you I’m just not in the mood for any of that. So please…’
It was 4.30 on Tuesday afternoon and Angela and her boyfriend Derek Maidment were sitting in her parents’ lounge in front of the telly but neither was paying much attention to what was on the screen. Derek of course was as usual in such a situation and with Angela’s parents out, interested in only one thing: Angela’s body and more particularly getting his hands on the choicer parts of it. Because 18-year-old Angela Norris had a most voluptuous figure to go with her softly pretty face and long thick ash-blonde hair; big high-set tits and full womanly hips set off by a slim waist. For Derek, also 18, those tits were irresistible and he couldn’t really control his urgent desire to get Angela’s white school blouse open and delve in at the marvels beneath.
Angela would normally have allowed Derek some latitude, opening her blouse at least, and if she was in a reasonably receptive mood unfastening her bra as well. Playing with her boobs was a reasonably harmless safety valve for Derek’s desires and was likely to keep in check his equally urgent interest in getting her knickers off. Sometimes of course Angela would agree to them being taken off. Sometimes having her boobs played with would put her properly in the mood and she would want Derek’s hot hand up between her legs at her wet pussy. But for anything like that Angela would have to be in a very very different mood from the one she was in this afternoon.
Angela’s mind this afternoon was centred on a nasty problem, which was why she wasn’t in any sort of a mood for Derek and certainly was not at all interested in the telly. She was in an awkward spot. She really didn’t know what she was going to do.
At lunchtime today, unknown to Derek or any of her other friends, Angela had met a certain man. In his car this man called Mr Anfield had told Angela he wanted her to do something for him. Something that had taken her breath away. When he said it she could only think he was joking — but he assured her he wasn’t.
What Mr Anfield wanted was for Angela to go round to another man’s house and have some tea with him. And then strip. Do a strip-tease for him. Taking everything off. Mr Anfield wanted her to do it for this man —and then later on the same for two other men as well.
And the trouble was that Angela was in a spot of trouble with this Mr Anfield so that she couldn’t just laugh and say don’t be so ridiculous. If he really meant it and insisted…
Harry Anfield was a man who could provide gentlemen with services which they might not be able to obtain elsewhere. Private services. We are not talking about anything that was strictly speaking breaking any law, but simply intimate little services they might not wish to advertise widely that they desired. Private pleasures. And one such pleasure that a number of gentlemen (and quite affluent ones) in the local area happened to be very keen on was having a pretty young woman strip for them in the quiet privacy of their own homes.
Pretty and shapely young women — but preferably not tarts. With a tart of course there was always the thought that what she was showing you had also been displayed (and indeed used) by many others. A pretty young married lady, if you could get her, was much more desirable. Or an unmarried nicely-brought-up young woman, a shop assistant or young typist say. Or of course a schoolgirl. That was a very stimulating idea. And there were some very attractive ones around. A gentleman had only to walk around the town at lunchtime or in the afternoon to see extremely attractive Sixth Formers from the local school.
Quite the most attractive Sixth Former a gentleman was going to see was of course Angela Norris, of the lovely long ash-blonde hair and most shapely figure. And more than one gentleman who availed himself of Mr Harry Anfield’s discreet services had noticed, and remarked to Mr Anfield. Wouldn’t it be really nice, etc… Harry Anfield had thought about it. Schoolgirls were of course not so easy to procure — and certainly one could not simply go up to the subject of a gentleman’s secret longings and broach the question. But Mr Anfield was a resourceful man. Having thought about it he spoke to a girl called Sonia Hailing.
Sonia was another very attractive girl, though this time brunette, who had left school last year and who now had been persuaded to join Harry Anfield’s little group of girls and young women who were prepared most discreetly to reveal themselves. It seemed that though Sonia was not what one would describe as a close friend of Angela, she did know her reasonably well. And that, Harry Anfield thought, was good enough for what he had in mind.
Sonia, with a sardonic smirk when the idea was put to her, thought so too. And so it happened that Angela chanced to see Sonia Hailing one day after school. And after a bit of chat they wandered in, at Sonia’s suggestion of course, to a local newsagents and stationers called Banways. Here the two girls glanced at magazines and also looked at pens displayed on a counter. Then they made to leave, but at the shop entrance were stopped by the proprietor Mr Stanley Banway and asked to step into his back room. Where Mr Banway was able to discover in Angela’s bag one of his pens, a rather expensive one.
Stanley Banway as it happened was one of Harry Anfield’s clients, though not in fact one of those who had specifically requested this most striking of schoolgirls. The most striking looking girl was struck dumb at this turn of events. Shaking her blonde head in disbelief, and then stuttering denials. Helpful Sonia said she was sure Angela hadn’t meant to take the pen. Angela must have slipped it into her bag by mistake, without thinking.
Mr Banway said he couldn’t afford to ignore what had happened. He reckoned he was losing a lot of stock to pilfering. He would certainly have to consider the matter seriously.
Shortly afterwards Angela received a phone call at home from our Mr Anfield. He thought a meeting would be helpful. Could he see her tomorrow at lunchtime?
Yes it was a most nasty shock. As big and nasty as that awful business in the shop when the pen had somehow got into Angela’s bag. She was quite sure she hadn’t absentmindedly done it — though Sonia assured her you could do this sort of thing and not realise you were doing it. Now this! The awful meeting with this Mr Anfield. Who said he thought he could persuade Mr Banway not to press charges — but in exchange for that Angela would be required to perform these little services. It was nothing really, the smooth talking Mr Anfield assured her. Really no more than a bit of fun.
Yes a bit of fun! Taking off all your clothes in front of some strange man! Because Mr Anfield had made clear it did involve all your clothes coming off. He wanted her to go round to his house tomorrow afternoon. To talk about it further. The details.
Angela, preoccupied with this awful prospect, got rid of Derek as soon as she could. And without letting him have more than a few gropes at her tits with her blouse and bra both remaining in place and fully fastened. She couldn’t eat any tea. And then soon afterwards she had a phone call. It wasn’t that awful Mr Anfield again? No, it was Sonia. Sonia wanted to have a chat.
Sonia was at Mr Anfield’s when Angela, reluctantly, turned up. This was what Sonia had phoned Angela about so it wasn’t really a surprise. Although it was still difficult to believe. Sonia did this stripping! On the phone Sonia had explained that she hadn’t really wanted to, not at first, but Mr Anfield had persuaded her. And now… it was OK, a bit of a laugh really. Which was what Angela would think too when she had got into it.
Sonia was there at Mr Anfield’s to give Angela some confidence.
Confidence in getting her clothes off.
‘Show her how it’s done Sonia dear,’ Mr Anfield said.
They were in Mr Anfield’s large sitting room. Angela had come in her school uniform which Mr Anfield had said she must wear. Sonia had on a sexy outfit of tight skirt and a fitting white sleeveless top set off by a silk bow tie, together with high heels and dark stockings.
Grinning, Sonia stepped out in front of Angela and Mr Anfield and began an impromptu body-swaying dance, thrusting out her boobs and bottom. At the same time her hands went to the side zipper of her skirt. The zipper came open and Sonia began teasingly sliding down her skirt. Underneath she had on very brief cut-away cream-coloured knickers and a matching sexy suspender belt fastening her long dark nylons. She continued her bottom-swaying dance as the skirt slid on down her slim legs and was finally kicked away by one high-heeled shoe.
Mr Anfield clapped his hands and told Sonia that was great and she could stop there. That would do for a start and would have given Angela a very good idea. Now it was Angela’s turn. He wanted something similar from her — only she was to keep going. Take everything off. Her cardigan and then the pleated navy skirt. Then her knickers. And take her time. Make it last. Nice and slow, like Sonia. Sexy. Teasing.
Angela numbly shook her head. She couldn’t possibly do it. Not possibly. Not take off her skirt and knickers in front of Mr Anfield.
His voice became harder. ‘Look Angela, don’t mess me about. You’ve got yourself in a bit of trouble and this is a nice easy way out of it. It’s fun. Tell her Sonia.’ Sonia had picked up her discarded skirt. ‘Yes it is Angela. don’t you like teasing blokes?’
Angela shook her head again. No! Maybe she sometimes liked teasing Derek but certainly not older men. Definitely not strange men who lusted after her body.
‘Just do it,’ Mr Anfield growled. ‘Or I’ll do it for you. I’ll take your knickers down and give that ripe bum a good hard whacking. So you won’t want to sit down on it.’
Angela looked as if she was going to burst into tears. ‘Just make a start,’ Sonia told her. ‘Just take your cardy off for a start. Come on, it’s really not so bad.’ She took Angela’s arm and pulled her out in front of Mr Anfield.
Angela stood there looking pretty sick. A long hesitation… and then she was pulling off her grey cardigan. ‘And let’s have some movement!’ Harry Anfield gritted. ‘Dance! And stick those tits out!’
Angela didn’t really move as she got the cardigan off, nothing like Sonia had, but there was nonetheless some heavy motion from her big tits in the white school blouse. Harry Anfield’s eyes were keenly on them. Though it was a most unanimated start he knew his clients would go bonkers over those big boobs. And that equally ripe bottom when the lovely blonde was persuaded to reveal it.
Angela put her cardigan on a chair. Sonia made encouraging sounds. ‘That was great Angela! And now your tie. And sway about more as you do it.’
With that same sick look Angela made a half-hearted attempt at dancing as her hands went to her stripped school tie. The dancing was pretty awful but nonetheless made her big boobs sway and jounce in her white blouse in a highly sexy manner. There was some really big movement because Angela was not wearing a bra. Very reluctantly but Mr Anfield had insisted she come without one under her uniform. So all Angela had under the blouse was a light waist-length chemise.
The tie came off. Sonia clapped her hands and told Angela to go on, now undo her blouse. Take it off.
Angela had stopped moving. With the tie in her hand she shook her head. No! She couldn’t do any more. No!
Harry Anfield felt a mixture of arousal and annoyance. It was a combination which made him now very eager to get at Angela’s bottom. Get her knickers down and really get his hands on it! He growled out another warning, and this time got up threateningly from the stool he was sitting on.
Angela gave a frightened yelp. Her hands went desperately to her blouse buttons. But Harry, on his feet now, decided it really was time for action. He strode forward and grabbed Angela. A real yelp this time — and an excited little yip from Sonia. Harry was bending Angela over and grabbing up the little pleated skirt. To reveal the pretty blonde’s ripe bottom in tight-stretched navy lisle knickers. More desperate yelps from the frantically struggling Angela — but the tight knickers were coming down.
‘Keep still, you silly young cow!’ Harry hissed. ‘Or do you want Mr Banway to go to the police?’
The gasping yelps continued but the struggling subsided. No, Angela didn’t want that. But… she was in something of a state of shock. With Mr Anfield’s hands now shockingly on her bare bottom. He had her half bent over one leg, with one arm twisted behind her back. Her short skirt right up and her knickers now down to completely bare her bottom. And his free hand was on it. Groping the hot bare flesh.
Sonia was almost hugging herself with excitement. At seeing Angela manhandled like this! And… yes! Mr Anfield’s hand now splatting down. Walloping into that silky smooth flesh. Angela’s big sexy bottom, which Sonia herself would like to get her hands on to stroke it, and smack it. And then, get her hand in between those sexy thighs. At Angela’s hot pussy.
Harry Anfield’s hand did just that. Right at the end after he had got the yowling Angela’s bottom a nice angry red. His hand sliding in between her squirming thighs. Just briefly. For a quick feel at her hot, moist pussy. Then letting go of the now half-sobbing blonde. She stumbled, just managing to avoid falling over and sprawling on the floor.
‘OK?’ he glowered, a bit breathless. ‘Now are we going to do better?’
Mr Anfield went back to his stool. Sitting down he reached to pinch Sonia’s bottom. ‘You might just need a bit of that too my girl, later on. What d’you think?’
Sonia gave a little yelp. Angela’s knickers were still down at half-mast under her short skirt. Harry Anfield told her sharply to get going again And he wanted her to start from the beginning. She could pull her knickers up and start again. This time he wanted her skirt off first, and then her blouse. Then the little chemise, finally her knickers. Which would leave her in just the white ankle socks and her low-heel school shoes.
OK? Had Angela got it? And all in a proper teasing, sexy way this time. And if she didn’t do a whole lot better, it wouldn’t be his hand next time. It would be his cane. And on her bare bottom.
There was no way Angela was going to argue with that — because from what she had just had she could guess Mr Anfield meant business! The bare-bottom spanking had been nightmarish. Not only stingingly painful but also the sheer awfulness of having it done; of having Mr Anfield’s hands at her bare bottom.
With finally, that awful grope! No, there was no way Angela could take any more. Certainly not the prospect of the cane.
So she began again. This time doing her best to emulate Sonia. A little dance, while her hands did what they had to do. Telling herself not to think, just do it. Her skirt and blouse, and then the little sleeveless vest. Pulling it up over her head — to reveal those stunning big boobs. Angela’s ripe nude tits rolling and jouncing as she continued her stilted dance. Aware of what a show she was giving hot-eyed Mr Anfield but making herself go on. Just her knickers remaining. Just do it. Don’t think about it. Slithering them off of her bottom once more, and this time on down. Over her knees. Finally with a little sob stepping out of them. Angela was nude now, except for the shoes and ankle socks. Everything nude. Her big boobs and bottom. Her pussy. Everything.
Mr Anfield was applauding. Saying it was great. That was more like it. That was what Mr Banway would want. Mr Banway and the other gentleman.
But that wasn’t the end of it. Mr Anfield might have been applauding Angela for her (most reluctant) performance but that didn’t mean he was satisfied and didn’t want any more. Wide-eyed Sonia could have told Angela that, because she of course had been here before. And Sonia knew that when Mr Anfield was excited, and aroused, he was going to want more. He was going to want what he had mentioned earlier. He was going to want to use the cane. On Angela’s silky nude body — and on Sonia’s own most attractive one too. That was why she had that wide-eyed look. It denoted half-scared anticipation. Because the cane scared Sonia — but aroused her too. It hurt! But it also got you going!
Would it get Angela going! Maybe not! Maybe it would just be killingly painful!
Yes. That just about described it. When Angela was up on Mr Anfield’s stool, which was where he wanted her for her caning. Nude still except for her shoes and socks and kneeling on the top and bending to thrust out that glorious bottom. Shivering with fearful anticipation. Waiting for that first explosive shot of the cane. No, for Angela there was no turn-on. Unlike Harry Anfield. And for eager-eyed Sonia watching from over Mr Anfield’s shoulder. As that whippy cane skidded in a bit into the waiting flesh.
Yes that visit to Mr Anfield’s house was truly awful. But it was presumably no worse than these visits to the other men’s houses were going to be. To have tea and then do another of those truly awful strips. And, were they going to want that other too? To use the cane!
Angela after the visit to Mr Anfield bitterly accused Sonia. ‘You set me up for that! You put that pen in my bag!’
Sonia vehemently denied this (although she had of course). ‘No Angela. You must have done it. It really is easy to do things without thinking.’ And there wasn’t much point in pursuing this argument. Half tearfully Angela asked about the visits.
Sonia told her to stop worrying. Once she had done one or two she would find it was fun. Teasing these older blokes. Letting them see her boobs and bum. And they wouldn’t do anything. That was part of the agreement.
But when Angela pressed Sonia on this point it seemed that what she meant by ‘not doing anything’ was screwing. They couldn’t try and insist on screwing. But there probably would be groping. A bit of grabbing at her when she was partially or fully undressed. And yes, Sonia admitted, a couple of them at least did like to use a cane. And you had to agree to it.
‘But not really hard Angela. And when you’ve had it a couple of times it’s a bit of a turn-on. You’ll see.’
Angela felt like weeping.
Her first one was the shop owner Mr Banway, two days after the mind-numbing introduction at Mr Anfield’s. Mr Banway greeting her with a smirk at his door.
‘Hello Angela! Our very pretty girl who has unfortunately let down the best traditions of her school, mmm? And now I understand she is going to show how nice and friendly she can be, to make up for that lapse.’
A little bit later, sitting on his sofa with the tensely scared Angela, Mr Banway said yes, he thought she should have the cane. In the circumstances. He intended to give her a caning after she had done her little strip. Although of course he might be persuaded otherwise, if she was very nice and friendly.
What Mr Banway wanted was to get those big tits out of Angela’s blouse and get his hands on them. If she allowed that he could very well dispense with the caning. As it would show she was cooperative and sorry for her antisocial act.
Well it wasn’t a choice Angela was prepared to argue about. If it meant she wouldn’t have the cane. She dumbly agreed.
As her blouse was fumblingly unbuttoned by Mr Banway’s eager hands Angela couldn’t help thinking of Derek. She hadn’t been with Derek since this whole thing had started. She had made various excuses not to go out — because she couldn’t face him. She wanted to see him, but she just couldn’t. Don’t think about Derek, she told herself. But Angela couldn’t help it.Mr Banway had her tits out now. Her blouse fully unbuttoned and the chemise pulled up. Her big sensitive tits in his greedy hands. It was really sickening — but Angela’s big nipples were coming up. Stiffening. As they did when Derek played with them. As if she was really being turned on by Mr Banway’s horrible hands.