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Monday, 8 July 2019

A Social Conscience

From Blushes 14
An official figure walked slowly up the cracked concrete path of No. 49 Victoria Avenue. He looked down at the neatly weeded beds on either side, noting that one or two of the red border bricks were missing. A policeman was trained to notice things. That must have happened since he was there a fortnight ago. He’d have been there last Friday, too, if he hadn’t taken a little holiday down at Brighton, because he enjoyed his weekly chats with his old mate, Bob Fisher. And to see if anything needed attending to. Sergeant Fisher had taken early retirement due to injury received while investigating a Post Office break-in and couldn’t move around too fast these days. Got a bullet through his kneecap, poor bastard. But those that had done it had, for once, got a good deal more. Ten years apiece.
Sergeant Graham arrived at the green painted door. That could do with a lick of paint, he thought. He’d ask Bob. He looked left and right, seeing identical pebble-dashed 3-up-2-down houses going away seemingly indefinitely. The houses on this estate had been built just pre-war. They’d lasted well. Like me, he felt ten years younger. Not having a nagging wife or troublesome teenage daughters might be the reason.
Jim Graham positively had the air of your old-time copper. The one walking slowly but purposefully on his beat… not one of your flash, bearded youngsters waltzing around in Panda cars. He pressed a black plastic bell with a tiny light behind it and heard the familiar ding-dong. Not Avon calling, he thought, but someone inside might be hoping it was!
The door opened almost immediately and a fresh-faced young woman in a flower-print dress stood there. Light brown eyes looked startled; fearful almost. ‘Oh… h-hullo Sergeant… I was just going out…’ The fresh skin coloured deeply under the gaze of a pair of slightly bulbous blue eyes.
‘Good evening Sylvia,’ he said rather ponderously… and not smiling. The dress was obviously home-made. Its high, decorous neck, held by a pink ribbon, could not hide the fulsome thrust of a couple of well-rounded breasts. Jim Graham knew a good deal about those breasts. How they looked, how they felt. ‘Married life suiting you?’
‘Y-yes… yes… thank you…’ The blushing cheeks coloured more deeply if anything. Oh my God, said the young woman to herself, how glad I am I don’t live under this roof any more! Those bulbous eyes had such hideous memories for her; such shaming memories. For how many years, week after week, had she dreaded the arrival of Friday night? It didn’t bear thinking about. She wanted to run out that very moment, but the sturdy, paunchy figure barred her way solidly. She caught a mingled whiff of sweat and tobacco. That brought back those awful memories too. So familiar. But now, at last, she had escaped it.
‘Been paying your Dad a visit? He’s all right, I hope…’ The eyes roved down. Slim waist, swelling hips, trim legs.
‘Yes… yes… Sergeant…’ She continued to call him Sergeant. A matter of habit. Once he had insisted on it. ‘I must go now… please… I’ve got to get Kevin his tea…’
‘A bit late, isn’t it?’ Jim Graham took an old-fashioned oyster watch on a chain from his top left hand pocket. The hands showed three minutes past seven.
‘He… he’s been playing badminton. So he’ll be wanting his tea…’ The woman was fidgeting, anger as well as shaming memories colouring her cheeks further. Oh how she hated this stolid pig of a man! Such a respected, if minor, pillar of local society. My God!
She watched the lecherous lowering of an eyelid, saw the twist of pale, fleshy lips. ‘Ho… has he! Should have thought he’d be saving his energy for something else. If you see what I mean.’ Sylvia did see… and hated the brute even more. ‘Mary in?’ The query was quiet but had an intensity about it. Sylvia said nothing, simply nodding. It was her younger sister who was going through it now. ‘All right, scuttle along then, Mrs Davies.’ Jim Graham moved to one side but still ensured that the young woman had to squeeze past him in order to escape. He enjoyed the brief softness of her young body against him; he enjoyed even more the lushness of a swelling bottom as he gave it a playful slap. Now it was his turn to have memories! He watched the figure run down the path, high heels kicking, hindquarters swinging. Must be twenty now, he thought. Lucky young Davies; he had a lot going for him.
Then Jim Graham went through the scruffy green door and closed it carefully behind him. He had been glad to hear that Mary was in. Not that that meant anything definite, of course. Still, if she had been out, there would have been no prospects at all!
‘Hullo there, Jim. Nice of you to call.’ Bob Fisher, seated deep in an armchair with a stick alongside, spoke as if the sergeant’s visit was unexpected. It was one of their little rituals. ‘Care for a pipe?’ A greasy-looking grey plastic pouch was extended.
‘Thanks, Bob.’ The pipe was filled slowly and methodically. Policeman-like. ‘Been keeping well?’
‘Not so bad. Just the odd twinge, you know. Have a good holiday, eh?’ Bob Fisher was drab and balding, with lacklustre brown eyes; he wore shirt-sleeves rolled up and brown trousers.
‘Quiet,’ replied Jim Graham. ‘Clean room; nice landlady.’ That seemed to cover it. Bob asked no further questions, Jim offered no further information. That was typical. There was low-level mental comfortableness between them. No need to think too much, no need to expand too much. Just go by the Book. A contented silence descended. The small front room, with its mottled-red moquette chairs, began to become filled with smoke.
‘Saw your Sylvia as I came in,’ said Jim at last.
‘Ah yes, she’s a good girl.’ A nod of the balding head.
‘Been brought up to be,’ pronounced Jim Graham sagely.
‘True… true…’ another nod. ‘I reckon I’ve done a good job since Doris passed away. Thanks a lot to you, of course, Jim.’
‘That’s all right. Glad to help. Just shows old-fashioned principles and methods still count a bit.’ Puff, puff, puff, on the pipe. ‘Expect she’ll be in the family way soon.’
A nervous grin. ‘When it happens, Jim, I’ll make you a godfather.’
‘Quite right too,’ replied the sergeant complacently. ‘Had a lot to do with that girl’s upbringing.’ He looked across directly at his old mate. ‘No troubles with Mary, I suppose?’
‘Fraid so…’ Bob Fisher sucked on his pipe and got little response. He tapped out smouldering ashes into a scallop shell. ‘While you was away, Jim, she got caught with a spare bottle of hair shampoo in her raincoat pocket. In the corner shop it was. She couldn’t explain how it got there.’ A balding head shook. ‘Could have been such a disgrace. Lucky I was able to have a word. They knew me, of course. Not going to prosecute.’
‘Serious, though…’ remarked Jim Graham, drawing deeply on a glowing bowl.
‘Right you are. Never thought a girl of mine would be a thief.’ The pipe was tapped again. ‘I’d like you to deal with it, Jim. She’s upstairs. Waiting…’
Jim Graham nodded pontifically, like judge and jury rolled into one.
‘That’s best,’ he said. Rather than having your name in the papers, I mean. All that disgrace.’
‘Of course. I’ll leave it to you Jim. You know what’s best for a girl of her age… when she’s gone wrong.’
Mary Fisher was waiting. She’d been waiting since she’d got home from school at five. Over two hours ago. She thought she was going to be sick when the doorbell rang. It was all going to happen again; but worse this Friday, she was sure. There was a time when it had all been to do with her exam marks. Now, this was different. Stealing. Yes, that was different. She still couldn’t understand what had made her do it. Nice of Sylvia to come and support her. Comfort her. She’d been through it herself. For years. Now her big sister was married. I can’t wait, Mary told herself. Even though I’m still only 16, I’ll get married myself. Anything was better than school… and this.
There was no knock on the bedroom door; it simply opened and the officer came in firmly closing the door behind him. Mary, who had been lying down during her anxious waiting period, sat up in bed.
‘Good evening, Mary,’ said Sergeant Graham. ‘I was sorry to hear the news your dad gave me.’ He began to unbutton the silver buttons of his jacket. ‘It’s a terrible thing… an officer of the law having a thief in the family.’
‘I… I’m not really a… a… thief. It was a mistake… really it was…’
‘They all say that,’ said Jim Graham with an emphasis derived from many long hours in the juvenile court. The jacket, fully unbuttoned, came off to show just a plain white shirt. He looked at the girl who had by then emerged from the bed, only to delight him with the sight of her in skimpy tight knickers and an old pink shirt.
This youngster was very much like her elder sister. The same colour eyes, the same straw-like hair and a body which burgeoned with great promise.
‘Your dad asked me to deal with it,’ he said simply.
A wide mouth quivered, small white hands clenched. ‘P-please… must you? It… it’s so a-awful…’
‘Rather go before the court would you, girl? Disgrace your dad’s good name?’ Jim Graham shook his head. ‘Don’t understand you youngsters today.’
That was how it had all begun, four or five years back now. Him and Bob discussing how kids used to be dealt with down at the local nick by the Force. A good whacking for both boys and girls and nothing more said. No troubling the courts, no bloody interfering social workers. Simply on-the-spot punishment. Kids understood that… and it had worked. Leastways, that was what Bob and Jim had agreed. And, since that sort of thing wasn’t allowed at the station any more, Bob had brought it back into the home. From 16 on, Sylvia had been taught, by old-fashioned methods, to behave herself. Every Friday night, the week had been reviewed, and if faults were found, they were dealt with. By Jim. Somehow that made it seem both official and lawful. It seemed, reflected Jim, to have worked in that case of Sylvia, and now he had another teenager to bring up so that she was both respectable and law-abiding. With her dad’s encouragement and approval, of course.
‘P-please… I’ll never do it a-again…’
‘That’s another thing they all say,’ responded Jim. He contemplated both the girl and the facts. Up till now — for bad marks at school and suchlike — he’d only spanked her. This offence (an actual criminal one) deserved sterner measures. He walked across to a small wardrobe and opened it. On the floor were a few pairs of flat-heeled black shoes, some trainer-shoes, white plimsolls and a cane. He picked up the cane and closed the wardrobe.
‘Oh no… no… oooo!’
‘This is a serious matter, Mary,’ said the sergeant sternly, ‘and it has to be dealt with accordingly.’ He seated himself on the edge of a double bed. ‘Take off your knickers youngster… and get yourself ready for what you deserve.’
‘Please… oh please… can’t you understand… it was only a silly mistake? I don’t deserve it… I don’t!’
‘That’s a matter of opinion, Mary. And I think you do. Knickers off, right away.’ Jim Graham felt that pleasurable glow which petty power brings. Also, he felt lust — pure and simple — at the prospect of seeing that nubile young body exposed. ‘Let’s not have any nonsense, eh? I don’t want to have to use force… like I had to once or twice with your sister, Sylvia. That only makes things worse.’
With a sob, the knickers came off: thin white cotton nowadays; Jim had preferred them when they had been made of blue serge. When Sylvia was 16, they had been; that was the last year. He patted his thighs, solidly splayed. ‘Over you go…’
‘Mmmff… mmmfff… mmmfff…’ The sobs were heaving, so were her budding young breasts. Just like Sylvia’s at that age, Jim remembered. In due time, this girl would also have a couple of beauties. In a year or so, he’d be really enjoying them. Stumbling, she came to the edge of her bed then fell across him, uttering a pathetic moan.
Once again there was that light softness against him and two rounded mounds of young flesh raised up.
Jim Graham believed in taking things slowly and surely, step by step. Probably be a bit of a shock for her, he thought.
‘In days gone by,’ said the sergeant a little thickly, ‘I’ve given many a girl a good hiding for thieving. They didn’t do it again. What’s the sense of cautions and fines? Old-fashioned ways is best. Tonight, you’re getting it on the bare.’
The sergeant’s bulbous eyes looked down, savouring the quivering, milky flesh. Only a 16-year-old could have such immaculately smooth white skin. Truly virginal. Truly delightful. As the slim thighs parted as the girl kicked, the cleft repeatedly widened. Tufts of dark-straw down appeared. Yes, she was so much like her sister at that age. It was to be hoped she would turn out just as well in the years ahead. Jim Graham took a firm grip of the cane.
‘I don’t want you thieving ever again, young Miss,’ he said. ‘Never, you understand?’
‘I… won’t… I won’t… I promise!’ That young bottom was twisting and turning frantically in dread. ‘I promise!’
I’m going to make sure,’ said Sergeant Jim Graham.
He could have brought the plimsoll down harder, but that wasn’t necessary. He was obviously creating enough pain as it was. From the very first sweep of his arm, young Mary discovered a marked difference between the palm of a hand and a plimsoll. It hurt far, far more!
‘Yeeeooowww… aaaaaggggg… stoooo… ppppp… it!’
Jim Graham paused after half a dozen whacks. ‘Hurts, doesn’t it, eh, young Miss. Won’t go thieving again in a hurry, will we?’
Whack… on one cheek. Whack… on the other. Whack… clean across both.
My god, how it made her bounce and squirm and kick! Yes, she was really feeling it. The sergeant felt smug satisfaction flooding him. It was no more than this youngster deserved. It was justice. Rough justice… like they used to be able to hand out down at the station.
On the other hand, it was nicer to be able to hand it out in a young girl’s bedroom.
Whack… whack… whack! All across the centre. That milky flesh was now a bright raspberry colour. Juddering and jouncing madly.
‘Stoo… ooopppp…!’
The sergeant stopped. Not because he had been asked but because, on this occasion, he felt he had done enough. He must have given the girl some fifteen to twenty hard whacks. From a rubber-soled shoe that was quite something, even if she had been guilty of theft. He didn’t reckon there would be any trouble in that direction again. Unless, of course, the girl was habitually inclined that way. Kleptomania it was called these days, wasn’t it? If that was the case, even sterner measures would have to be applied in the future. Ah well, an officer of the Law was never truly off duty.
The twin, raspberry blancmanges before him were twitching and quivering almost incessantly; the small bedroom was filled with rasping sobs.
‘You’ll not go thieving again?’ enquired the sergeant.
‘N-no… mmmffff… n-never…’
‘That’s a good thing then,’ said the sergeant. Then he put his hand between the girl’s parted, quivering thighs and lifted her up off him. He felt the softness of young sex-lips as, squealing, she wriggled like an eel. It was something to be enjoyed for no more than seconds. But it was enough. For the moment, anyway. There were years ahead, weren’t there?
Almost sombrely, Sergeant Jim Graham laid the whimpering girl down on her back on her own bed. ‘A cold flannel might help, youngster,’ he said kindly. Like policemen on the beat used to be. ‘I’m going down to see your dad. Tell him there won’t be any more thieving by a member of this household.’
The sobbing-whimpering went on as the sergeant closed the bedroom door behind him.
Rough justice had been done. Wasn’t that the best way? After all, it saved the ratepayers a lot of money!
Mark you, Sergeant Jim Graham had to admit there were some fringe benefits to be obtained!


  1. Great story. Stunning looking model. A right picture.

  2. Dealing with the bottoms of sixteen-year olds by force when necessary. He can take his time as the bottom, ‘young sex lips’ & ‘budding young breasts’ are going to be his alone to deal with for some years to come. It is a good age to break them in

  3. Social conscience, I don't think so, cane her, get her on her back and teach her a young lady's place

    1. Sounds like a plan. 16-year girls pretty like her can be taught everything they need to know just as you outline. No knickers necessary. Teach them through cane & copulation. It will do them good even if they don’t know it yet.

    2. Yes 16-18 years old young fillies need to be broken in to their masters will. Their day should consist of skiffying, being disciplined and giving pleasure. It often helps if an older lesbian female is employed to assist in the process.

    3. Indeed. The assistance of just such a female will benefit the teenage girl in matters of taking discipline and giving pleasure, regarding bottom, ‘young sex lips’ and ‘budding young breasts’. Do let us know what might be added to the ‘breaking in’.

    4. I think it helps a girl learning submission to learn striptease and to be exposed (literally) to public nudity, public spanking and public sex. She needs to learn that there is nothing that will not be demanded and expected of her at any time and in any place. Only then will she come to realise that she is a slut.

    5. A strict framework must be put around her which includes all of the above mind broadening experiences but also specifies;
      1. Exactly how she will dress and for what occasions.
      2. Rules of address, sir, madam etc,
      3. Rules of engagement, putting her hand up, putting both hands on her head when sitting, corner time.
      4. Rules of deportment, curtseying, exact straightness of stocking seams etc.
      5. The introduction of a punishment book.
      6. The publication of punishment images on social media.
      7. An intense period of sexual training, this may involve being taken abroad to work in a brothel.
      8. The confiscation of all property.
      9. The enforcement of a new belittling name.
      That should start the process.

  4. Nice details. Hands on head ��‍♀️ is always good. Looks subservient & should be instructed as included in ANY cp session with any girl.
    Sexual training can be provided ‘in-house’, no problem. It is a necessary part, of course. No girl, especially a first-timer under the cane, should have her pussy unattended to, especially if she doesn’t like it.

  5. Tried to use the girl with hands on head emoji and that’s how it appeared here ? Etc

  6. 'A Social Conscience' is a very apt title for this story when it is viewed in the context of the true 'Blushes' man's approach to life. For the moral aspect of things is very much to the fore throughout the classic Blushes tales, an overwhelming preoccupation with clamping down upon the excesses and rampages of modern day youth and a nostalgia for a lost pre 1960s world of order and discipline virtually synonymous with the widespread employment of corporal punishment.

    Thus it is that in the world of Blushes, a man who steps in to help with the disciplining of a friend's unruly teenage daughters is possessed of a very great social conscience indeed and please note also the friend's appreciation and thankfulness for the help proffered.

    Nor is there any contradiction in such a socially conscious man enjoying and relishing his ministrations. For the true Blushes morality is as follows, enforced restraint on one side in terms of a girl's freedoms and associations with those of her own peer group co-existing with a yielding on t'other, when it comes to her relations with her gentlemen elders and betters, her disciplinarians. Such men are very much entitled to their pleasures both with regard to inflicting punishment and via whatever sexual gratifications they see fit to explore. That is one reason why perhaps a man would get another man in to deal with his daughters for, as in this story, some aspects are not really the province of a father. But I think most here would agree that a girl is in far better hands with a man of seniority and experience than being simply left to the vices and vicissitudes of wayward youth.

    This is just all part of the natural, patriarchal moral order of life, in which the strong dominate the weak, the rich dominate the poor and the male dominates the female. Any disturbance to this ancient order only results in the kind of social mayhem which his only been too prevalent in recent decades, the rise of feminism being one particularly egregious consequence of the current malaise. I would, however, make one slight amendment to this story. I do not think that marriage should necessarily signal the end of Jim's involvement with Sylvia. I think that association could continue, his wise counsel still being necessary from time to time, as would eventually be the case with Mary also. Young husbands need to understand and accept such arrangements also. On the other hand, maybe Bob's plans to make Jim godfather of his grandchild hints at Jim's continued involvement with Sylvia into marriage (and with Mary also eventually) and that Sylvia is not off the disciplinary hook as much as she appears to think.

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