From Blushes 73
The house would be perhaps 100 years old and is large and rambling. It is also in need of a little basic maintenance: a coat of fresh paint on the doors and windows at the very least. But perhaps the owner is not too bothered, he has other interests, other things to divert him so that the state of his house does not really impinge on his consciousness. The gardens too which are extensive and well laid out on terraced levels are also in need of some care and attention: shrubs overgrown and lawns unkempt with invading weeds. But here again one may surmise that the same situation obtains: the owner is not a keen gardener and also does not wish to get someone in who may disturb his privacy. The privacy to enjoy those personal pursuits.
On a faded green garden seat at the edge of the lower lawn on this overcast but quite warm June afternoon a girl is sitting. A pretty girl with short medium-blonde hair and dressed in what appears to be a form of schoolgirl uniform. A white blouse and striped tie under a navy cardigan. Her grey pleated skirt probably extends to just below her bare knees when she is standing. White knee-socks and neat low-heeled black shoes complete the outfit.
She is sitting in a seemingly tense pose with her hands together in her lap and has a frowning, preoccupied expression on her pretty face. As we watch her full lower lip is drawn in by regular white teeth in a nervous or apprehensive gesture. She turns to half-glance over her right shoulder.
Behind her is a high yew hedge with just to her right an opening where stone-flagged steps descend from the level of the upper lawn and the house. The girl appears to be expecting someone to come down from the house. As we watch and with her face now round to the front again looking out over this unkempt lawn and the rough shrubbery beyond, the blonde girl squirms her hips. Biting her lip again she rubs her thighs together. We may guess that she perhaps feels the urge to masturbate; either by simply vigorously squirming and rubbing her thighs together or perhaps preferably yanking her knickers down and using her fingers. As girls will, given the opportunity, in moments of anxiety and tension. Anxiety because some other person is about to come out here in this pleasant but rather gone-to-seed garden?
It is only conjecture of course, we don’t know. But if we watch we may find out? The girl has stopped squirming. No doubt she has thrust the thought, enticing though it is, of masturbating out of her head. She would like to do it but if someone, whoever it is, should suddenly come out…
‘She’s outside, in the garden. Of course I could have her brought in if you prefer. In here? Or one of the bedrooms?’
The speaker is called Henry Mantor and he is the owner of this late-Victorian house. He is therefore the gentlemen who we surmised could have interests which might keep his mind off such mundane matters as general house and garden maintenance. Henry Mantor is in his fifties with a drab moustache and thinning grey hair, in the neatly circumspect dress (jacket and tie, polished brown brogues) that might suggest a schoolmaster. Henry Mantor is in fact a retired schoolmaster. He has been able to take early retirement as a result of a legacy (a heaven-sent gift!). But Henry has not wanted to forget entirely his old profession. No. So he still has students for coaching. Girl students that is. Henry has no interest whatsoever in the young male of the species. But the young, teenaged female is something else.
‘No, the garden is fine. Quite suitable. As gardens go, Henry dear, yours is perhaps not the ideal example but in its way it is excellent. So nice and private with those lovely secluded nooks and crannies. Oh yes, the garden will do very nicely. For our young lady.’
This second speaker is Mrs Sylvia Bryant who is sitting with Henry in his study, a high-windowed room lined with well-filled bookshelves. Sylvia Bryant would be younger than Henry Mantor, late thirties probably, and is a handsome woman but with her blonde hair drawn severely back as if wishing to give herself a no-nonsense look.
Henry gives a slightly embarrassed smile. He is a little embarrassed when references are made to the state of his garden, but not enough to do anything about it. Because we have guessed correctly. Henry is not going to do much himself, being too busy with other matters; and nor does he want a jobbing gardener poking about and disturbing his peace and privacy. The peace and privacy Henry needs with his students. His girls. Such as pretty Judy Simmonds.
‘Oh I don’t think the garden’s too bad,’ he offers. ‘Too much fussing about with a garden’s no good for it. But as for the young lady, yes, by all means see her outside. It is nice and private as you say. And it is a nice day.’
The blonde girl who is called Judy Simmonds is still sitting on the green seat when Mrs Bryant appears behind her. Still sitting here because she has been told to do so and she is not about to disobey. Judy knows better than that. Mrs Bryant’s appearance has been heralded by the clacking of her formal heels on the stone flags so there has been no need to glance round in that nervous manner we observed previously. Instead Judy now rises apprehensively to her feet.
‘Sitting Miss. Weren’t you told to be sitting here?’
‘Yes. Yes Mrs Bryant.’
Judy nervously sits down again. Mrs Bryant’s voice is stern, commanding. Like a headmistress perhaps. Which is indeed the impression her appearance now gives. Because since we saw her in Mr Mantor’s study Sylvia Bryant has put on a long black academic gown. On top of her smartly tailored blouse and skirt. There is the black gown and there is something else too. A cane. Sylvia Bryant has a long, thin, vicious-looking cane in her hand.
‘Well it seems to me, Judy, that you don’t know the meaning of the word obedience. Mmm? Which simply bears out Mr Mantor’s complaint. Stand up. And lift your skirt up. Then bend over the arm of that seat.’
Since Mrs Bryant’s appearance Judy’s wide blue eyes have been fixed like frightened rabbit’s on the cane. Well, such an instrument has only one use. If it is to be used. Has pretty Judy had it before? On the palm of her hand perhaps? Or as is now evidently threatened on her no doubt delicious bottom? Still sitting she stutters a ‘Please…’
‘Get up, Miss. Or I’ll fairly take the skin off that rear. Clearly the last time was not sufficient to teach you a proper lesson.’
Well that is the answer. The frightened-rabbit look in the pretty blue eyes is not fear of the unknown. It is fear of what Judy knows about, has experienced. The stinging kiss of the cane across her svelte rear divisions. With knickers in place or on the bare flesh? Judy is responding now, and in a hurry. She is going to get it and pleadings will get her nowhere, they can only make things worse. Her breath is coming in agitated gasps as she pulls up the grey skirt.
Sylvia Bryant’s eyes are fixed. Intent. On the slim pale thighs. And above them as the skirt comes further up, the ripe rotundities contained in tight-stretched navy knickers. Her gaze has a frankly sexual quality. Is Judy Simmonds aware of that look? She is not looking at Mrs Bryant. She is not really looking anywhere. She is just doing what she has to do. Perhaps trying to contain her panic. That cane, the pain will be impossible but it won’t last forever. She will grit her teeth and endure it and then eventually the impossible pain will ease. Pass. Although you think it never will.
‘That’s more like it, Miss.’ Mrs Bryant’s voice softer now. Judy with her skirt hoisted up round her waist is bent over the arm of the faded green seat. Her own seat thrust out, surging twin moons. ‘Just two, eh? For the moment. As a starter, eh, young lady?’
Judy’s banshee-like yell abruptly erupting. The cane has whipped sharply, devastatingly in. Across the skin-tight knickers’ fullest curve. The ripest curve of Judy’s ripe seat. The cane cutting wristily in as if it might cut the surging flesh in two. Which is exactly what it feels like. Judy lets out another uncontrolled, unladylike bellow.
‘Cut out that racket, Miss. We’re private here but there are limits. You’ve got to learn to take it like…’
‘A proper self-possessed young lady.’
That is what Mrs Bryant says, this completion of her sentence coming after the cane has bit viciously in for a second time. But the words are lost in Judy’s second wild yell. Well, a girl can’t take that sort of thing in silence, whatever Mrs Bryant might say.
‘Hurt did they, Miss? Mmmm?’
The frightful cane is in Mrs Bryant’s left hand and her right is free. As she now comes close. The hand gently slides over the stretched navy cotton. Fingers lightly caressing the burning flesh.
‘But a big girl can take it, can’t she? Of course she can.’ The fingers are sensuously stroking as Judy makes a shuddering sound.
‘Yes of course she can take it. Because there’s quite a bit more to come, isn’t there? That was just a little start. A starter for two eh? And now for the real thing. Come on young lady. Get up. We’ll walk on through into Mr Mantor’s wilderness. We’ll do the real business in there. Come on, my dear.’
Yes. Come on dear. Judy, eyes wet with hot tears of pain and biting desperately at her full lower lip to stop herself from actually, properly crying, straightens up. Walks. Yes her legs will perform a walking action although for a moment she has doubted if body motor control was something she still possessed. Her bottom is red hot. But moving, walking, is something, a diversion of physical action from that horrendous stinging pain. And of course the other thing too. Which she can’t think about but can’t stop thinking about. It has hardly started; the caning has hardly started.
Through the shrubbery beyond the unkempt lawn — it is really more of a jungle than a shrubbery — into an enclosed clearing. A really private place. Where really private practices, rites, can take place.
‘Right, my dear.’ The steely voice clothed in a seductiveness. ‘Judy dear. Mmm… shall we have it all off? Everything. As you’ve such a lovely body. Yes?’
Is Judy being asked? No of course not. Whatever is decided will be decided by Mrs Bryant. Judy blinks her big wet eyes. Her bottom is still humming from those two vicious strokes. Sylvia Bryant takes hold of the sweet girl’s chin and brings her own face close.
‘Yes, she’s such a lovely pretty girl. But she’s got to learn obedience. Poor Mr Mantor. He doesn’t like a disobedient girl, Judy. So we’ve got to learn the hard way. Haven’t we? Mmm?’
Judy stutters something.
‘Yes. The hard way my dear. But to show we’re still very good friends you can first of all give me a nice kiss. Yes? A nice affectionate kiss and then we’ll get on with it.’
Sylvia Bryant has put the cane down and has two hands free. Both take hold of Judy’s upper arms and draw the quivering girl close. Their mouths meet, Judy’s perhaps reluctantly but she can’t show reluctance. Oh no. Their lips are intimately touching. And then there is Mrs Bryant’s tongue. Her ripe mouth opening and her tongue pushing out into Judy’s. Thrusting it forcefully in, Sylvia Bryant makes a moaning sound of pleasure. Judy gives a choking little yelp. The tongue is filling her mouth. While at the same time Mrs Bryant’s strong hands have gone round her and are squeezing her tight.
One hand slides down to feel Judy’s bottom. The bottom which has just been quite savagely caned. And is about to receive more of the same medicine. Through the material of Judy’s skirt, Sylvia Bryant’s fingers delve in the crack between the rounded bottom-cheeks.
Judy is gasping for breath when Mrs Bryant eventually lets her go. Sylvia Bryant seems to be breathing harder too. With now a more intent look in her blue-grey eyes. Smiling at Judy.
‘Lovely. Wasn’t that nice? But now we must have the other business, mustn’t we. Life unfortunately isn’t all pleasure. Take your cardy off dear. And the skirt.’
Judy gulps. Hesitates. Then does what she has been told. The little buttons of the cardigan. Then reaching for the fastener of her skirt. Helpful Mrs Bryant is at the same time loosening Judy’s tie, and pulling it off. Evidently keen to get on with the action.
‘Lovely dear. Aren’t you lovely.’ The sweet girl is now standing in blouse and navy knickers plus the knee socks. Her lovely bare thighs are no doubt an enticement to Mrs Bryant. Plus also all the rest of this delicious girl. The nice-sized boobs for instance thrusting out the front of the now tie-less blouse.
‘Yes, Miss, we’ll have you just like this for starters. No need to take the rest of your things off for the moment. Except of course… we’ll have the knickers down. Of course. Slide them down and then… yes… bend yourself over that tree trunk.’
Yes, there is a fallen tree to one side of this jungly glade and its smooth horizontal bole is indeed at a convenient height. Hip height. Judy makes a whimpering sound. Her knickers down! That dreadful cane on her bare bottom this time. She is feeling definitely worse. The initial caning and then that kissing from Mrs Bryant which took her breath away. And now… Has Judy had it before on the bare? If she has she knows what it’s like and if she hasn’t… Either way…
‘Go on dear. Get them down. Unless you’d like me to do it for you. And then give you a double dose with the cane for your trouble…’
That is enough isn’t it? To make a girl get them down pretty smartly. Yes. Because no doubt it is no idle threat.
Bending over the tree trunk with them down. Judy’s delicious bottom now bared. Blushing pink rondures with naturally those tell-tale transverse red stripes. Two of them, but very shortly it will be three, then four… Yes. But first of all Sylvia Bryant can’t resist…
Her hand sliding caressingly over the submissively offered flesh. ‘Just… ah… slide the legs apart a little, dear. Come on… That’s it… That’s lovely…’
The thighs have reluctantly parted, and Sylvia Bryant’s hand slides in. In between. High up. Judy catches her breath. As… the fingers are intimately there. At her pussy.
‘Mmmm. Makes you a little wet, eh Judy dear? The excitement of it. It can make a girl’s headquarters a little sticky…’
A whimpering sound from the bending girl. She is wet between her legs and Mrs Bryant’s fingers are there. Slipped in her wet pussy. In the slippery slit. At her clit. Gently massaging it.
‘Aaa… haaahh… No… oooo…’
No need to be shy dear. That is no doubt your problem with Mr Mantor. Isn’t it? Being shy. When Mr Mantor wants you to be nice and affectionate. Mmm?’
Two fingers are up inside now. They slide in and out. ‘A pretty girl mustn’t be shy, Judy darling…’
It is awful no doubt. Having Mrs Bryant do that sort of intimate thing. But at the same time a girl can’t help responding. Her body responding in spite of herself. Her clit engorging. As she gets inevitably even wetter. Her hips beginning to work. Rhythmically rolling.
‘Mmm. You really want it, don’t you dear… But…’ Sylvia Bryant takes her hand away. ‘We’ve got to have the other, haven’t we. A girl’s got to have her lesson. So that next time nice Mr Mantor is feeling friendly, pretty Judy will be a sensible and friendly girl in return. Mmm?’
Judy gets a sharp, resounding smack across her bared bottom. She yelps. But that was just Mrs Bryant’s hand. And Judy can guess what is now happening. Mrs Bryant is reaching for the cane.
Oh please Jesus. Judy’s mouth jerks open. For a split second there is no sound, a soundless howl. Then the sound comes shrieking out. With that impossible pain welling out from her savagely stricken nates.
Another desperate shriek, accompanied by the frantic clenching of Judy’s thrust-out buttocks. The desperate yell echoing out, for surely the whole county to hear. But Mr Mentor’s place is isolated. And all these trees and overgrown shrubs: they no doubt act as noise baffles. So that perhaps the whole county doesn’t hear. Mr Mantor though. Henry Mantor sitting in his study and glancing at some scholarly tome or other, but at the same time with his ear attuned… Yes undoubtedly Henry Mantor hears it. And the next. And the next… Spaced out. In response to the spaced-out cane cuts.
Then a bigger space. Is it now finished? The desperate yells have stopped? Well, they have ceased for the moment. There is only at present the quieter sobbing which does not carry up to the house. But it is only an interval. While Sylvia Bryant drags off the remainder of Judy’s garments. Everything except her white socks and the shoes. And then when the delightful blonde is down to just her socks and shoes… the desperate yells resume. As the caning resumes.
‘That wasn’t so bad, was it? Not really so bad?’
In the house now. In one of the bedrooms. Judy and Mrs Bryant. Judy in just her socks and shoes still, with the remainder of her clothes in a pile on the bedside chair. Mrs Bryant has come in, after finishing the caning and telling Judy to follow her five minutes later. ‘I want you to stand here.’ By the tree trunk. ‘Stand quite still for five minutes in contemplation. Then come into the house. Upstairs to that little bedroom at the rear I think. Do you know the one I mean?’
Now in the little bedroom Judy’s poor bottom is still humming. Still red hot. Not quite the white hot it was during and immediately after the caning but still… red hot. She raises one hand to wipe at her eyes which are still welling tears, then drops the hand to her side again. Both hands at her flanks, her nude rounded hips, and standing straight. Mrs Bryant doesn’t want any shyness, any attempt at covering up this lovely body. The lovely tip-tilted boobs with their delicious pink nipples semi-erect (the shock of the caning will do that). Plus the neat blonde-brown bush. And all the rest. Yes a real picture.
Sylvia Bryant comes close. Smiling that smile. Her eyes devouring the sweet girl. ‘Lovely Judy. Aren’t you quite lovely.’
Her arms go round, pulling the blonde girl close. ‘And now… after that business which was necessary of course… we’re going to relax and enjoy each other. Yes? Can you get the zipper of my skirt? Slide it down. And then… slip my skirt down. It’s alright, Mr Mantor won’t disturb us. Yes dear… I’m going to really… enjoy you…’
Trembling Judy lies on the bed. Sideways across the bed on her back. In just her white socks still. Her nude hips are at the edge and her feet on the floor are spread quite wide. Looking up at the ceiling. Mrs Bryant who is wearing her blouse and the black gown still but that is about all. She is making appreciative noises. As her mouth… her tongue… Greedily devouring… the sweetness of this sweet girl.
Henry Mantor in his study. With his student Judy. Mrs Bryant has now left, driving off in her smart little Peugeot. So it is just Judy and Mr Mantor. He is sitting on the sofa opposite his desk. Smiling at Judy who is standing in front of him. She is dressed now. Properly dressed. Well, more or less. Judy doesn’t have any knickers on under the demure grey skirt, but that of course doesn’t show. She is otherwise fully dressed.
‘Good. Well I hope that was a useful visit, Judy dear. Eh? Mrs Bryant. She is a very experienced lady of course.’
A muttered affirmative from the standing girl.
‘Stand a bit closer dear. That’s better.’
‘Yes. And I don’t expect we will need a repeat eh? A repeat visit. Not right away?’
Judy vigorously shaking her head. No. Of course not. Henry Mantor’s hand is sliding up the side of her leg. Under the demure skirt. Judy stands quite still, apart from maybe quivering a little. As the hand slides from her bare hip round to the front. To lightly take hold of her golden-brown bush. The bulge of her pussy mound and her neat blonde-brown bush. Which as has been noted is bare under the skirt.
‘Excellent. Very good. Well in that case…’
Mr Mantor says what he wants. As his hand fondles Judy’s pussy. Or rather he doesn’t say it, not in so many words, being a gentleman of some sensitivity. But he makes it quite clear, without as one might say spelling it out. And Judy understands. She has been pretty much expecting it. It is what Mr Mantor wanted before. Before he sent for Mrs Bryant. It is also more or less what Mrs Bryant did. Not the caning, the other. Up in the little bedroom. Mrs Bryant did it, to Judy. And then there was the reverse, the roles reversed. Their positions reversed. Judy having to do it to Mrs Bryant. It is that which Mr Mantor now wants. And this time Judy is not going to shy away. Is she. No, of course not.She gets down. Kneels down. In front of Mr Mantor who is sitting on the sofa with his trousered legs apart. Getting down. Sliding forward. Henry Mantor’s hand strokes her sleek blonde head. As he murmurs soft words.