From Blushes 47
‘How’s that Mr Southfield?’ Bob asks. Jane says a quick and dismissive ‘OK.’ She doesn’t want to talk about Mr Southfield and at once changes the subject. Emma at work. Can Bob guess what Emma said? But as Jane recounts this she is half thinking about Mr Southfield.
Mr Southfield is her new landlord. Jane was really lucky to get the flat of course, for what she is paying. Twenty pounds a week is extremely cheap but at the same time it is really all she could afford. Looking at the prices that were being asked it had seemed impossible. She wasn’t going to find anything except perhaps some dreadful little bedsit room. And then when she was feeling really low, rock bottom, with all the hopeless trudging around, there had been Mr Southfield. With his lovely flat. I can never afford this she had told herself, there was no point even asking him the price. But… ‘What can you afford, Miss Nashley? Twenty pounds?’ It was fantastic.
‘I want to get someone who seems nice and reliable,’ he said. ‘That’s the main thing. I’d like someone here who’ll keep it nice.’ He had given her a charming smile. ‘You look to me as if you’ll do that, Miss Nashley.’
Unable to believe it she had gasped out. ‘Yes. Of course. I really will.’ Mr Southfield seemed really nice. In his forties, tall, a short-trimmed beard. He had made her a cup of tea. A really nice bloke. She should have thought of course. That it was a bit too good to be true. If she had been less naive she probably would have seen he was eyeing her tits, looking at her knees as she sat opposite him in his lounge. But she was too overcome at her good fortune. And then… Mr Southfield first put his hand on her bum the second day she was there. Coming in to see everything was all right. And putting his hand on her bum as they stood by the window. Jane in her dressing gown because she was getting ready for bed. So it was just her dressing gown as she slept in the nude. Nothing except her thin dressing gown when Mr Southfield’s hand came there. On her bum.
Jane’s bottom jerked as if stung by a bee. Mr Southfield only laughed. ‘Mustn’t be shy, Miss Nashley. Jane. No we mustn’t be shy, not when we’re only paying twenty pounds a week. Mmmm?’
Jane retreated as he came towards her again — only to find herself backed up against the wall. Cornered. Smiling Mr Southfield up close. ‘We’re not really shy, are we, Jane? And we don’t object to a little bit of fun.’ Trying to fend off his hands. Which were at her front now. Grabbing at Jane’s boob under the single layer of dressing gown. Grabbing at the belt. ‘I don’t think we’ve got a lot on under this. Mmm…?’
Jane desperately tried to protect her front: hanging onto the belt, her arms across her boobs and pussy. But that of course only meant her rear had to be left unprotected. And if she tried to protect her rear…
Two weeks now. Since she had gone to Number 46 Meridian Crescent. Two weeks of Mr Southfield. At the beginning of course Jane had been full of what a nice bloke he was — but that abruptly stopped after that evening on the second day. When Mr Southfield had made it quite clear he was not such a nice bloke after all. After that Mr Southfield disappeared from Jane’s conversation. At least Bob didn’t seem to notice the sudden change. She had thought of telling him — but then immediately realised how impossible that was. Could she make a complaint? To someone? No, it would be too awful. Too embarrassing. To say what Mr Southfield was doing, what he was making her do. And anyway she would then be without a flat. She wouldn’t be able to stay there after making a complaint whatever happened. What would she do then? So all Jane could do… was pretend it wasn’t happening. Perhaps… it was a sort of bad dream.
‘What about tonight?’ Bob says. There was a film on he wanted to see. Jane would have liked to have seen it too, but… Mr Southfield wants her in tonight. ‘I…I’ve got to wash my hair,’ she says. ‘And write some letters. Not tonight. ‘OK. I’ll come round,’ Bob suggests. Jane shudders at the thought of that. Urgently shaking her head. ‘No… I won’t be able to get on with anything. No, not tonight, Bob.’ He reluctantly agrees. A silent sigh of relief from Jane. There is no real relief, though. No, there won’t be any relief. Not with Mr Southfield.
He is there of course. Jane has to go past Mr Southfield’s lounge. He knows when she comes in. Waiting. Like a spider it seems. A spider waiting for the tasty fly to come into the web…
‘Hello, Jane.’ Bobbing out. His charming smile. ‘Hello. Had a good day?’ Jane red-faced, mumbling something. What does he want tonight…? She wants to push by him, go rushing up and lock her door. Maybe if she had been firm at the beginning. Taken a firm line. Said she wasn’t going to agree to any of that stuff. Threaten to report it to someone if he didn’t stop. But it was a lot easier to say that than do it. Mr Southfield was more forceful than she was, in spite of his nice smile. A whole lot more forceful. Jane found it so much easier to agree to something — even if it was something dreadful —than to say firmly it was not on. That was how she got in this position. So that Mr Southfield… just thinks of more and more things he’d like to do.
‘What I’d like, Jane. Tonight. Is to give you a bath. A nice soaping in the bath. I should really like that. And I’m sure you’d enjoy it too.’
The thought is really dreadful. Like most of the other things Mr Southfield has thought of. Jane shakes her head. But at the same time she knows he isn’t offering her the choice. If that is what he’s decided he wants to do…
He closes in on her. An arm round the slim waist. ‘Yes Jane dear. I’m sure it’s exactly what a girl would enjoy. A nice relaxing hot bath after work — with someone to soap her.’ Jane is wriggling now because Mr Southfield’s hand is no longer round her waist. It has slid down. It is at the cheeks of her bottom. That happy hunting ground for Mr Southfield’s hand which it never tires of exploring. Sometimes she thinks she should wear one of those whalebone corsets, like an iron protection for her bottom. Not that Mr Southfield would allow that for one moment. Sometimes in the house he won’t even let her wear knickers.
‘Yes, what could be nicer,’ Mr Southfield says again. His hand is at the underside of her bum. Fingers reaching into that very private place… at last he lets go. Giving a cheek a final pinch. ‘Go on up then, Jane. Get undressed. I’ll be up shortly.’
Jane stumbles up the stairs feeling the hand still groping at her intimate places. How has she let herself get in this situation? Maybe she will say something. Tonight. Just refuse. Lock the door. No she can’t lock the door, he’d kick her out if she tried that. But… tell him. Plead. It’s not a joke, she hates it. But he knows that. He pretends to think she likes it but he doesn’t really think that. He knows she hates it. That probably makes it even better for him: doing all these things and knowing she hates it all.
Jane closes the door after her and looks ruefully at it. Pleading won’t do any good. She has tried pleading before — that she wouldn’t take her clothes off for instance. Mr Southfield just ignored it. Keeping that friendly, bantering tone but telling her if she wouldn’t he’d do it. And once he did, so Jane knows he’s not joking. A week ago: still smiling but grabbing her and taking her things off when she said she wasn’t going to. Taking all Jane’s things off and getting her over his lap and giving her bare bottom a good hard spanking. No, pleading is no good. And nor is anything else.
Jane goes to look at the bath. Shivering. Mr Southfield hasn’t thought of this particular thing before. This particular diversion. He’s had her exercising: in just a pair of shorts one day and another time completely nude. Horrible exercises. He’s made her sit on his lap in the nude. One evening he made her serve him some tea wearing a maid’s cap and a little frilly apron — plus high heels and stockings and nothing else. But not… Jane reaches out and turns on the hot tap.
She is half-undressed when he comes in. At the last moment she has made a frantic attempt to get undressed and get in the bath before he comes. Deciding that if she’s going to do it — and she knows she is — then it will be marginally better to be already in than having to get in in Mr Smithfield’s presence. Only marginally of course. But…
Jane is down to bra and knickers when Mr Southfield comes in. His eyes gleaming. It would be much better to be already in the bath but it is too late for that now. She has no choice but to continue. Her bra… and then the brief white knickers. Mr Southfield naturally is all hands. Hands at her boobs. Hands at her bottom… and reaching in underneath… as Jane desperately tries to squirm away… at her pussy. Stumbling, trying to fend off the hands. Yes it would be better to be already in the bath. Because to get in… Jane is going to have to lift a leg… and when she does that… ‘Oooohh!’
Dreadful Mr Southfield of course has to grab her there. He has been just waiting for this marvellous chance. Jane almost falls flat on her face in the water… but Mr Southfield is holding her. Trying to hold the choicest parts of her but holding her up. She is standing in the bath, being prevented from sitting down.
‘Not yet, Jane. We’ve got to get you soaped. It’ll be much better if you’re standing up. Well all right, maybe wet first…’ A spluttering yelp as Jane finds herself abruptly down in the water after all. Mr Southfield suddenly pushing her down. She almost submerges… and then is being hauled up again. All slippery wet now.
Mr Southfield has the soap. ‘Keep your hands away,’ he tells Jane. The bar of soap is being rubbed over her. ‘Keep still and keep your hands away…’ Mr Southfield is especially interested in the choicer parts. Rubbing the slippery bar of soap over Jane’s tits. Down over her belly to the wet bush of her pussy. ‘Open your legs a bit. Come on…’ The bar of soap — plus Mr Southfield’s hand — is in between Jane’s slippery-wet thighs. The inner slopes of those sweet thighs… but more especially… Jane’s pussy. She squeals out. ‘Keep still, Jane. A girl needs a bit of soap on her.’
Her legs collapse. Her feet are sliding on the slippery bath. What Mr Southfield is doing with the soap… she is going to collapse. Faint perhaps. But Mr Southfield has hold of her with his other hand, so collapsing legs or not Jane doesn’t actually fall. Her flailing hands grab at him for support. Mr Southfield doesn’t seem to mind the wet hands… all his attention is focused on where he has that bar of soap…
Then he does abruptly let go. What he has been soaping is presumably soaped enough. The bar of soap comes out. And his other hand lets go. Jane suddenly has nothing supporting her. Apart from her rubbery legs which won’t. Her hands despairingly clutch at Mr Southfield as with a wailing cry she slides down into the bath. Mr Southfield grabs her again. He has abandoned the soap bar. His hands begin lathering up Jane’s already soaped tits.
He lathers up all the exposed parts. Jane’s super tits especially, but all the rest of her as well. And then another of those abrupt, without warning moves. He is upending her. Grabbing one leg and lifting it up. Pushing the top part of her down. All the soapy parts are abruptly under water, with Jane’s legs up struggling in the air. Mr Southfield for good measure grabs her between her legs…
The water has gone in Jane’s mouth, up her nose, and she is coughing and spluttering as now Mr Southfield hauls her out. Right out. Dripping on the bath mat. The towel round her, he rubs her dry. ‘How was that?’ he asks. ‘Nice? Feel better now?’
All in all, with everything he has done, Jane feels devastated. His hands and the bar of soap… and half-drowning. She shakes her head. ‘And I think to finish off…’ Mr Southfield says.
He makes her kneel down. On the mat at the side of the bath. On hands and knees. His hand jiggling the glowing cheeks of Jane’s bum. ‘I think to finish off, Jane, we need a little spanking. Don’t you?’
She can’t answer. In any case there is no point in saying no. When Mr Southfield is going to do it anyway. Jane is shaking, her arms are shaking, as if they are about to give way, they are unable to support her as required by Mr Southfield. He is standing over her. Facing the back. Or more to the point facing her bottom. His two hands jiggling the soft, glowing globes. Jane lets out a wailing sound. And then Mr Southfield starts spanking. Hard, reverberating spanks to the soft, bath-pink cheeks. Jane yelps out. She has been spanked by Mr Southfield before. A number of times. It seems to be one of his favourite things, spanking her bare bottom. Each time it seems worse, harder, than the last. Halfway through this bathroom one Jane’s arms do give way and she collapses flat on the mat. Mr Southfield hauls her up again. He has not finished yet. He is still enjoying himself.
‘Did you get your hair washed?’ Bob asks. ‘And all those letter written? Did you have a busy evening?’
‘Yes,’ Jane says, though hating to tell lies. ‘Yes, I was pretty busy.’
‘So tonight. We can go to that film tonight.’
Jane shakes her head. ‘No I…’ Mr Southfield wants her again. Why doesn’t she just tell him she can’t. Won’t. Enough is enough. Not yesterday and today. Well she did try to. He didn’t take any notice. ‘I…I think I’ve got a cold coming. I think I’d better stay in.’With Mr Southfield. Jane tries not to think about it. What will he want to do tonight? In fact at this moment Mr Southfield is phoning a friend. He is inviting him round. A fantastic idea. Two of them. ‘Yes I can promise you a bit of fun, Arthur. This girl I’ve got in the flat. She likes a bit of fun.’