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Thursday, 5 September 2019

In-House Training

From Blushes Supplement 17
It was made quite clear at the beginning of the probationary period that signing the State Secrets Act and thereby becoming a permanent member of staff was not a decision to be taken lightly. For one thing you couldn’t simply resign when you felt like it, not without approval. And there were other restrictions as well that you might regard as unacceptable. You couldn’t join a union. And naturally anything and everything that happened at the office was classified and could not therefore be repeated outside. But on the other hand, because of these factors the salary was very good and you were in a good steady job in which, by definition, you weren’t going to get the sack.
That was what Amanda’s mother said. ‘What d’you want with a union anyway? When you’re getting such good pay and you can’t be sacked.’ Amanda was inclined to agree. Of course in your probationary period there was a lot you didn’t know about what went on under that cloak of ‘classified information’ and no one was going to tell you. Not even the other girls. But then they couldn’t, they weren’t allowed to give away any classified information to a probationary girl.
‘Just be a good girl and toe the line,’ this girl Charlotte said to Amanda when she hadn’t been there very long. The other one, Debbie, had given a little ironic laugh. Amanda had wondered about that laugh at the time. She had looked at them both but they had said nothing. Naturally. Once you had become permanent of course it was too late, you were in and you couldn’t leave. It was a catch and one you couldn’t get out of. You had been caught. You were no doubt a pretty and shapely young female, 18 to 20 or thereabouts. Yes, that would describe Amanda Chambers. Of course.
Amanda hadn’t thought anything about that in her probationary period. Because no one had done anything, not Mr Windroffe, her boss, or anyone else. There had been none of that stuff. Well, maybe Mr Windroffe had patted her bottom, when Amanda was in the ante-room reaching up for a file. And another time too. But hardly anything, a light, brief touch that perhaps Mr Windroffe had not been able to resist. Nothing to set alarm bells ringing in a girl’s head.
No. Mr Windroffe could wait, the probationary period was not long. And after that… she would be completely under his control. To train up as he would wish to train her up; because a girl only got her real training after the probationary period. No doubt he was eyeing that bottom — and indeed the rest of Amanda’s choice person. But Mr Windroffe could exercise self-control, top civil servants are noted for it, aren’t they? It could even add to the pleasure. The pleasure of anticipation. When you know the prize will be yours.
In the meantime, if the exercise of self-control proved too onerous there was always Charlotte and Debbie. They were permanent staff and they were also both very attractive — naturally. Charlotte a tallish brunette, Debbie shorter, fuller-figured, auburn-haired. So now Mr Windroffe was going to have a full set: brunette, redhead, blonde. Yes, he could wait; but perhaps only just. It was natural, wasn’t it; that shock of thick ash-blonde hair?
‘Is it natural, Charlotte?’
Charlotte, standing at Mr Windroffe’s side at his desk, quivered but otherwise kept still. Trained permanent staff stood quite still when they were at their master’s side. ‘I think so, Mr Windroffe.’
‘Haven’t you seen, Charlotte? I thought our new friend had joined that sports club with you. Haven’t you seen her in the shower? A real blondie?’
‘No, Mr Windroffe. I haven’t seen.’ Mr Windroffe’s hand was up Charlotte’s skirt. Up the back and sort of playing with the soft flesh above her stocking tops. The backs of her thighs and the inner thighs too. A girl is very sensitive there, and there was the thought also of that other even more sensitive place so close and so accessible. At the same time there was the thought, that was never too far away when you were alone with Mr Windroffe, in his office or anywhere else, of that other. You knew from experience that he could so easily get a sudden urge to do it. And that new girl, that Amanda, had got him on an even shorter fuse, if that was possible, with the thought that he was going to get at her once she was on permanent. So all in all…
Mr Windroffe’s hand was indicating that Charlotte should part her legs a little. She put her hand on his desk and gave a tiny nervous cough. He wasn’t going to, was he? By now you’d think she would be used to it, she’d had it enough. But she wasn’t. Every time the thought of it set those collywobbles going in her tummy. Sheer fright. Sometimes she thought the fright, the fear of it, was worse than the actual thing. No, it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. Perhaps she had an extra sensitive bum, so that it hurt more. Though Debbie said…
Charlotte gave a little groan. His fingers had reached… that very extra-sensitive area. A girl’s very special place. Stroking through the brief crotch of her skimpy knickers. She leant more heavily on the desk. He was saying something about Amanda, but it was difficult to concentrate when someone was doing this to you. And there was always the thought… sometimes Mr Windroffe did this just to get you all hot so that when he did it afterwards everything felt — well — more. So that you felt, spread over Mr Windroffe’s desk and clutching desperately at the far edge of it, that you were in fact winging out into orbit. Zinging round the earth at a zillion miles an hour.
‘Eh, Charlotte?’
She hadn’t heard what he had said. Charlotte muttered something, unwilling to admit inattention which would give Mr Windroffe an excuse. Not that he always bothered with an excuse.
‘You weren’t listening, Charlotte. I said at least we know our Charlotte’s a real live brunette, don’t we?’
‘Yes sir,’ Oh Christ.
‘Let me see, Charlotte. Show me. A man likes to be reminded of these things. Stable points of focus in our troubled world.’
Mr Windroffe had at least taken his hand away. She half turned towards him. ‘Wha… Now, sir?’
‘Yes Charlotte. This very moment.’
‘The… the door, sir. Someone…’
‘Then go and lock it, girl. Really, you won’t be getting much of a mark for initiative on your annual report if you’re not careful.’
Going over on rather tottery legs to the door and then returning. At Mr Windroffe’s side again hoisting up her skirt, up round her waist. Mr Windroffe was prepared to do the honours with the brief white knickers. Very decent of him. Sliding them down over hips that were not as full as Debbie’s but were nonetheless a delight to behold. Down to the tops of the sheer stockings.
‘Ah,’ said Mr Windroffe. One hand coming back up. Yes it was still there and yes, Charlotte was indeed a real live brunette. A neat bush of very dark brown curls.
‘Oh,’ breathed shivering Charlotte. ‘Mmmmm…
One finger poked. Intruded. Charlotte made another of those whimpering sounds. ‘Are you hot, Charlotte?’
‘No…oooo, sir…’
‘Don’t tell lies, Charlotte. If I put a thermometer in here the mercury would go shooting out the top. Dear me. You girls nowadays…’
His hand came away. ‘Anyway Charlotte, what I was thinking was that as you were indulging in daydreams earlier I might give you… ah… a little touching up. Eh, Charlotte dear?’
‘No sir! Please sir!’
‘Yes, sir. Go and fetch it.’
There was none of this for the moment for Amanda. Mr Windroffe’s office door might be closed and Charlotte or Debbie might be in there with him but it never crossed Amanda’s mind that anything untoward might be happening. Anything other than, for instance, taking dictation. Well why would you think anything else? And Mr Windroffe’s door was of the good old-fashioned variety: stout solid timber, built when our nation amounted to something. You wouldn’t hear any yelps or cries of distress through that thickness of timber.
And anyway there wasn’t a lot of yelling out. Even when it was killing you. You learnt that, that was part of the training, having to take it without making a big fuss. Amanda was going to learn that, together with everything else, as soon as she progressed out of the probationary stage.
She was in fact looking forward to this, in her innocent ignorance. She had made up her mind now, she wasn’t bothered about those restrictions and there was also a welcome increase in pay on becoming permanent. Charlotte laughed when Amanda said that, that she was looking forward to it. And said, ‘I bet Mr Windroffe is too.’ Debbie laughed as well and Amanda didn’t know what they were laughing about. Maybe thcy were in one of those funny moods that girls get into sometimes.
----//----
Well, it wasn’t long coming, there wasn’t long to wait. Though perhaps Mr Windroffe, forced to be patient against his will, thought it was long. But the time came all right, as all things do, good and bad. That Monday morning.
‘Congratulations,’ he said to Amanda, eyes shining with undoubted excitement through that normally imperturbable veneer. Carefully he placed the signed form in his desk drawer. ‘Excellent, my dear, I am sure we’re going to enjoy a very fruitful and happy relationship.’
That no doubt would be true for Mr Windroffe, but pretty Amanda?
‘Now then,’ Mr Windroffc said, sitting down and pushing a letter in front of her. ‘What about this?’ Amanda, standing at his side, looked at it — and gave a sharp squeak. Mr Windroffe was not wasting any time, he was immediately into action. His hand was on Amanda’s rearquarters. On those delectable haunches that he had so lovingly watched swaying gently as she walked. The hand of course was unquestionably there, not at all like one of those probably accidental, did-he-really-do-that? affairs of the probationary period.
‘Eh?’ queried Mr Windroffe, and Amanda whispered ‘Please…’ and tried to edge away. But the hand now took a firm grip of her near-side bottom-cheek, through that demure dark skirt. ‘Don’t be silly,’ Mr Windroffe said.
Amanda couldn’t really believe this. Naturally, because Mr Windroffe had never done anything of this sort before. It had come right out of the blue. He had hold of the cheek of her bottom and was squeezing and jiggling it, in a really awful manner. ‘Don’t be silly girl,’ Mr Windroffe repeated.
At least the awful hand mercifully let go — but only to take hold of her knee. Pushing up her skirt and taking hold of the actual nyloned knee, gripping from behind. And then moving up a little.
‘Mustn’t be a silly girl, eh Amanda? Must be sensible. Because now you’re permanent we’re going to have to start some training.’
Training? ‘Don’t…’ she blurted. ‘Don’t… please.’
But how could you actually stop him? Stop that hand, which had slipped up even further. The fingers between her legs, on her softly sensitive inner thigh. Amanda was shaking. The hand wasn’t far from the top of her stocking.
‘Please… don’t do that,’ she whimpered. Her own hand had come round behind, outside her skirt of course, a not too hopeful attempt at arresting further progression.
The fingers squeezed. ‘You see, Amanda, now we’re permanent we’ve got to have this special training. Discipline, obedience, self-control; all that sort of thing. We are a very sensitive Ministry as you know. So all staff, and especially sweet young ladies, have to be tested. Do you know what I mean?’
No, she didn’t. And his hand… was still there. ‘Now I can either send you away on a course, Amanda, or I can see what I can do myself. The course, I must tell you, is rather unpleasant. They do unpleasant things to a girl. All for the best motives, naturally, in the interests of state security and to build up her mental and physical reserves etc. But yes, decidedly unpleasant. You would not enjoy it one little bit. On the other hand…’
Amanda’s breath came out in a sibilant moan. Mr Windroffe’s hand had moved up that crucial extra distance. It was on her bare thigh. Mr Windroffe’s fingers on soft, bare flesh. ‘What d’you think, Amanda?’
What did she think? She couldn’t think. Inside her head things seemed to be spinning around. ‘You see, I’m testing you now, Amanda. My hand where it is. You find it disturbing, a nicely brought up girl does. It’s quite a strain for you to stand still and let me keep it there. Isn’t it? But you’re managing. It’s a test but not a really unpleasant test, not like what you would get on that course. Oh dear me no — so take your hand away. That’s a good girl — you don’t want me to put you down for the course, do you, Amanda?’
Another pause. An agonising space of time. And then…
‘That’s a good girl.’
Capitulation. Amanda’s hands moving submissively to her sides. Mr Windroffe’s hand sliding up, unhindered. His will prevailing. The hand high on Amanda’s thigh. The full curve of flesh immediately below the outswell of the buttock. Fingers in that warm tunnel roofed by taut-stretched nylon.
Some impossible seconds or minutes — or light years — and the hand came away. ‘Now we do something else, Amanda. A further little test and that will be it for today. OK?’
She couldn’t answer. It would be some dreadful thing. And it was.
‘I’m going to smack your bottom, Amanda. Taking a smacking on the bare bottom in a proper controlled way is an excellent test of self-control and discipline. Lift your skirt and then I’ll take your knickers down.’
Outside in the other room were the other two. Charlotte and Debbie. The other side of that door which Amanda now recalled Mr Windroffe going over to lock. Why? She now knew why. And had she possibly heard that lock click before when she was out there and one of them was in here? Did they know? What now…? They must do. Oh… she was shaking. Her knees… Mr Windroffe. What he wanted was so… unthinkable.
‘Come on, Amanda. Let’s get on with it, shall we? I know you want to take the sensible option. The easy option.’
Easy. Oh mother, help me. But… Amanda’s fingers closed on the hem of her skirt. Just try not to think. Inching the skirt up. Yes, her hands were somehow doing it.
‘Right up, Amanda. I want it right up round your waist. That is the test.’
She had no slip on, he saw. But he already knew that, his hand had been up there. Not surprising, it had been mild recently. And a full skirt today — as if subconsciously she might have known what was in store. ‘Come on, Amanda. Quickly please. We haven’t all day.’
Oh. The suspender straps were black: a delicious contrast to the soft pale flesh. And the knickers, that brief and gossamer garment that his fingers had fluttered over, were white. Virginal. Yes? Very likely. James Windroffe was conscious of a surging swell of libido. He shifted his position.
Outside, the other two, eyes wide, heads tight with excitement. Charlotte’s phone suddenly jangled the tension. ‘Mr Windroffe? No, I’m afraid he’s busy at the moment. An important meeting. Can he call you back?’
Debbie giggling. ‘Will it be the cane? Or not the first day? Did you get it the first day?’
‘No, the second. It’ll be a smack bum. Probably got her over the desk right now.’ Charlotte let out a little squeal of excitement. It was exciting thinking of Amanda getting it for the first time. She squeezed her thighs together. It was killing when you got it yourself — or maybe a spanking wasn’t quite killing but it was awful — but someone else getting it, and for the first time. Charlotte really felt quite… steamy.
----//----
It was the cane the next day. That was Mr Windroffe’s normal procedure. It was better for them to get it right away, and also of course he was very keen to do it right away. There was always that extra special something about the cane. You could put a sting in a girl’s tail that was never possible with the hand. The hand had its own special appeal of course. That lovely sense of intimacy. But the cane was different.
For one thing it caused that very special sort of distress. It wasn’t actually doing them any real damage but they usually thought it was. It never did, not in the hand of an expert who knew how far he could go. But they could think that. And on top of all this there was that very special sting. A hum-dinging, mind-zapping sort of sting.
Amanda didn’t know she was getting the cane until Mr Windroffe actually produced it. From its place behind his cupboard. She had feared, no doubt, that she was going to be spanked again. Mr Windroffe had referred to more training, in the general sense, as she was preparing to leave at five on that first, shocking day of her permanent status.
‘Tomorrow. Amanda, we’ll have to have some more. A further session of training. You know that of course.’
What could she say? Her mind was still bursting with that awful, shocking business in the morning. Mr Windroffe taking her knickers down, and then bending her over his desk. And then actually…
‘Have you perhaps a pair of black knickers, Amanda? By any chance.’
Mr Windroffe could say things that could stun you. ‘I am going to smack your bare bottom.’ ‘Have you any black knickers.’ Things like that.
‘I’m sure you have. Most girls have in my experience. And if you haven’t you may take a short period off in the morning to purchase a pair. I would like you to be wearing them in the morning. I rather fancy you in black knickers, Amanda. To match that charming black suspender belt. A brief pair of course. Nice and brief. All right?’
‘Have a good day, dear?’ Amanda’s mother had said when she got home. ‘First day at that wonderful salary. Really, you girls nowadays don’t know how lucky you are.’
Those words of her mother were for some reason rolling around in Amanda’s head now as Mr Windroffe produced his cane. ‘This is it, Amanda dear. This is what I usually use in training up a girl. Nice little chap, isn’t he?’
Mr Windroffe swished the dreadful thing through the air. A cane. Mr Windroffe was going to use a cane. Charlotte and Debbie of course had not told her. Perhaps they could have told her, now she was permanent. But they hadn’t. They had alluded, smilingly, to what had happened, after Amanda came out yesterday. But they hadn’t told her what she would probably be getting today.
‘Get your skirt up then, Amanda. Let me see the knickers. I’m sure they’re quite delicious.’
Mr Windroffe had already inquired whether she had got black ones on. Amanda had mumbled an unhappy affirmative. She glanced desperately around. This was awful. Mr Windroffe smiling urbanely, smugly. And in his hand that dreadful thing, Could such things really happen? She wasn’t dreaming all this, was she?
‘Now then, let me see you bend over the desk and take those knickers down, Amanda.’
Take them down herself, to demonstrate that she was learning obedience.
No, she wasn’t dreaming

16 comments:

  1. If I had a girl like Amanda over the desk it wouldn't be just the cane she would be getting. Really like the way Charlotte and Debbie get aroused hearing/thinking about Amanda getting it. If I was Mr Windroffe I would have all three of the little bitches over the desk side by side for a dozen each.
    Amanda's mum could probably do with a 'sharpener' too...
    Like this particular gent, looks like he knows that discipline does not end with the cane...

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    1. Yes Amanda's mother definitely needs a touch up - I recommend that she and Amanda should both be sent on that course anyway. I know Amanda wil think it unfair but such is life...

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    2. Nothing a young lady is required to do should ever feel fair in her eyes. If it does she's in the wrong hands. As I remember this little blond doxy was in an amusing little tale where she was compromised and taken advantage of by an older man whilst on her honeymoon...lovely

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    3. I'd very much like to see a young wife on her honeymoon put through her paces by a predatory female. In fact I'd like to volunteer my services to deal with her myself.

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  2. Bob here.
    Well said,Inspector Rudkin.
    These little misses can pout and sulk
    and stamp their feet. They can yell that 'It's not fair',all they like.
    Bottom line...they are still going to be given a long,hard caning on their firm and meaty buttocks.
    End of!

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  3. Bob here.
    Well,a young woman on her honeymoon will be expecting a hot time of things.
    I am sure that you will be keen to ensure that that is exactly what she gets,Milady de Larmes.

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    1. Ideally one would want to get to her before her weeding night. Perhaps corner her in the ladies while her new husband is slapping backs with his pals. Soon have her wedding dress lifted and my hand warming her bottom over her little lacy white knickers. Once I'd got her wriggling and whimpering I get her to take off her panties and hand them to me. After that I'd have her hurrying up to the honeymoon suite with my hand on her bottom for a taste of the strap I carry in my handbag at all times. Once she's nicely marked bright pink and crying prettily on her back she goes - still in her wedding dress - stocking clad legs lifted and spread wide for a go on my big black dildo.

      From there it would a simpler matter to follow her on honeymoon and insist that she keeps the poor boy at arms length so we can play. Oh the fun we'd have!

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  4. I can only smile. I do have a story I should share with you guys of a wedding might. I will have to find some time to set it it'd. Quite enjoyable actually.

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  5. Bob here.
    Great description of a "hot honeymoon," Milady de Larmes.
    Really love the idea of you carrying a
    strap in your handbag at all times.
    You are clearly one very prepared lady,and I applaud you for it.

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    1. It's important to be ready to provide instructional discipline for girls at any moment - at, one might say, at the drop of her knickers.

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  6. Bob here.
    Well put,Milady.Spot on.

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  7. Yes and she must also be aware of the fact. Young lady's 'under discipline' must have a permanent nagging fear that at any moment (in any circumstances) they maybe told to 'present and display'.

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  8. Bob here.
    Well said, Inspector Rudkin.
    Present and display before they pay...with their bottoms!

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  9. I love the proprietorial way in which Mr. Windroffe treats the young females under his charge. They all accept, however reluctantly, the fact that their bottoms and pussies are entirely at his disposal. Having such a responsible position must be very stressful so it is only right that he should be allowed to relieve his stress as he sees fit and if in doing so he instills some discipline in the young ladies that is all to the good The story calls to mind a happier more harmonious time before the feminist rot set in. Perhaps we can dream that such a time may soon return.

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