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Saturday, 26 October 2019

The Caretaker’s Daughter

From Blushes Supplement 13
‘So you’re the caretaker’s daughter, eh?’ He looked the girl up and down in his usual coarse fashion. A coarseness bred out of insecurity. ‘I’ve heard a few things about you from your mum.’
The head lowered. ‘I see…’ The girlish response was no more than a whisper.
She didn’t even look sixteen, he thought, but that was the age he had been told she was. Mrs Ranger, the caretaker, had actually mentioned the fact. Before she’d gone away for the weekend. ‘So, you’ll be looking after me — while mum’s away.’
‘Suppose so…’
‘No suppose about it. That’s what your mum and I agreed. She can’t leave me here alone, to fend for myself. Understand that, I reckon.’ He looked at her again. How juvenile were those limbs. The girl was wearing some kind of sporting attire. A sleeveless vest and shorts; both white. ‘Why are you dressed like that?’
‘I… I’ve been practising for the school sports. Running and jumping.’ She looked a little embarrassed. ‘I’m best at jumping.’
‘Are you indeed. You know my name, I suppose.’
‘O-oh yes… you’re Mr Martin. You look after the grounds, don’t you?’
‘That’s right, my dear.’ He smiled. ‘And, normally, when she can spare the time, you mum looks after me. Does my washing and ironing. Things like that. Doesn’t cook for me, of course. I’ve got my own little place.’
Susan said nothing. She was half-petrified by her isolation in this place with an old man. What was she to do about it? If only mum would come back, then everything would be alright again.
‘Don’t look so scared, girl. There’s not much I want doing.’
‘I… I’ll try and help, Mr Martin.’
‘Good… good…’ The smile was oily. ‘The fact is, there’s quite a bit of washing I want done. By hand. Don’t believe in them machines. They shrinks things. Your mum usually does it.’
‘I… I’ll try… Mr Martin…’
‘You do that, Susan,’ he said rather heavily. ‘Mum said you was to do what I asked… and I was to take no nonsense.’
‘Oh no… no nonsense… Mr Martin!’
‘There’s a good girl then. You’ll find my basket outside the kitchen. Lots of woolly underwear. Takes some real washing.’ He smiled again. ‘I’ll be back later then.’
‘Whatever you say… Mr Martin.’
‘That’s right, Susan.’ He could not help but like those short shorts. Nor the revealing white vest. Young as she might be, this girl was certainly showing considerable promise. Fred Martin left, with some reluctance… and headed for the annexe where he had a bedsit, with kitchen-cum-bathroom attached.
----//----
Susan felt rather sick when she opened the basket. It was full of off-white long-johns and the like. Some were almost yellowing. Many were quite disgustingly soiled. The smell was awful. Hurriedly, she closed the lid. ‘I’ll tell him I’d so many things of my own to do, I just couldn’t cope, she told herself. What did it matter anyway? Mum would do them when she got back. Funny that her mum should bother to slave away for such a horrible old man. But then, perhaps she didn’t think of him like that. Susan went into the living room, pulled out a packet of cigarettes from under an armchair cushion, then lit up. It was her little secret vice and she loved it. Her mum didn’t know… and certainly wouldn’t have approved. She was absolutely anti-tobacco. Kept on about it. Susan puffed contentedly. She would have another. Maybe two more. Then she’d get on with her own smalls. She had quite a few bits and pieces that needed dealing with. Meanwhile, she could relax.
Susan leant back in the armchair, feeling suddenly very grown up. Pity mum didn’t allow drink in the place either. Otherwise, she had the naughty thought she would have poured herself a glass of sherry. That made her think about Jimmy. He’d asked her out for a drink twice already, but so far she’d turned him down. It wasn’t that she hadn’t wanted to go; simply that a girl of her age shouldn’t make herself seem too easy. She stubbed out her cigarette then, feeling rather daring, she lit another. Chain-smoker, she told herself. And then felt even more grown up. Mum being away, certainly had its advantages, otherwise she’d have to smoke in the grounds or one of the sheds. Nowhere as nice as lounging back in a comfortable chair.
About half an hour or so… or it could have even been an hour…  Susan wandered into the kitchen and began to do her personal washing. There were bras, and briefs, slips, vest and shorts. All very intimate items… but all very easy to wash in comparison with Mr Martin’s ghastly heavyweight woollens. No… she really couldn’t face those.
Susan did her own thing. Or things.
Unaware that she was under observation.
----//----
Fred Martin made his presence felt after he had had his fill of peeping at this ripe youngster, still in vest and shorts, moving hither and thither about the kitchen. The fact that she had not bothered to deal with his own washing — as she had been instructed — and that the living room was thick with cigarette smoke had by no means escaped him.
Fred, it must be said, was far from being displeased with the situation. Mrs Ranger (oh what a sensible woman!) had told him to take a firm hand if young Susan didn’t behave herself. She would certainly back him up in whatever he did. ‘You are one of the old school, Mr Martin,’ had been her parting words. ‘I trust you… and you can trust me.’
Fred felt that that statement gave him a certain amount of licence. If not to say liberty. And he certainly intended to take advantage of it. He moved, at last, into the kitchen.
‘Well then, young Susan,’ he said, trying not to sound too gratified, ‘you surely do seem to have put yourself into some trouble!’
‘O-oh… Mr Martin… it’s you!’
‘Of course it’s me.’ He eyed a flimsy pair of newly-washed briefs the girl had dropped at the shock of his appearance. ‘And you haven’t done my washing. As I told you to. Just been playing around with these fripperies.’ He paused and looked as stern as possible. ‘Apart from that, you’ve been smoking. I know! Your mum would go into a right state if she knew.’
Susan turned pale. The grown up feeling she had experienced while she had been puffing at a cigarette had now quite vanished. She felt very much a child again. s-sorry, Mr Martin,’ she managed to say. ‘Sorry… about your washing. I’ll do it later…’
‘What about the smoking?’
‘I’m sorry about that too.’
‘I don’t think you are. In my opinion, you enjoy it… and you’ve been deceiving your dear Mum for quite some time.’
‘Oh no…’
‘Don’t lie girl!’
Susan put her hand over her mouth and began to sob. ‘Oh… oh…  please, Mr Martin… don’t tell her ooohhh… please she’ll take the hide off me… if… if she knew…’
‘Really?’ Fred felt the cockles of his heart beginning to glow.
‘Yes… yes… she belts me… right hard… if I does wrong… oh please Mr Martin… don’t tell her…’
Fred looked pensive. And happy. ‘Maybe I won’t tell her, my girl. And so, maybe, you’ll escape a belting. But that doesn’t mean you’re going to get away scot free. No… not by a long chalk. No washing done… and idling your time away with fags. It’s not right, you know…’
‘Oh… I’m sorry, Mr Martin… so sorry… I’ll do your washing now!’
‘Don’t worry about that, girl. I’ve got other plans. You don’t want your mum to know about the smoking?’
‘No… no… of course not!’
‘And you want to escape a belting?’
‘Oh yes… yes!
‘Then you’ll do just as I say.’ Fred smiled as graciously as he could. ‘It will be far less painful in the long run.’
‘W-what have I got to do?’ came a quavering young voice.
‘I am just about to tell you,’ replied Fred. With infinite satisfaction in his voice. He had hoped things would turn out well, but never quite expected them to turn out quite as well as this! ‘For a start,’ he went on, ‘you can take off those shorts.’ A shocked gasp; young eyes round. ‘No… I’m not going to give you a belting. Just a spanking.’
‘It’s a spanking or a belting. And I’ll make sure it’s a good belting with what I tell your mum. That’ll hurt a lot more. You know that, girl. Come on, get them off!’
He could see her considering it; weighing it up. A real sound leathering or a hand-spanking from a nasty old man? ‘You promise you won’t tell?’ Oh… he was winning!
‘I promise,’ said Fred solemnly and made a little cross over his heart. Then, to his great delight, he saw the girl first unbutton then unzip those little white shorts. To his surprise, he saw that, underneath, she wore hardly more than a G-string. A black one. At her age. Sexy little thing! She kept looking at him shyly, wonderingly, but seemed quite calm. Certainly calmer than he felt. He hadn’t smacked a youngster’s bottom for ages; the last one had been that of his niece.
The shorts came right off. ‘Now that other thing,’ he said. She coloured at that. ‘M-must I?’ she asked.
‘Yes, you must,’ insisted Fred. ‘Who ever heard of a spanking which wasn’t given on the bare. Not proper with knickers on.’
‘They’re so s-small… and thin…  they wouldn’t…’ began Susan pleadingly.
‘Take them off… or it’s a belting,’ snapped Fred. He’d got the girl on the run and he was determined to keep her there.
Very reluctantly, turning away from him, the girl began to push down the tiny black briefs. A tautly-rounded, so-young bottom came into view. He couldn’t have asked for anything better. She was beginning to look tense and nervous now. ‘You… you won’t do it too hard… will you, Mr Martin?’ she quavered.
‘As hard as I want,’ he replied flatly. Then seated himself on the upright wooden chair which stood nearby. ‘Come here. Stand before me.’
She came, eyes lowered, hands covering the dark triangular bush. ‘Oh… this is a-awful…’
‘Hands behind your back.’
‘M-must I?’
‘Just do as I say girl. I’m fast losing patience.’ The hands went behind her back. After a few moments, Fred looked up at her puckered face, the cheeks now a bright red. ‘How many do you think you deserve, Susan?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘I… I don’t know…’
‘Then I’ll tell you. You deserve a couple of dozen…’
‘O-ohh!’
‘That’s for not doing my washing. And you’re going to get another couple of dozen for smoking…’
‘Oh no… that’s too much!’
‘Frankly, I’ve a good mind to give you three dozen for smoking. Your mum would approve I know.’
‘Oh, Mr Martin… please…’
‘Come on, over my knees.’ Fred made a grab for the slim figure and over his thighs she went, bare from her waist to her white ankle socks. A lovely, curving stretch of girl-flesh, shivering apprehensively. Being left-handed, Fred gripped the waist tight with his right. The girl’s head was down, hands to the floor. ‘Right… here come the first couple of dozen!’
Fred began to slap steadily and hard… left, right and centre. He was unhurried, trying to make each whack of his palm well and truly felt. Susan gasped loudly as each landed on her soft bum and she bounced up and down, twisting this way and that. The creamy flesh fast changed to red… big splodges of colour all over it. After the first dozen, Susan not only gasped, she yelped and squealed as well. At around the twenty mark, a hand flew back in an attempt to ward off his palm. ‘Hands on the floor, Susan!’ commanded Fred. But now the hand kept coming up and back. Yes, those resounding slaps of his were really beginning to hurt. At twenty four, Fred stopped, ran his hand over the burning girl-flesh, then patted it. ‘Better than a belting, eh?’ he said almost jovially.
She made no reply to this. ‘Oh stop… stop… don’t…’ Fred assumed she was referring to his roving hand, but continued to fondle and pat just the same.
‘Two more dozen still to come,’ he announced. ‘Or maybe three…’
‘Oh no… not three!’
‘We’ll see…’ Fred’s adrenalin was flowing. She wasn’t going to enjoy this second part of her spanking one little bit! He thought it best to take precautions. ‘Hands behind your back,’ he ordered.
‘Wh-why?’
‘Just do it…’ Back came the hands; Fred gripped the wrists tightly. Now she would have no chance of interfering with his descending palm. Fred summoned himself. He’d smacked hard up till then, but now he was determined to smack even harder. Gritting his teeth, he began to lay on again, just as hard as he possibly could. This girl may have had some beltings in her time, but he reckoned she’d never had a spanking like this before! Her ceaseless yells and pleas confirmed this… as did her frantic contortions over his lap. My word, how that lovely young bottie bounced and squirmed. Never ceasing; ever more urgently; ever more wildly.
‘Stooo… oppp… it… oooohhh… stooo… opp… it… that’s enough!
Fred didn’t know it, but his face was a mask of cruel lechery. He was panting, cheeks florid, forehead wet with sweat. His heart was pumping like a steam-hammer. But Fred didn’t care. This kind of opportunity was all too rare and he was going to make the most of it. Susan wouldn’t find it very enjoyable to sit down even by the time her Mum got back on the Monday.
‘Ooooooh… no… m-more.’
Fred had reached the two dozen mark. Forty eight hard-whacking smacks in all. But, regardless of the pounding heart (and the possible consequences of that) he decided to press on with a final dozen. His breath was rasping, his palm burning, but no matter.
‘Smoking… hurr… hurr… is w-wicked… hurrr… hurrr…’ he panted, eyes bulging hotly. ‘You deserve it!’ He began the last dozen, amidst howling-shrieks.
‘You deserve it!’ Fred kept on repeating, at each full-blooded smack. ‘Deserve it… deserve it…  deserve it…’
The two rounded buttock-cheeks, juddering madly and constantly, became of the deepest hue of red.
Deserve it…  deserve it…  deserve it…’
Fred had lost count. What did it matter? He was giving this girl a hiding she would remember all her days!
----//----
He made her stand before him while he examined her tormented flesh. She tottered; she was weeping. ‘I hope I don’t ever catch you smoking again,’ he said, when he’d finally got some breath back. Gradually his heart was slowing down. He’d certainly put some strain on it; dangerous that. But he’d got away with it. And the sight of that glowing-burning bottie made it all very worthwhile! Slowly, the weeping changed to long sobs. No, that would not be nice to sit upon. Meals off the mantlepiece, he thought with a grin. And that thought gave him an idea. Why shouldn’t the girl be made to sit for a while? An hour or so? As an added punishment? Certainly wouldn’t do her any harm.
Fred stood up, went to the larder and took out a can of salt. This he now spread liberally over the seat of the chair. The girl looked at him in dismay and distrust.
‘W-what… ever… are you…  doing…’
‘Making sure you get the full benefit,’ said Fred. ‘Reckon you might well be cured of smoking for a lifetime. Sit on there.’
‘N-no… please… I don’t want to sit…’
‘Sit there… or I’ll give you some more!’ Fred saw the look of horror. She believed him, though he didn’t reckon he’d got much strength left.
P-pleee… eeeease… no… oh I’m burning so!’
Do it girl!’ Fred yelled loudly at her and the girl was shocked into action. She sat on the chair, then instantly leapt up again, shrieking. ‘Tender, eh? Well, so you should be. Sit down again. Now!’
Susan sat gingerly, sobbing heartrendingly as she wriggled about. ‘No… oh no… oh no… no… no…’
‘Stings a bit, I guess,’ nodded Fred complacently. ‘Still, it will teach you my girl, it will teach you.’ Head in hands, Susan simply sobbed and sobbed. Never had she known pain like it.
‘Oh Mr Martin… can I get up now?’ She begged.
‘Course not,’ said Fred roughly. ‘You can stay there for another half hour. Mind you do… or else.’ He grinned. ‘Then you can get on with my washing. Reckon it will be a real treat to be standing by then!’
He rolled out of the kitchen and headed for his bedsit. And a whole host of happy memories!

15 comments:

  1. Marvellous story. Nice to read of an old man getting his spanking pleasures with a pretty young miss like that, especially when she deserves it. Refusing to handwash his stinky pile of yellowing, "disgustingly soiled" 'long johns' indeed! And smoking - a vile and dangerous habit which should always be vehemently discouraged in the young. The idea of sprinkling salt upon a wooden chair and making her park her freshly spanked bare bottom upon it was a wonderful little addition to the girl's ordeal. Hopefully she would have been cured of smoking for life through it. So old Fred would definitely have done young Susan a favour. And there was still that pile of smelly old man's 'woollens' to handwash and iron afterwards!

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  2. I think mum probably helps him out in other ways as well. This little slut would learn a lesson in bed if I was in charge of her

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    2. It's funny. I've been familiar with this story for however many years it is since I first bought the magazine in which it features. Yet I've never really thought about the mum connection before or the possible back story one could construct whether or not it was anything the author actually meant. But I had thought it's kind of strange how this man needed anyone to look after him. After all, we're told he 'looks after the grounds' presumably meaning he's the groundsman at the school where the mother is the caretaker (which is unusual in itself as Blushes' caretakers are usually men and men very similar in lecherous disposition to 'Fred' in this story). So if he's able to be a groundsman then surely he's capable of doing his own washing? That being the case one has to assume that mum's involvement with him has a motivation other than that of being his carer? So maybe she is helping him out in 'other ways' and presuming that she's a lot younger than him maybe for some kind of pecuniary advantage? And maybe, just maybe, for similar motivations she's acceded to the old man's interest in the daughter? After all, we're told she 'leathers' the girl herself so no harm in letting old Fred have his way with her also?

      Well, just some thoughts because though I've always enjoyed this story, the background to it, taken at face value, has never really added up but then I suppose that's not something particularly unusual about these stories (a bit of suspension of disbelief often being required when reading them).

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  3. This kind of female makes me very angry and I cane this sort very hard and for a long time. The point is this lot think they’re special because they think they have nice bottoms. And so they manipulate men and it is unacceptable. I love the sudden change in their fortunes from haughty to humbled as the cane shows them who is in fact in charge & soon enough you have the tearful little cry baby in front of you instead and you can insult her with criticisms of every sort especially denigrating her lack of intelligence & total absence of physical attraction. And under the cane they accept that’s true & the manipulation is now in the right configuration - the male is in charge with prolonged unbearable bare-body punishment including intrusive sexual attentions of one’s choosing.

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  4. Senior gentlemen, please take care when you're spanking a young lady's bare bottom that you don't get carried away and end up putting some strain on the old ticker like young Fred here. There's worse ways to shuffle off this mortal coil of course but so much better to be around to deliver more anguished lessons to these deserving young minxes. Why not instead 'let the cane take the strain'? In other words, spank her up nicely without overdoing it, before letting rip with a nice, swishy length of rattan. So much less effort but so much more pain. More pain meaning more gain (for you at least), as they say!

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  5. Picture 7 always one of my favourites. The slut head down, bare bottom, cunt on display to him, no privacy, defeated. The gentleman looks at her with utter contempt and in total control; hands crossed; work done; slut humiliated and diminished. Superb. FDHA

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    1. Especially if, as the story tells us, she has been made to park her red and sore, freshly spanked bare arse on a wooden chair liberally sprinkled with salt.

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  6. "Let the cane take the strain". Ha ha!
    Well said.I like that.
    Can never cane these naughty young minxes enough,in my view.
    So,if your spanking hand needs a rest,cane her.
    If she is rude or lazy,cane her.
    Wilful ? Arrogant ? Bratty ? Cheeky ?
    For any or all the above...and more...
    take your favourite wench of choice and
    ...well,you know...
    CANE HER!

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    1. And if she's sweetly innocent, nervous and shy? CANE HER!

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  7. Well said,Anonymous. Whether she is a
    shy cutie or a brazen tart...CANE HER!
    The modern miss has gone without proper
    discipline for far too long.That is why
    so many of them have turned into the rude,bratty,excessive alcohol fuelled,
    argumentative,under dressed,unruly and,
    oddly enough,frequently unhappy females
    that we see about us all the time.
    Once upon a time,girls were (generally)
    sweet tempered;once upon a time,girls were feminine and never swore;once upon a time,girls were polite and respectful,because once upon a time,
    for any or all of the above reasons,
    GIRLS GOT THE CANE!
    Why,even the merest hint that if her behaviour did not improve,her bottom would be caned,was usually enough to make most misses buck up their silly ideas and notions in an instant and why was that ? Because once tasted,most girls were desperate to avoid another appointment with the biting,stinging,whippy,welt producing,blazing hot,painful kiss of
    THE CANE!

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    1. CANE HER and then FUCK HER! And then CANE HER AGAIN! Or, if you're an old grandad who can't get it up anymore, bring her off with your fingers and then CANE HER AGAIN! Or just bring her to the brink of orgasm and then drop her like a hot brick and CANE HER AGAIN!

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  8. From age 18 onwards until at least 40
    or more,all girls should be subject to
    copious amounts of corporal punishment,
    should have to wear school uniform in-
    corporating perhaps an emblem badge that features a pair of crossed rattan
    canes embossed on it,learn their adult
    Schoolgirl rule books by heart,ditto large amounts of spanking and erotic verse and generally be subject to and
    unquestioningly compliant with male
    authority and instruction.
    All girls will be required to attend ultra strict adult schools,where even
    the slightest inattention,cheek,bad behaviour or uniform infraction will be
    met with generous applications of the
    slipper,tawse,birch and,of course,THE
    CANE! Similarly the girl will,of course,be subject to an identical,morally nutritious diet of discipline at home,as well.
    Perhaps we can only dream about such things...but WHAT A DREAM!
    Let all naughty girls tremble at the
    very thought of such things befalling them not just for months or years but
    DECADES!
    So gentlemen,even if it is only in our
    flights of fancy;even if it is only in
    our wildest dreams,at least there,let us lay a new foundation stone dedicated
    to the discipline,training and reforming of all naughty girls anywhere
    and everywhere and make it,gentlemen,our moral duty of care towards the currently cossetted little
    darlings,to all agree to CANE THEM!
    Be the setting scholastic or domestic,
    CANE THEM,CANE THEM,CANE THEM!!!
    What a dream!
    All those in favour,post aye!
    After all,it is for their own good!

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