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Tuesday, 3 December 2019

Mr Forbes

From Roué 15
It had all started when I’d given Mr Forbes, the tutor, notice that I intended to increase the rent of the premises he used over a shop which I owned in the High Street. He’d been most affronted and had talked about finding other premises of a — ‘more suitable nature, while I’m about it.’ He declared himself far from satisfied with the ‘ambience’ of the rooms he rented.
I didn’t think he really meant that he’d find other rooms; I felt sure he was simply letting off steam. The thing was though, I now had a lever. I’d always been fascinated to know just what did go on in those couple of offices; now perhaps I’d be able to confirm my suspicions at first hand. I had let the suggestion drop, very gently.
He’d been somewhat taken aback — but his reaction confirmed me in my belief that the rumours I’d heard were actually true.
It had been agreed. The rent would stay the same. In return —.
Which is why, on that Friday afternoon, I found myself ascending the narrow flight of stairs to Mr Forbes’ ‘office suite’ with my pulses pounding in my ears and my expectations running very high. I went through the outer room and stopped at the inner door. I knocked as arranged, and waited for an answer.
‘Come in!’ I entered, sick with excitement at the prospect before me.
I closed the door behind me and slipped guiltily onto a chair which stood against the back wall of the little one-pupil classroom. I smiled awkwardly at Mr Forbes, the way you do when you’ve just spilt your drink over someone’s wife. He barely nodded.
He had the girl down to her knickers, standing tautly, shiveringly at attention a pace or two in front of a big desk behind which he was sitting, pen in hand, apparently correcting or checking through a piece of work. A skirt — hers I supposed — was folded over the back of the chair which was pushed under the smaller, school-type desk. The cheeks of her bum glowed warmly where the elastic of her green school knickers failed to stretch fully round the chubbiness of her buttocks. Her blouse stopped a few inches below waist level. The knickers were tightish, and plumped out her bottom nicely.
Nervously, frightened of being discovered, she risked a glance over her shoulder at me, but turned her head away sharply as papers rustled on the desk. Mr Forbes put his pen down with an air of finality.
‘Not brilliant, is it?’ he said ironically.
‘N-n-n’ She stumbled over the simple answer.
‘Not even legible, some of it. Not what I’d call an acceptable piece of work, my girl. Is that clear?’
‘Y-yes —’ She got it out this time. The cheeks of her bottom wobbled gently as she scraped one shoe nervously against the other one. He’d given her a good spanking, I could see that! Had ‘em down to do it, shouldn’t wonder. Had her ‘bare-bummed’.
‘Not acceptable,’ he repeated.
She must have wriggled like mad. Bare-bummed and wriggling, that was how she’d got it.
‘— up nice and tight!’
What? What did he say?
She was fumbling at the waistband of her knickers. Pulling them up, tugging the material close into the cleft of her bum, cheeks squeezing out plumply. Thrusting her hips to one side then the other, still tugging, knickers stretched bow-string taut up between her buttocks.
‘Over the desk! And stick it out, my girl — stick it right out!’
She stuck it out, knickers yanked up tight, gusset straining close over the plumpness inside. Bum round and tight and pleading for it, good and hard!
The cane reached across the lower rotundity of her bottom, teasing the bared cheeks with little measured taps. She tensed her buttocks. Whimpered. Jerked as the cane taunted her out-thrust bottom with a brisker, admonitory tap.
‘And don’t wriggle this time Miss, or you’ll know all about it!’
‘Y-y-y—’
He didn’t wait for her to stammer out the reply. The cane swooshed wickedly across the full weightiness of the under-curve.
Her buttocks squeezed pathetically together. Her gasps were muffled by the proximity of her face to the desk. She clung on to her knickers and pulled for all she was worth. Her buttocks shivered. She pressed her thighs tightly together. A pair of reddening lines welled rapidly on each thrusting cheek.
I watched the next stroke, and the next, and the one after that, as the cane bit into her rapidly animating backside. Her knees milled against each other and jerked straight and flexed and straightened again. She squealed helplessly as the fifth and sixth strokes alighted briskly on the crowns of her twitchy buttocks. The squeezing, tweaking, in-and-outing of her struggling bum persisted for a full twenty seconds after the last stroke and her gasping filled out into loud, gulping sobs.
‘Get up!’
She scrambled to her feet, hands hovering bum-high behind her as she fought against the desperate need to clutch at her bottom and rub the smart away.
He parked her in a corner of the classroom, knickers still tucked up her cleft, hands folded in front of her, head tilting forward and sniffles bubbling snottily every few seconds.
He looked at me and gestured to the door, and I abandoned my rather self-conscious survey of the girl’s cane-roasted bum and followed him out of the room.
Outside he’d dug a pipe out from his pocket and set fire to it. Smoke belched in every direction and I moved a little away for safety’s sake, restraining a cough.
‘Right then,’ he said, ‘she’s all yours.’
‘Thanks.’ I said. It sounded a bit silly.
‘I’ll be back in twenty minutes or so.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘OK?’
‘Um — look, suppose her mother or someone comes for her —’
‘Father,’ he said. ‘Well, step-father actually — and he won’t.’
‘Oh — well, if you’re sure.’ I hesitated now that I was on the very brink.
‘I’m sure,’ he said.
‘Right. Um — can I — can I cane her?’
‘Up to you. You said you wanted to be ‘teacher’, so be teacher. If she needs the cane, then cane her. Teachers cane girls, don’t they?’
‘Yes, I suppose so —. But look — I noticed that she’s still got her knickers on. Is it that you don’t take their knickers down, or what?’
‘If you want her knickers down, take ‘em down.’ He puffed his pipe for a moment. ‘For all I care you can strip her stark naked.’
I nodded, helpless at the thought of doing that with her.
‘Right, I’ll be off. See you later.’
‘Fine —’
I felt anything but fine as he departed. I listened to his footsteps going down the stairs, then he shut the street door none too gently and was gone.
I closed the door to the landing and went back to the classroom feeling more nervous than excited. I hesitated in the doorway, unsure of myself. The girl in the corner was looking anxiously at me over her shoulder, eyes bright with the aftermath of tears. I stepped into the room and closed the door. I moved to the desk — it seemed to be somewhere to start from — and the girl turned her head to look at me over her other shoulder. It made me feel awkward, being observed like that. I swallowed and tried out my authoritarian voice.
‘Face the wall!’ I said, not too convincingly.
She snatched her glance away at once.
I looked her over, feeling less ‘out on a limb’ with her eyes no longer on me, and wondered what to do with her. Mr Forbes hadn’t seemed at all concerned what I did with the girl, which didn’t help much. I had the feeling I’d be more certain of my ground if I knew something about this girl with the caned bottom which pushed itself so saucily at me.
‘What — what’s your name?’ I enquired. Perhaps I shouldn’t have ‘enquired’. Perhaps I should have demanded.
‘Carol, sir,’ she whispered, peeping over her shoulder again.
‘Face the wall!’ I ‘demanded’, trying my authority out. She turned away at once.
‘Sorry sir —’
I edged closer as I eyed the striped crimson of her part-naked bum. It did look sore! Her fat young cheeks simply begged to be cupped in the palm of my hand.
‘When do you have to go?’
‘Um — when I’m told, sir. When Daddy comes back for me, I expect.’
‘I see —. And will Daddy expect to find you — um —?’ I patted the freshly-punished bareness spilling out from the green knickers.
‘P-pardon, sir?’ I squeezed the pert cheeks and she trembled, her buttocks tweaking together. The skin was hot under my hand, the cane stripes slightly raised. She kept her face to the wall but I could feel her nervousness.
‘Will he be surprised to find you — like this?’
I heard her swallow. She turned her head slightly — I could see the dampness on her cheeks still — and she said something so quietly that I had to ask her to say it again.
‘No, sir — he — er — he likes to see me — see me —’ She tailed off into a whisper.
‘Hmmm? Likes to see you —? What does he like, hmmm?’ I slid my hand coaxingly up the curve of one buttock and eased the tight elastic just a fraction higher, the soft vibrancy of her cheek filling under my hand as I bared her a little more.
‘To find me — caned, sir.’
‘Caned, eh? Likes to see this little bottom —’ which I patted as I said it — ‘nicely caned, does he? Hmm?’
‘Y -yes sir — an’ —’
‘Hmm? And what —?’ She shied away, just the tiniest bit, as I nudged the rucked knickers carefully into the crease from the other side. I slapped her gently, making her bottom tremble at the mild contact.
‘Sir — and — and Mr Forbes — he t-takes my knicks down — right down sir — an’ makes me get up on the chair — I have to kneel up on it sir — f-for when Daddy comes for me sir —’
‘I see —’ I could smell the fragrance of her nearness; a fresh, youthful tang — ‘so you’re ‘on display’, eh?’
‘I — I s’pose so, sir.’
‘And do you like having your knickers taken down, hmm?’
‘N-no sir — not very much —’
‘And being caned? How about that? D’you like getting the cane?’
‘No sir — it — it hurts sir —’
‘Yes, it would.’ I smacked her hot, plump bottom several more times, fractionally harder. She swerved her hips away to one side, though hesitantly, as if unwilling to risk angering me.
‘And at home? Do you have your bottom caned at home?’
‘S-sir — no sir.’
‘No? Why’s that?’ I could feel the lively girlishness of her body as I coaxed the saucy cheeks back into range again.
‘B-because he’s not s’posed to —’
‘Really? Not supposed to?’
‘No sir —’ She squirmed away from an exploratory fingertip with a muted gasp of protest.
‘Why not? Hmm?’
‘Cos Mum says it’s not right sir — he’s not my real father — he’s only my step-father sir — ooooh!’
‘Keep still now!’ I had to smack her a teeny bit harder, little wriggle-bottom! ‘So — Mum doesn’t think he ought to cane you, hmm?’
‘N-no sir — oooo — oooh!’
She teetered up onto her toes, pulling away as much as she dared, though that wasn’t much.
‘And yet you get caned here. Doesn’t your Mum mind that?’
‘N-no sir — oooo — ooh — !’ Now that she’d edged forward into the corner she didn’t find it so easy to skitter away.
‘Why not?’
‘Sir — cos it’s different sir — with a t-teacher. Ooooh —!’
‘I see —’ I had to spank her again, up under the roundness just above the tops of her thighs. ‘So you’re sent here, to Mr Forbes, to get this little bottom caned, hmm?’
‘Yes sir — sort of, I s’pose — but mum s-says she’d rather I had a t-teacher at home, sir.’
‘Why’s that, hmm?’
‘Sir — ‘cos I’m s’posed to — ooh — b-be doing music lessons — after school sir — aaa — aaahhh — b-but I have to miss them to come here sir — cos Mr Forbes can’t see me any later s-sir —’
‘Really? So if you had a tutor at home —’ I slapped her good and hard. ‘— now stop doing that!’ I eased her into the corner again. ‘Come on now — stick it out — like that. That’s it.’ She gulped her protests, but at least she stayed as she was put at last. ‘If you had a tutor come to your house, you could have your music lessons as well?’
‘S-sir — ooooo — y-yessir —!’
It was a fascinating thought!
‘I see! Well now — perhaps I ought to give your mother a ring —’
‘You c-can’t sir — Mummy’s in Canada at the m-moment —’
‘Canada?’
‘Yessir — oooogh —’ She slumped limply against the wall as I let her slip slowly off the hook.
‘Well, well — and when will she be back?’
‘N-not for months, sir.’
Not for months!
I heard the footsteps on the stairs as if from a great distance. Surely not yet! I had hardly got started! I saw Carol straighten up in her corner, looking nervously at the door. It wasn’t fair! He said twenty minutes!
He breezed in through the classroom door. He hardly looked at the girl or me and went straight to his desk. He took out some papers and then glanced up.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘stupid of me, but I’m afraid I’ve just realised —. Well the point is, would you mind too much if I left you to it here? Perhaps you could sort of hang on until Carol’s father gets here, eh? Sort of hand her over — know what I mean?’
I was dumbstruck — but not so much that I wasn’t able to nod rather vigorously.
‘Fine. That’s a relief.’ He gathered up his papers and headed for the door. ‘Oh — by the way — her father likes her to be up on a chair with her knickers round her knees, all that sort of thing, when he picks her up. Likes to see she’s had a bit of the stick — makes him feel his money’s well-spent. Could you see to that for me?’
‘Yes, of course —’
‘Thanks.’ He turned to go again and then another thought struck him. ‘Oh — and would you mind? Put her back over the desk and give her another half-dozen, there’s a good chap. She doesn’t look as if she’s had a proper whacking.’
‘Yes — if you say so —’
‘OK, thanks.’ And then he was gone again.
Bewildered at this turn of events I pulled myself together as best I could and my eyes came to rest on Carol’s timid gaze as she peeped over her shoulder.
‘Right then! Ours not to reason why, eh?’ I beckoned her from her corner. ‘Come along now. Let’s have you across here —’
She whimpered helplessly and looked pleadingly at me with her moist eyes, yet she seemed to know that there was no way out. Breathing with the sudden irregular rhythm of near-panic she went haltingly across to the desk over which she had been bent less than fifteen minutes earlier. Blinking back tears she lowered herself into position, legs straightening as she settled her tummy onto the desk-top. Her deliciously plump bum presented itself with a reluctant shiver, bared as much as was strictly necessary by the arrangement of her school knickers, but I told her boldly to, ‘Pull those knickers right up tight, Miss!’
She stretched them as fully as the material would allow. She was as bare now as made no difference.
‘And let’s have it stuck right out now!’ I said, echoing Mr Forbes’ instructions of before.
Obediently, though her unhappiness at the imminent prospect of feeling the cane across her bottom again so soon was perfectly evident, she hollowed her back and offered her striped derriere up for another dose in frightened humility. Between her slightly parted legs the tantalising juiciness swelling inside her knickers plumped out guiltily.
I looked round for the cane. I couldn’t find the damn thing! I sought through the cupboard, the drawer of the desk, everywhere I could think of, finding a strap, several rulers, a clothes-brush, but no bloody cane!
‘Where’s the cane?’ I had to ask.
‘P-p-probably behind the d-door, sir —’
There it was, hanging serenely on a hook on the door. I could have sworn it hadn’t been there before! I took it from its hook and went round to that side of the desk from which I would get a nice right-handed swing at my schoolgirl’s waiting bottom. She looked at me fearfully from desk-top height, her bum shivering nervously as I laid the stick lightly, indeed dubiously, across the round firmness of her buttocks.
The charmingly disciplined way in which she stuck her bottom up and out was perfect, deliciously so, but some devilment inside me made me want to see her shove it even more prominently up in the air, so with an air of patience which was in fact stomach-churning eagerness I slid the cane round the underside of her cheeks and tapped it repeatedly in an upward direction, coaxing her just that fraction higher.
‘Come along now Carol — you can do better than that!’
Her thigh muscles tautened as she thrust her toes against the floor, hollowing her back as much as she possibly could. She gained no more than half an inch in elevation, but her bum seemed that much more caneable, buttocks curving adorably, while the satisfaction of having her strain for that last humiliating bit of height simply for the sake of having her poor bum caned added considerably to my excitement.
I placed the cane carefully across the crown of both cheeks, taking aim meticulously while in fact having no idea whether I’d be able to bring the cane down anywhere near my aiming point. My concentration was not aided by the tremblyness of those two skittish buttocks, nor by her fearful gasps of anticipation. Only at length did I feel that I was ready.
I swung the cane to something like shoulder level and brought it down as firmly as I could. It alighted with a stingy sounding Whapp! and bounced energetically off the tightly-thrusting buttocks. While it quivered momentarily in my hand young Carol remained in an unmoving yet potentially dynamic limbo between, as it seemed, apparently feeling the pain while refusing to believe in it. Then, with a simultaneous squeal, she squeezed her buttocks together and jolted her hips forward against the edge of the desk with a bending of her knees and tossing of her head which threatened to displace her from her perch atop the desk. Her squeal was followed without pause for breath by several sobbing exhalations, then she clumped forward onto the desk again and her hips rocked vigorously from side to side three or four times in quick succession.
Cane in hand, I saw this energetic response to the single cane-stroke and found myself ashiver with emotion. This was it! What I’d been waiting years for!
Over-eager now, I lined up the next stroke and gave it to her solidly up under her cheeks. Her squealing, squirming reaction was perfect!
I caned her again, then again, stimulated unbelievably by her yelping struggles after each stroke, not the least moved by sympathy when she was unable to prevent her hands darting back to clasp themselves frantically to her wriggling bum, not caring that this squirming slip of a girl had been a perfect stranger to me less than half an hour before, that she had done nothing in this world to me to deserve a fraction of the humiliation and anguish that I was subjecting her to.
Somehow I retained sufficient hold on reality to desist from caning her after the sixth stroke, though in truth it might have been the seventh or even the eighth. Her half-knickered bum snatched this way and that until the pain subsided enough for her to regain control, though her grip on herself seemed tenuous in the extreme as I huskily ordered her to her feet and back to the corner.
She stumbled to the designated place awash with tears, face flushed and newly-crimsoned bottom bouncing behind her, cane-marks now overlapping others in an unbalanced welter of stripeyness.
Overwrought with excitement I had to leave her to blubber and seek the less heady atmosphere of the adjoining room. I was haunted by the sound of her weeping as I slowly gained the upper hand over my emotional state. I took deep breaths and finally I felt able to go back into the classroom.
Carol was holding onto her bottom as she fought to bring her tears under control, knickers now having slipped back into place over her caned buttocks. I remembered suddenly that her father would be coming to collect her — perhaps in a few minutes — and I remembered too the train of thought I’d been following before Mr Forbes had barged back into the classroom.
‘Carol —’
‘S-sir?’ Red-eyed, damp-cheeked. Helplessness in her voice.
‘Get the chair. The one Mr Forbes puts you on.
‘Yessir —’ She scampered to the chair tucked under the smaller desk and hauled it to the middle of the room. She looked at me timidly, running a finger round up under the leg of her knickers.
‘You know what to do, I suppose?’
‘Yes sir.’ She knelt on the chair, facing away from the door, and yanked her pants down with one swift movement. Her stripey buttocks trembled from the vigour of their revelation, hot and tender-looking. We waited, I no less on tenterhooks than she. Five minutes passed, during which time Carol overcame her weepiness altogether. I sat in pseudo-scholastic pose at the large desk, the girl’s punished bottom a beacon which drew my eyes to itself unavoidably.
The approach of footsteps. All at once I realised that it might not be he for whom we waited. Carol knelt unsteadily on the hard chair and kept her blouse gathered high at her waist.
‘Good evening?’ He sounded dubious, finding a stranger at the teacher’s desk.
‘Hello. Forrest —’ I said. ‘Mike Forrest. I’m standing in for Mr Forbes.’
‘Oh —’ His eyes wandered over Carol’s caned posterior, resplendent in its nudity. ‘So — she’s been a naughty girl again, I see!’
‘Yes, she has rather —’ I watched most carefully as he examined Carol’s bottom from close range, stooping slightly the better to see the evidence of the girl’s punishment. I tried to ascertain the relationship between them, though I wasn’t entirely successful in that. I made my move as he straightened up from his lengthy inspection.
‘I’m a qualified tutor,’ I lied, ‘new to this part of the world though. I’m intending to start my own little establishment — but meanwhile I’m having to visit my pupils at their houses. Just until I can find suitable premises, of course.’
‘Indeed —?’ He looked from me to his daughter’s caned bum and back again. ‘Indeed. Well, as a matter of fact my wife has been saying for some time that young Carol here ought to be tutored at home. She’s got her ‘A’ levels coming up — she needs the extra tuition — but there’s a bit of a problem. She’s been having to miss her music lessons after school —’

1 comment:

  1. I am all for a bit of fantasy and imagination but this story is ridiculous

    ReplyDelete