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Monday, 2 December 2019

Out of the Frying Pan

From Blushes 19
Melissa was there for a whacking.
Saturday evening at the Head’s house. Not at all a nice prospect for Mr Rawling could be a real bugger with his cane, and canings at his house were always ten times worse than at school in his study. Because canings at his house, usually on Saturday evenings, were unofficial; they were whackings for something you wouldn’t want made public. So therefore Mr Rawling could really let fly and however hard he caned you, you weren’t going to complain, you weren’t going to show those weals to your mother. Because although she might be very angry with the Head for marking your bottom like that she would naturally also want to know why he had caned you. And then…
He had found out about Melissa and her boyfriend, Greg Brinkley; found out that they had been going out to the old hut in the woods. Melissa didn’t know how much he had actually known, by spying perhaps, or whether he had simply guessed, but anyway he had gone to see Greg and managed to force a confession out of him and made him produce a signed statement as to what they had been doing. Then he had seen Melissa in his study, showing her what Greg had written.
That had been really awful, reading what Greg had said. And then Mr Rawling’s gloating voice: ‘By rights I should report this matter to your mother; show her this disgusting statement.’ His creepy hand had squeezed the back of Melissa’s knee as she stood at the side of his desk. ‘What do you think, Melissa?’ And then as the creepy hand crept up, the alternative.
Quite simply of course Mr Rawling liked caning girls. Big girls that was — Sixth and Upper Sixth Formers — and naturally ones who were pretty and shapely best of all. Melissa had felt really awful as she stood there trying to take no notice of his busy hand. He was almost licking his lips, knowing she had no choice, knowing he was going to get what he wanted. Her mother would go berserk if she found out about Greg.
‘Saturday evening, at my house. Eight o’clock and don’t be late.’
Melissa had gulped. She knew about Saturday evening at Mr Rawling’s house, knew the rumour and, more than that, she knew for a fact because her friend Charlotte had had one of those secret canings at his house, last year in the Lower Sixth. Melissa had seen Charlotte’s bottom the day afterwards and it still, 24 hours later, had pretty awful weals on it. He had caught Charlotte smoking in the loo and had threatened to expel her.
It was three weeks ago now that the Head had said that; ‘Saturday evening at my house…’ Melissa had thought it would be that Saturday and then it would be over. A sickening whacking but then it would be finished. Well, she had got the caning all right and, yes, it had been pretty dreadful; but then he had said: ‘Mmmm… considering the seriousness of this offence, Melissa, I rather think another dose next week.’
That was last Saturday when he had whipped her bare bottom again — and then said the same thing. So here she was, for a third time. And maybe he wasn’t ever going to stop, because he could continue to blackmail her with that letter of Greg’s. That was a really horrifying thought: having to do this every Saturday. Cycle over to Mr Rawling’s and take her dress off and get bent over the bed up in his bedroom. And then have her knickers pulled down. And then that awful, awful cane that really did make you not want to sit down for the rest of the day.
She had thought about that and then the sudden thought had come that just possibly she could stop this awful train of events — if she could get that letter that Greg had written with all those juicy details of what they had done out in the woods. Could she get it? Because last time Mr Rawling hadn’t been in when she got there. He had said he might be out and if so Melissa was to let herself in and get her dress off and wait.
Mr Rawling had said that again this time. He might have to go out and if he was she was to let herself in and get her dress off and wait as before. Last time Melissa hadn’t thought of it but now… if he wasn’t in and she had a quick look round and maybe found it…
Her heart was really in her mouth when she got to his place. Almost afraid to ring the bell but then making herself… and waiting… A second ring and again no answer. Oh Cripes! She shot round the side to where he had showed her he left the key if he went out. Yes! Frantically she grabbed it and ran back. He was out but who knew when he would be back: two minutes… or twenty…?
Inside that eerie feeling that you have in an empty house. Or one you think is empty. The sensible thing was to go calmly into each room and make sure. Be quick. And then get her dress off like she was supposed to, so she would be ready. And then… search!
There was no one in. Not Mr Rawling or anyone else lurking and waiting to grab her. Empty, the last rays of the setting sun in the hallway and the front rooms. And the front bedroom where very shortly she would be over the edge of the bed with her knickers down and the dreadful cane sizzling down. But perhaps it could be the last time. If only
In the bedroom she took off her dress and laid it on the bed. Keep calm! Just a vest and pants and her school ankle-socks and shoes. That was how he wanted her; he had specified it last time and yesterday said wear the same again. No bra, just the vest and also ‘Brief pants, Melissa.’ She had been wearing those very brief ones when he had had her in his office three weeks ago to show her Greg’s letter. Mr Rawling with his hand up her skirt at her bottom had naturally known that. ‘Brief pants. Melissa.’
She had a quick glance in his mirror. Here, once again in Mr Rawling’s bedroom. Her unbrassiered tits jutting out in the thin vest. She had just about the biggest ones in the school. Last time when Mr Rawling had finished with his cane he had made her take the vest off…
She forced herself into action. If she could find it… she crept downstairs again, although there was no need to creep, and into the hallway. A quick scared peek through the net curtain on the door. No, no one coming up the driveway, or as far as she could see in the road. OK, get moving.
In his sitting room there was an attractive-looking bureau. As soon as she saw it Melissa was sure that was where the letter was. But the top was closed… and when she tried to open it Melissa found it was locked. She banged at it impotently, even more certain now that the letter was in there. It wouldn’t open and there was no key to be seen. A wave of panic rose up in her but she fought it. The letter might not be in there. Keep looking.
She examined the pots on the mantelpiece and then investigated the dining room and kitchen. It was nowhere. Melissa felt even more sure it was in that locked bureau but she made herself go upstairs and keep looking. Nothing in two bedrooms. Back finally to the front bedroom, where he caned her. And there she found it — in a vase on the dresser. She hadn’t thought what she was going to do with it and just then, looking out of the window there was Mr Rawling coming along the road.
Really panicking this time Melissa stuck the letter in her dress pocket and folded it over on the bed, then ran downstairs. ‘Be waiting in the hallway.’ Mr Rawling had said. She stood there, shaking like a leaf. She should have flushed the letter down the loo… Now she could see him, through the net. Unlocking the door… suddenly he was there. Melissa thought she was going to faint.
‘Good girl; on time then.’ She mumbled ‘Yessir.’ Mr Rawling’s hand round behind… groping at the brief knickers, at her plump bottom.
‘I hope I haven’t kept you waiting. A girl doesn’t want to be kept waiting when her bottom has to be attended to, does she?’
Melissa made a gulping sound. All she could think of was that letter. She wasn’t even thinking about the dreadful whacking she was very shortly to get, only that letter.
‘Mmm. Let’s go up then, shall we? Let’s deal with this.’ The hand gave an extra intimate squeeze to ‘this’.
Up the stairs again, Mr Rawling close behind her this time. Close behind the ripe rump in the scanty knicks. Melissa biting her lip, not really thinking about what he was doing. In the bedroom it seemed like a magnet. Her dress folded on the bed and it was almost as if he must know what was hidden in it. He had only to pick it up and then…
Mr Rawling was getting his cane, from over in the corner. Coming back. ‘All set then, Melissa? Get it over with, shall we?’
She mumbled something, not even sure herself what it was meant to be. Mr Rawling sitting down on the bed had slipped his fingers in the narrow sides of her knickers. Sliding them down. His eyes sharp on what was revealed. Then standing. All the time her dress…
‘Over the bed then. Miss.’ His hand at her bottom guiding her down, in the process grabbing, groping. Melissa bent forward, to lie face down. Next to her dress. If only somehow… she was feeling a bit funny, the room was doing funny things, sort of getting bigger and smaller. She gripped at the bed-clothes.
Crack!…
She gave a groaning grunt into the bed-cover, her bottom jerking sharply. It was a real stinger but even now the fierce pain in her bottom wasn’t the only thing. What was she going to do about the dress…?
Crack!!…
A garbled yelp automatically coming out again. If only she had thought to flush it down the loo… or even throw it out of the window. But on the other hand could it possibly remain concealed?
Mr Rawling cracked viciously in again, squarely across the full thrust of the womanly cheeks. Further down this time, the undercurve, below where the other two marks of impact were now standing out bright red against the pale almost white. Another highly satisfying desperate clenching and writhing of the shocked flesh. There was no doubt about it, 17-year-old girls didn’t like the stick across their bare bottoms.
He gave her six, as he had on the previous Saturdays. No need to overdo it, because he intended to go on enjoying this heady pleasure for… well, indefinitely. Sexual immorality was the worst crime when you were at a respectable girls’ school and there was no doubt whatsoever that her mother would agree — as the girl well knew. So now he’d got his nice little hold on her why not continue to drive that message home every Saturday evening? It was for her own good. But six was enough, because he did cane rather hard.
Melissa struggled to her feet. Her poor bottom felt like it was on fire. But even so…
‘Is that going to make you think more about the error of your ways?’ Melissa produced a stammered ‘Yes sir.’ She wasn’t actually crying but her breathing was all haywire, all gaspy. Mr Rawling was sitting on the bed and had turned her round. Closely examining what he had done to her bottom.
He got to his feet. ‘Take your vest off, Melissa.’
Like last time. Obediently she pulled it over her head. Her ripely jutting breasts bare, raised by her lifted arms and then settling just a little as she brought her arms down. Mr Rawling’s hands…
‘You see, you’re a big girl now, Melissa, and big girls have to learn to be responsible with their bodies.’ The hands were at her big boobs, moulding them. Mr Rawling very red in the face. ‘Not creeping off to secret corners and doing all those disgraceful things.’
She shivered. Her bottom was still killing her and his hands squeezing her boobs was inevitably doing things too. Her nipples had stiffened up. And at the same time there was what was going to happen shortly.
He finished his squeezing. ‘All right, get your clothes on.’
The moment of truth, as they called it. For some seconds Melissa felt paralysed, unable to move, her mind unwilling to act. And then… she dragged up her knickers… Picked up her knickers… Picked up her vest and began to pull it on. If she lifted her dress ever so carefully and maybe turned away from Mr Rawling for a moment… maybe it wouldn’t fall out and maybe it wouldn’t show that it was in the skirt pocket. Maybe she just might…
Then… it was like being in one of those awful dreams where things happen but you are frozen and just can’t do anything. Mr Rawling was reaching out for her dress… and picking it up. He had picked it up by the skirt and as he lifted it the letter slowly fell out. As she watched it seemed to take an age to fall the few inches onto the bed. And then another age as Mr Rawling reached out and picked up the letter.
He didn’t seem angry, just sort of gloating. Because of course, apart from all those other Saturdays that were to come, it did give him a marvellous excuse to have another go at her right now.
This time he made her take her knickers completely off and lie on the bed, on her back. And lift her legs and grip them behind the knees. He said it was a special position for a nasty, sneaky girl.
----//----
Melissa sat mournfully on the steps of the mouldy old cellar. It was probably full of cockroaches and rats and things. Could it be that she was out of the frying pan into the fire?
At least she wasn’t going to that old bugger Rawling’s any more on Saturday evenings. For the purpose of getting her bare bottom viciously caned each time. ‘I want to ensure the message is properly driven home to you, Melissa.’ Pious sentiments in Mr Rawling’s prim tones whereas you knew that all he really wanted was to keep on enjoying himself with that cane.
At least she had finally got out of that. Or rather this Mr Cutler had got her out of it. But… it was Mr Cutler who had put her down here in this rotten cellar and locked the door, so things weren’t exactly one hundred per cent better. As it happened it was a Saturday again.
Mr Cutler had finally sorted Mr Rawling out. After her friend Charlotte said. ‘You can’t go on like this, letting him do that every Saturday.’
‘What am I going to bloody do, then?’ wailed a tearful Melissa. After her own abortive attempt to get the letter, Mr Rawling had shown every sign of going on with his Saturday canings for ever. And the canings were now even worse than before — if that was possible. He was now mostly doing it in that awful way. Melissa on her back and holding her legs up in the air. ‘How can I bloody stop him?’
Charlotte said she knew this bloke and she thought he could sort Mr Rawling out. Threaten him or something. ‘Put the frighteners on him’, which was an expression Charlotte had got from some TV programme. Melissa had been dubious, not knowing this Mr Cutler but Charlotte had told him and it had done the trick. Last Wednesday, presumably after being visited by Mr Cutler, Mr Rawling had called Melissa into his study and said that the canings were over. He was satisfied that she had learnt her lesson. Mr Rawling had looked a bit nervous so perhaps this Mr Cutler had put the frighteners on.
The only problem was that Mr Cutler now had the letter. Melissa knew this because Mr Cutler had told her. Thursday he was there waiting after school. Charlotte introduced her and he had given them both a lift. He dropped Charlotte off near her house but before dropping Melissa off they went and parked and had a little chat. It was then he said he had the letter. ‘Hot stuff, eh!’ he grinned.
He meant the letter which Greg had written — what Melissa and Greg had been doing out in the woods and which Mr Rawling had forced Greg to write as a confession before he let Greg off — because he wanted to use it to blackmail Melissa so he could cane her. Which he had been doing for five weeks.
Melissa had flushed when Mr Cutler said that. Greg had been very explicit — presumably Mr Rawling had made him write all the details. Red-faced, she said. ‘Can I have it back please? I want to burn it.’
But he didn’t give it to her. Instead with a little laugh he said. ‘All in good time. No hurry.’ And then his hand came across and squeezed her knee.
This Mr Cutler was quite a bit younger than the Headmaster and sort of scary-looking. You could imagine him scaring the Head, putting the frighteners on him. He had sort of hard eyes, and a moustache. Melissa didn’t like that hand on her knee but she didn’t feel like simply telling him to take it off.
The hand squeezed and slid up a bit, onto her thigh. ‘So you were being a naughty girl out in the woods. I bet your mum’d like to know about that. And that old Headmaster, caning your bare bum every Saturday. A real Dirty Old Man, eh?’
Melissa didn’t like this talk at all; nor did she like his hand. ‘That’s why I want that letter back. I just want to destroy it.’
He laughed again. ‘All in good time, young lady. You’re a real good-looker, aren’t you? And real big knockers too.’
Then his hand came away from Melissa’s leg and up to her blazer, to the buttons. She yelped ‘Hey!’ but he undid the buttons anyway, pulling her blazer open. Before she knew it he had his hand on one of her boobs. This time Melissa did try to push his hand away and she yelped. ‘Cut it out.’
The hand wouldn’t go away. Mr Cutler said. ‘Don’t be like that. Just remember what I’ve done for you.’ He squeezed her boob and then he squeezed the other one. ‘Mmm, really big ones. I bet that boy Greg really gets the hots for them, eh? I bet all the other boys do as well.’
Melissa, now sitting on the stairs in this rotten cellar, remembered all this and shivered. Out of the frying pan and into the fire? That was Thursday and this was Saturday, two days later. She was in the cellar of some old place that he’d driven her to out in the country.
He had said she had to come with him and of course Melissa had to because he had that bloody letter. ‘A little drive on Saturday. A nice little drive out in the country.’ She had said she couldn’t but Mr Cutler said, ‘Tell your mum you’re going out with that Charlotte.’ And that was what Melissa had done, not feeling at all happy after all that feeling up in his car. She had met him in the town as arranged and they had driven off. She didn’t know where it was because she had never really been in that direction before. They had gone right out in the country and finally came to this old house. A big house in its own grounds but it seemed to be empty, deserted.
They stopped in the driveway. What were they going to do? Mr Cutler hadn’t said anything much on the drive, except say it was a nice day and ask Melissa a bit about school. She didn’t really know anything about him. Charlotte had just shrugged her shoulders and grinned when Melissa had asked her. Was he a villain of some sort like those TV programmes? A hard man? Melissa could believe that all right.
They stopped in the driveway of this house and Mr Cutler with a grin had unbuttoned her coat. Her grey top-coat, she didn’t have her uniform on today. Grinning still, his hands had started on at Melissa’s big boobs in, today, her thin pink top. Groping. ‘Please don’t do that,’ she had said, shivering. He just laughed and did it anyway.
Then he said he had to go off for a little while on some business. It wouldn’t take long and Melissa was to stay at the house. So she would be safe, you never knew if any old tramps or vagrants might be passing by, he would leave her in the cellar, and lock the door.
‘Hey!’ Melissa squealed when he said this. ‘I’m not going to be locked up.’ They were by now in the house, in the hallway, and she didn’t like the look of the place at all. It was definitely scary, a lot more scary even than when she had been in Mr Rawling’s house all by herself frantically searching for that letter. This house was a lot bigger and really sort of derelict. It certainly could be a haunt of old tramps and such-like. Not to mention full of rats and spiders and cockroaches and everything.
Mr Cutler just squeezed her tits again. ‘You’ll be all right; quite safe down in the cellar with the door locked. And I’m not going to be any time at all.’
That was about half an hour ago. Half an hour since the cellar door had been shut and she heard the lock click. Why had he brought her here anyway? Melissa asked herself that for the thousandth time and her mind could come up with all kinds of answers, a lot of them not very nice ones. Some of them not nice at all. She was not looking forward to him coming back… but on the other hand it was really scary down here on her own. There was a light but what if the light went out? What if something happened to Mr Cutler? No one would know where she was, she would just be left. To starve… or maybe the rats would get her.
If she wasn’t careful she was going to start crying. Melissa got up, it was better to do something than just sit there. She had already had a look around but you could only go into this one room. There were two other doors but they were locked. What was in them? Rats scurrying around? If she wasn’t careful she was going to cry. She decided she definitely did want him to come. Right away. Whatever he was going to do it was better than being left in this bloody place by herself.
Perhaps that thought, or prayer, was answered. Because not much later she heard footsteps above and then the lock. Oh Christ! For a few dreadful seconds, she wondered if it was someone else, some dreadful, horrible old man…
It was Mr Cutler. Melissa felt a great wave of relief. He came down the stairs. ‘Right; now down to business, eh. Been a good girl, have you?’
Shivering, Melissa said. ‘It was really scary in here.’ What did he mean, now down to business?
‘You see I’ve decided I’ve got to take you in hand, young lady. All that running around with boys, it’s not right. What you need is discipline. So for a start let’s have that skirt off.’
Melissa couldn’t believe it, it could almost be Mr Rawling talking except the voice was different. ‘What for?’ she said.
‘You see, that’s what I mean, no discipline. If I tell you to do something I want you to do it. Let’s try again. Take your skirt off and snap to it.
She did it. What choice was there? Up till now all he’d been doing was grabbing at her tits but now it was discipline. What had that Charlotte got her into? She undid her skirt which was her wrap-around tartan. Slid it off.
Mr Cutler took it from her. ‘Nice. Real nice legs and nice sexy little knicks. I like them but I don’t know that a 17-year-old schoolgirl should be wearing that sort of thing. I suppose it’s to get those boys excited, eh? Get them all horny.’
Blinking, Melissa shook her head. He was just trying to torment her. Mr Cutler was hanging her skirt up, on a nail or something. Then coming back.
‘Right. let’s have you standing up nice and straight.’ He moved her over to this post and backed her up against it. ‘Nice and straight and raise your arms.’
He was lifting her arms and making her hold the post behind her head. Melissa could feel her knees quaking. The position he’d put her in made her tits stick right out. She gave a shivery gasp as Mr Cutler took hold of them in both hands.
‘You see just because you’ve got these big things you think you’re grown-up and can do what you want. What you need is someone to remind you that you’re just a schoolgirl and make you toe the line. That Headmaster had the right idea but of course he shouldn’t be caning you out of school.’
The hands were squeezing, kneading. ‘What I want is for you to agree that I’m going to do the disciplining. Regular Saturday sessions, and we might do a bit in the evenings as well. You agree to that and that letter stays nice and quiet. OK?’
She was out of the frying pan into the fire. She was in exactly the same position as she’d been with bloody Rawling.
‘OK?’ he said again. One of his hands at her tits let go and slid down. Melissa yelped as it gripped the crotch of her brief knickers. ‘Keep your hands up,’ he rasped.
Her breath gasped out, her hips squirmed. ‘Yes, a growing girl’s got to be disciplined. Otherwise this thing’ll have her running really wild.’
----//----
A little while later he was unlocking one of those doors, Mr Cutler groping at her bottom as he ushered her in. ‘This’ll be our training room. Where we’ll get you nice and trained and disciplined.’
A medium-sized room not quite as dilapidated as that room outside. It had a couple of armchairs, a straight-backed chair. And a bed.
‘Quite snug eh? Now first of all I’m going to do what that Headmaster did. I’m going to cane your bum, just to get you started off on the right track.’
Maybe it was some kind of awful dream, Melissa thought. Mr Cutler grabbing at her knickers, pulling them down. Taking them right off. Then helping her onto the bed, on her back like Mr Rawling had done. Making her lift her legs, hold the backs of her knees.
Sitting on the side of the bed he was stroking the backs of her thighs. ‘A touch of the cane first and then we’ll have some hard exercising. Hard running on the spot and that sort of thing. Something to make you really sweat, that’s what a girl your age needs.’
His hand slid up, or rather, in the position Melissa was in, down. ‘Hard exercise to take a girl’s mind off this thing.’

1 comment:

  1. serves the dumb little slut right. once theyve started fucking they should be forced to fuck any older man that wants them

    ReplyDelete