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Monday, 6 January 2020


From Blushes Uniform Girls 6
It was one of those days that you all too frequently get on holiday in England. The sky darkly overcast with every now and then squally rain showers, and a stiff wind blowing in from the sea producing angry white-caps in the bay and sending spray hissing up over the front. The little beach was naturally deserted, empty except for a few swirling seagulls and a couple of abandoned overturned deckchairs. The girls in their plastic raincoats and hats had had one quick look and then, struggling against the wind, retreated into the shelter on the front which was also deserted. At least until the man came in.
It was the second day of their holiday at Banling Bay where this year Nicola’s parents had rented a house and taken Joanne along as well. It had been really great looking forward to it but their thoughts of course had been of blue sunny skies, lying on the beach getting super tans. Reality, at least so far, was awfully different. Yesterday was pretty horrible but not as bad as today. ‘It could go on for the whole bloody two weeks,’ said Joanne dolefully. That was just before the man came in.
He said ‘God, what weather,’ and took off his yellow oilskin. He was not that old, thirtyish, his face quite red, possibly from struggling against the wind. He sat down on the bench opposite them, shaking his cap and flapping his wet trousers. ‘Typical England, eh?’ he grinned. Then he asked if they were on holiday.
‘Yes,’ said Joanne, flushing slightly as she saw the direction of his eyes. They had both taken off their plastic macs, under which were tee-shirts and white slacks and the man was looking very obviously at Joanne’s boobs. She had quite big ones, certainly big for 17, and she wasn’t wearing a bra. You could clearly see her nipples pushing out the quite tight pink tee-shirt, so it wasn’t really surprising that he was looking at them. Joanne wasn’t normally in the habit of going without a bra, it was just that being on holiday she had felt more daring and decided to do it; and so she couldn’t help flushing. On the other hand she would look silly putting her arms over them and trying to cover them up, so there wasn’t much choice other than sitting there and letting him look.
He kept looking as he started chatting about the awful weather and about Banling Bay. He seemed to be a local. He was looking at them both — at Nicola who was taller and blonder and probably prettier, and at Joanne who was medium height and sort of medium blonde and pretty as well (though most people said not as pretty as Nicola) and who also had those big boobs without a bra. He was looking at them both with some interest but it was mainly Joanne’s big boobs with their clearly defined nipples that his eyes were interested in. Nicola’s boobs were nice but not as big and she also had a bra on. Joanne was not exactly enjoying the scrutiny but it was her own fault, if she hadn’t wanted them looked at she should have worn a bra, because you knew what men were.
He was chatting on, quite friendly but also doing all this looking, and then he suddenly said it. ‘How’d you girls like to earn some pocket money?’
With the way he’d been looking, and it had been obvious to Nicola as well, that brought them up sharp. Well, there were always men ready to suggest a pretty 17-year-old girl could earn some pocket money, that was what people, like your mother, frequently told you, and they also told you to keep right away from such men.
‘Oh, what?’ asked Nicola suspiciously. He laughed and said, ‘Nothing at all really. Wear a traffic warden’s uniform and go and see this chap.’
For a moment they both thought they were hearing things — dreaming or going round the bend or something. To be sitting in this shelter on the deserted rain-swept front and have this stranger suggest you go and see someone wearing a traffic warden’s uniform… But he had said it. He repeated it. ‘Good money,’ he added.
‘It’s not one of those funnygrams, is it?’ asked Joanne and the man said, ‘well in a way, I suppose, yes.’ Then Nicola who was maybe a bit sharper asked, ‘what’s this man going to do?’
That clearly was the crux. The man opposite produced a sort of apologetic grin. ‘Well, he’s got this thing about traffic wardens. He doesn’t like them. So… well what he’ll want to do is smack your bottoms.’ Seeing the girls’ looks he quickly added, ‘But he’ll pay; real good. And a smacked bottom isn’t anything, is it?’
Nicola said firmly ‘No way’, but then Joanne asked how much. He said, ‘Ten each perhaps.’ Then he made it clear he was talking about pounds and that was a lot of money — 10 weeks pocket money in fact.
Joanne looked at Nicola. It was evident she at least was tempted. ‘Come on,’ he urged, his eyes again on Joanne’s tits. ‘It’d be a laugh. And what else have you got to do. This weather’ll be like this all week.’
It was true there didn’t seem to be much to do in Banling Bay when it was raining except mooch around, like they had done this morning. Nicola didn’t want to do it, even for £10, but Joanne felt very tempted. Then the man said he thought he might be able to get them £15 and at that, with Joanne now really keen and the man also persuasive, Nicola reluctantly agreed. He quickly took out his wallet and gave them a £5 note each and said they’d get the rest when they’d completed the assignments. Then he took out a little book and made them each sign a statement which said: Received from Mr Sid Billings the sum of £5 as part payment for modelling assignment. He also made them put down their names and addresses. He said they were now under legal contract like any other model and couldn’t back out — not that he thought they would want to. It was a bit scary but also very exciting seeing ‘modelling assignment’ against their names.
He had already told them it was a man who lived just outside Banling Bay, well-off but eccentric, according to this Mr Billings. He would want them separately, tomorrow afternoon and the next. Mr Billings would drive them out and also of course supply the uniforms. He would meet them at the shelter.
It was all a bit breathtaking — the fact that they’d agreed to it and also having those £5 notes already. Nicola, at least, had been rather bulldozed into it.
What… what about the spanking?’ she asked. ‘What… you know… actually happens?’ Mr Billings gave a grin. ‘You’ll find that out, won’t you!’
Well, there was spanking and spanking. There was spanking over your skirt and there was also… Nicola bit her lip.
Mr Billings got up. Outside it had at least stopped raining for the moment and he said he would make a dash for it. The girls decided they’d go too. Mr Billings obligingly helped them into their raincoats. He said he thought it could be Joanne first, tomorrow that was. At three sharp. When he helped Joanne into her coat he quite deliberately had a feel of one boob, his hand right on it with a quick squeeze through the thin tee-shirt. Nicola didn’t see because they were turning the other way.
They went in a cafe and had coffee Joanne didn’t say anything about Mr Billings’ hand on her right boob but his doing that made her feel not so happy either. There was also the fact that she had to go first. She put a brave face on it.
‘It’ll just be a laugh I expect — like those funnygrams you can get. And isn’t it exciting, being models — ‘cos that’s officially what we are.’
Nicola said a dubious ‘Yes.’ They were both in fact thinking the same thing: What if this man didn’t just want to spank you over your skirt. That thought was pretty sick-making. They both decided not to mention it. They did agree, though, not to tell Nicola’s parents anything. Outside it was still squally but they decided to go for a walk anyway.
The next day was quite a bit better, not raining, the wind much less and even brief periods with the sun shining. That was typical of course because they were both too nervous to enjoy it, Joanne especially. They couldn’t really settle to do anything in the morning and the afternoon was naturally even worse. They told Nicola’s parents that they would be going for a walk but they just hung about the front and in the amusement arcade. A man there wanted to buy them an ice cream but he got a rather angry ‘No thanks!’ from Nicola.
Three o’clock approached all too rapidly. In spite of her enthusiasm yesterday Joanne would have been happy to give the £5 back, but he had made the point that they were under contract. ‘I’ll see you later then,’ she said bravely, and walked over to the shelter. Like Nicola, Joanne was in slacks and tee-shirt again, but not surprisingly she had a bra on today.
He was there right on time and took her to his car. The uniform was at his house, he said, then they would drive over to Mr Smith… Almost as soon as they were off he slid his hand down onto Joanne’s thigh. ‘Please don’t,’ she said, taking it off. He laughed and said she was a model and models didn’t mind a little thing like that.
A few minutes later the hand came back. Joanne took it off again… and then had to again. But he was very persistent and after a bit Joanne gave up. At least they were soon at his place. He got out and went quickly round to open the door for Joanne… and helped himself to a deliberate feel of the tight seat of her slacks.
‘Look stop it!’ she hissed, but he just gave one of his grating laughs. ‘You’re going to have it smacked remember; so a little feel won’t hurt. And remember you’ve got £10 more coming — if you’re a good girl.’
They were in a suburban street of oldish semi’s, a lot with B & B signs. At the front door he got Joanne in front of him as he got out the key. So we’re going to be good and co-operative, aren’t we, young Miss Kingley?’ Joanne cringed as his hand again slid over the seat of her slacks. It was clearly going to be quite awful.
They went along a corridor, Joanne fending off hands, and into a lounge. On a sofa was a traffic warden’s uniform. ‘OK; get changed,’ he said. ‘It’s the real thing, a real live London warden’s uniform. Belongs to a girl I know and she’s about your size. Might not have quite as big tits, though.’
Colouring, Joanne said, ‘where can I change?’ and he answered, ‘right here,’ and sat down in an armchair.
‘Look…’ said Joanne weakly.
You look,’ said Mr Billings. ‘Get changed and stop mucking about. You signed the agreement, now stop acting like a silly schoolgirl. Come on or d’you want me to help?’
Joanne looked at the uniform and then at Mr Billings. She felt sick but he was obviously not planning to leave, so what could she do? Suddenly the room seemed small and stifling. Her hands went to the belt of her slacks. Trying not to think, she slid them off her fullish hips… and on down. Stepping out of her shoes and then sliding the slacks off. Mr Billings’ eyes like gimlets boring into her legs and thighs, and the brief white knickers clinging to the ripe cheeks of her bottom.
‘The knickers as well,’ he instructed. ‘There are some black ones and a black suspender belt and nylons. That’s what our friend likes to see on a girl.’
‘Look,’ she said despairingly again. He gave his little laugh. Mr Billings was red in the face, redder even than yesterday when he’d come in from struggling against the wind. ‘Come on,’ he told her. ‘Models don’t mind showing their bare bums — or anything else.’
Joanne turned her back, though aware this would only present her rear to him. She skimmed her knickers down and then made a quick grab for the black ones. There was hardly anything of them: a skimpy strip of black nylon that didn’t really cover anything. ‘Now get that tee-shirt off,’ he told her. ‘And the bra.’
Joanne turned over the pile of clothes. There were nylons and the suspender belt, a white blouse… There was no bra.
‘No,’ said Mr Billings, ‘there’s not a bra. You don’t need one and our Mr Smith would much rather have you without. You didn’t have one on yesterday, remember; that pair of beauties were really on show.’
Joanne could feel herself sweating. ‘Look I’d really rather not go through with this.’
The grating laugh again. ‘You’re joking! I could sue you for thousands of pounds for breach of contract. What would your parents say to that? Do they know you’re doing this?’
Feeling tearful Joanne shook her head.
‘Well then you just be sensible and they won’t be getting any the wiser. And don’t forget that other tenner that’s coming. So come on and get those things off. Let’s see what you’ve got.’
What Joanne had got was shortly revealed as with no option she took her tee-shirt off over her head and then forced herself to unfasten her bra. They were big and also big-nippled, the nipples at present sticking firmly out. Mr Billings was all at once on his feet, at close quarters and offering assistance. Joanne covered her arms over them but he wasn’t having that. Models didn’t do that. She couldn’t prevent him getting his hands on them. Greedily insistent hands which grabbed and squeezed and tweaked as Joanne desperately struggled to get the white blouse on.
‘Very nice,’ Mr Billings told her, breathing hard. She had finally got it all on. The blouse over her unbrassiered breasts; the skirt and tie and jacket; underneath those almost non-existent knickers and the suspender belt fastening the nylons. Mr Billings’ ‘very nice’ could either mean Joanne in the uniform or what he had been doing as she struggled to get it on. Mr Billings had been quite diabolical, his hands everywhere, grabbing everything. Joanne blinked away threatening tears. He placed the cap firmly on her blonde head. ‘Very nice,’ he said again.
Shortly, after more grabbings, they were in the car again. The sun was now shining and out in the country everything was sparkling and green. Joanne, in the traffic warden’s uniform, thought fleetingly of the beach; but mostly she thought, shudderingly, of what had just happened and what was going to happen. They eventually came to some big gates and turned in, up a longish driveway to a large 1930’s house.
‘Mr Smith is quite a nice old gent,’ Mr Billings said. They were standing waiting for the door to open. If that were true he would have to be very different from Mr Billings who even now had got his hand up the back of Joanne’s skirt, grabbing at her bare upper thighs, her half bare bottom… The door eventually opened. A silver-haired gentleman, with blue eyes.
‘Ah , Sidney.’ The eyes were going over Joanne. ‘Yes, very nice indeed. Two hours shall we say?’ Mr Billings extricated his hand from the back of Joanne’s skirt and said yes, he would be back for her in two hours.
He took her into a plush drawing room with a window looking out on the sea. Joanne thought again of the beach… Mr Smith was looking her up and down. His appearance was ordinary, but the way he looked at her with those blue eyes… Was he a nutter of some sort?
‘Yes, very nice,’ he said in his smooth upper-class accent. ‘A very pretty traffic warden. But I am afraid, as you may have been told, that I have rather a thing about traffic wardens. I regard them as a diabolical breed, quite beyond the pale. And so when I get my hands on one I have to deal with her most severely. Most severely.’
He smiled a charming smile at her. Joanne, standing in front of him, decided he was a nutter. Mr Billings had been awful but not a nutter, just a Very Dirty Old Man. Whereas this Mr Smith…
He was still smiling, in a nutty sort of way. ‘Yes, most severely. First we can have some tea of course. But then I will have to deal with you, pretty though you are. A severe spanking… and then the cane.’
Joanne’s heart thudded. Mr Billings had said nothing about a cane!
He rang a bell and a maid brought in tea. Super looking cakes and buns that in other circumstances would have made Joanne’s eyes light up. Now they simply made her feel sick. The cane! ‘Let’s have that jacket off,’ Mr Smith said, ‘and then we’ll have tea.’ Wan-faced, Joanne unbuttoned her jacket. Could he have said that?
He took the coat from her and put it on a chair and then — well, he might be a nutter but he was also a Dirty Old Man because his hands came round from behind and cupped Joanne’s unbrassiered boobs through the thin white blouse. Her big boobs that Mr Billings had been so interested in. ‘Very lovely,’ observed Mr Smith.
‘Eat up,’ he was a little later urging. ‘Cream cakes: isn’t that what pretty traffic wardens like?’ They were sitting on the sofa, the cakes and tea in front of them on a coffee table. Joanne managed half a cream bun and a few mouthfuls of tea.
‘No more?’ queried her host. ‘Well, well, well.’
The maid came in and cleared away. Mr Smith’s eyes now had an extra gleam to them. ‘Now then; down to business. A smacked bottom I think for a start. You know whenever I see a traffic warden I feel an uncontrollable urge to smack her bottom. Yes. Come on then.’
He clearly was a nutter and what if he did something really nutty like murder her? For starters though it was a spanking. Over his lap with the traffic warden’s black skirt yanked up over her back. Joanne’s substantial thighs and bottom enticingly displayed in the nylons, the black suspender belt, those so-brief, web-like black nylon pants. Brief and web-like or not he jerked them down… to grope her bare bum… and then to start whacking his open palm down.
It was awful, diabolical, worse even than the diabolical attentions of Mr Billings. And when it was over it wasn’t over because there was a cane. A slim, yellow, curving, whippy bamboo that made you sick just to look at it and even made you forget the awful spanking you had just had. He made her kneel on a pouffe and put her head and hands down on the carpet. That position when you thought about it was enough to make you feel sick all over again. But when the cane sliced in you forgot about the dreadful position. There was only that mind-blasting pain…
‘Tell me again,’ said Nicola in a quiet, scared voice.
They were in bed, both together in Nicola’s bed and Nicola had heard it all before, during the evening, all the dreadful details, but she felt an awful compulsion to hear bits again.
‘Nicola, you’ve heard it already, more than once,’ Joanne told her, adding, rather cruelly. ‘Anyway you’ll find out for yourself soon enough.’
Saying that she felt a shiver of excitement.
Lying here in bed with Nicola, of course, it wasn’t nearly so devastating as when it had all happened and Joanne did now have those other crisp £5 notes. It had been distinctly diabolical but, well, perhaps models did have to put up with that sort of thing.
‘I’ve told you it all,’ Joanne said again. But of course she hadn’t, not quite.
She had told about Mr Billings and his awful Dirty-Old-Man grabby hands and having to put that uniform on in front of him; and Mr Smith who clearly was a nutter although perhaps not a murderous one but who smacked your bare bum hard enough to make your eyes water even if you weren’t actually crying. And yes, she had also told about the truly diabolical cane that Mr Billings hadn’t mentioned. Joanne had told all that and now it was over it had been very exciting telling it — and knowing that poor Nicola was going to get all that as well. Joanne had told it all except that last bit, when they got back to Mr Billings’ house.
Joanne hadn’t wanted to of course but he had made her. Well virtually. He said. ‘Don’t be silly, all models do it; it’s really part of the contract. And don’t tell me you haven’t done it before.’ Joanne had done it before, but only a couple of times with a boy she had been really keen on earlier in the year; so that certainly didn’t mean she wanted to do it with Mr Billings. But he had kept on… and on and said he would of course use something and also he would give her another £5. And so…
Mr Billings had done it on his sofa. Joanne in the traffic warden’s blouse and the suspender belt and nylons and that was all. It had been all right, not too bad…
‘I’ve told you it all, Nicola,’ she said once more, feeling that hot shiver of excitement. She rolled over on top of Nicola, their bodies face to face. She thought of Nicola with Mr Billings tomorrow afternoon. Mr Billings would be very persuasive like he had been with her Would he make Nicola? That thought made her feel very sexy. Giggling, she gave Nicola a very sexy kiss, thrusting her tongue right in.
Nicola, she knew, hadn’t ever done it yet.