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Saturday, 8 February 2020

Bring on the Clowns

From Uniform Girls 10
‘I have to,’ she said, making a face. ‘I can’t refuse, you know that, Dave. Anyway it’s an honour: going to the big house.’
Sarah’s boyfriend David Parslow blew a contemptuous raspberry but it was true what she said. England in the 1930’s, especially in country areas, was still quite feudal. You did not want to cross the lord of the manor if you lived in rural southern England: most especially you didn’t if your father had just started working for him and your family lived in a cottage owned by that gentleman.
‘Bloody bosses,’ muttered Dave who had vague ideas of communism and revolution. Sarah smiled and told him not to swear. ‘Don’t get excited over nothing. Not on such a lovely day.’
It was a lovely day, a warm and sunny June Saturday afternoon and they were sitting on a grassy slope on the edge of a wood — Major Lambton’s wood of course —looking down over the valley with the pale pink brick of Lambton Hall nestling on the other side. Major Lambton was the lord of the manor, Sarah’s father’s new boss, and he had requested that tomorrow Sarah pay a visit. It wasn’t merely a social visit; it seemed that one of his maids was away and Sarah might be asked to help out. It was this more than anything that was getting Dave excited.
‘It’ll be nothing,’ Sarah repeated. ‘Forget it, David.’ Though she naturally would rather have spent the time with Dave. He had cycled over from the town 30 miles away where they both had lived until six months ago when Sarah’s father’s little business had gone bust and he had been forced to take this present job as a clerk in Major Lambton’s estate office. It was unfortunate but it couldn’t be helped what with things as they were and especially as Sarah was hoping to get a teaching post at the village school — where the person who had the final say was naturally Major Lambton.
She lay back and gazed up at the clear blue sky. She was 19, tall and full-figured, a handsome brunette. Dave, looking down at her, felt a twinge of jealousy mixing with his other emotions. He had never seen this Major Lambton but you heard plenty of tales of the gentry and the way they could treat a pretty girl on the estate. As if they owned her, just like they owned everything else.
Sarah had met him before but only briefly. Cycling over she had been trying to decide whether she should curtsey. The local country women and girls would, she knew, but coming from the town that seemed almost medieval. Now, shown into his study, she didn’t, holding out her hand instead but feeling a flush because perhaps he had expected a curtsey.
Major Lambton was quite a short man, with glasses. Not a particularly impressive figure — unless you knew he had pots of money and owned all the country around. He had got to his feet, eyes bright behind the glasses, to take her hand in both of his.
‘So nice of you to come over, Miss Haddon. Sarah, yes?’ An upper-class drawl. ‘Yes one can’t have too many pretty faces about the place I always say.’
She was in her smart navy suit, tight-bodiced but a calf-length fuller skirt which allowed cycling. A little white hat on her thick curls, matched with white shoes. Silk stockings. Major Lambton was leading her over to the window. ‘Such a lovely day again.’
Sarah said yes, it had been quite hot cycling. The window looked out onto an immaculate lawn, a gardener working away in the distance.
‘Cycling eh? Mmm… That must be warm this weather.’ The arm that had taken Sarah’s was now round her waist. ‘Must make a girl perspire a bit, eh?’
Keep calm, she told herself. There was the arm round her waist and also what he had said. It wasn’t exactly polite to talk of a woman perspiring. Not a lady certainly. But then she wasn’t a lady she was a lower-middle-class girl whose father had been forced to take a demeaning job and she herself was probably shortly to be asked to do an even more demeaning job. She was also a girl who should have curtseyed but hadn’t.
‘An independent young woman, I expect, eh Sarah? Coming from the town and all those modern ways. Not like the girls round here with their simple country manners.’
He was taunting her, Sarah could see that. To make this quite clear Major Lambton’s hand left her waist and slid down to boldly take hold of her bottom. She gasped. His hand cupping a cheek through the navy skirt, jiggling the ripe flesh.
‘A thoroughly modern young woman, eh Miss Haddon?’
What could she do? He was daring her to tell him to take his hand away, she knew that. A country girl was no doubt used to this sort of treatment, being treated like one of the chattels, but it was like a shock of icy water to Sarah. But her father needed his job — and Sarah also needed that post at the school. She was really perspiring now but she forced herself to stand still. Submissive. While the hand groped.
Major Lambton gave a little laugh. The hand left her bottom and took her arm again. Leading her back to his desk. He sat down, indicating that she was to stand at his side.
‘And I understand you’d like to teach at the school, Sarah?’
She said ‘Yes sir.’ Then a stifled little squeak. His hand behind her again, Lower down now, at the hem of her skirt. And sliding up inside, up the backs of her silk-stockinged legs.
Major Lambton made a ‘Mmmm…’ sound. Once again what could you do? Except stand there and be humiliated. The hand slid up, to the tops of her stockings. ‘I have some interest in the matter of the school, Sarah.’ Fingers playing with her garter, snapping it against the soft flesh of her thigh. Then moving further up. Sarah’s breath hissing out.
‘Yes, young lady. Well, I imagine you might make a good enough teacher. As long as we weren’t too modern, eh?’
His hand had reached her knickers. Flimsy, filmy artificial silk providing no protection at all. Sarah quivered, feeling sick. She had had simply no idea Major Lambton could behave like this. She should have curtseyed. Although perhaps he would have done it anyway.
He gave her bottom a sharp pinch and then did take his hand out. The drawling voice: ‘Ever been to a fancy dress party, Miss?’
Sarah gave him a darting glance. The glinting eyes behind the glasses met hers and she had to look away. She stuttered that she hadn’t.
‘Well as it happens I’m having a party here in a couple of weeks. I should like you to come. And I also have an outfit I’d like you to wear. It’s rather splendid. Would you like to see it?’
Sarah’s head was spinning. First he obscenely thrust his hand up her skirt, blatantly groping her virtually bare bottom, and now in the next breath he was inviting her to a party. She mumbled something: acceptance, obviously, you could not think of refusing such an offer. Major Lambton had got to his feet, to lead her out of the room and along a corridor. They eventually came to a largish room with a raised platform at one end. ‘We sometimes have a little domestic production here’ her host observed. ‘Enjoyable but not very professional I fear.’
He went to a cupboard and took out a beautiful clown’s outfit in glowing orange with a heavily ruffled neck and the cuffs as well.
‘You would make a devastating clown, Sarah, don’t you think?’ He had also produced a round orange hat trimmed with ribbons.
Sarah looked at the dress and hat. She shook her head, still able to feel this man’s hand intimately up her skirt. ‘It… it’s a beautiful dress.’
She gave him a quick glance. ‘Put it on,’ he repeated. ‘Take your suit off and put it on. In fact… take everything off and put it on.’
A nervous half-smile. He couldn’t mean that. Not all her clothes off. Not here. Now.
Major Lambton’s hand came out and gripped Sarah’s arm. Hurting. ‘Snap to it, Miss Haddon. We want a quick, sharp girl in the school, you know. Take your clothes off!
She bit her lip. He couldn’t… she squealed. His two hands abruptly at the front of her jacket. Ripping. With a tearing sound all the large blue buttons came off, spinning to the floor. She squealed again as the hands gripped the neck of her now exposed white blouse and ripped that too.
Get your clothes off, Miss. It seems you town girls need some bucking up.’
Sarah was crying now, hot tears suddenly rolling down her cheeks. It was unbelievable, worse than any nightmare. She was doing as ordered, though, before he ripped anything else. Her torn jacket and then the torn blouse. Her skirt. She was sobbing. Her chemise. That left just her knickers and brassiere together with the gartered silk stockings and her shoes.
‘Very nice, Miss Haddon. Now the rest. I want you nude.’
It was either do it or have him rip them off. She made herself do it. Everything. ‘Hands down at your side, Sarah. I want to see you.’ She forced herself to do this too. To stand straight before him, full breasts swaying slightly, nipples half-erect.
Major Lambton stepped closer, eyes shining. ‘That’s it, Sarah. And what a lovely girl. A real beauty.’ His hands reached for the jutting breasts. Squeezing. Then the sensitive nipples. Sarah’s nipples came up, firm and hard, unconcerned that it wasn’t Dave it was this horrible monster playing with them.
‘Mmmm and responsive too.’ One hand slid down… to Sarah’s groin. She whimpered as he gripped her sex. ‘Got a boyfriend, Miss?’
She squeaked a desperate affirmative.
‘Let him fuck you, do you?’
It was just a nightmare. A dreadful, dreadful nightmare. On top of everything else that coarse, hard word thrust at her. She and Dave had done it, a few times, since starting six months ago. But she couldn’t tell this dreadful Major Lambton that. She shook her head, frantically, as the fingers worked at her.
The hand, both hands, at last came away. ‘Good. A virgin eh? Now let’s get this lovely outfit on, my pretty young clown.’
Sarah pulled it on, desperately thankful to be covered. Major Lambton placed the orange hat firmly on her head. Rummaging in the cupboard he came up with a pair of white very high-heeled pumps. They fitted. He sat down on a chair and assessed her.
‘Stunning, Miss Haddon. A real stunner. Yes, you’ll be quite the star in my little party. But now something else.’
From somewhere Major Lambton now had a brush in his hand. A clothes brush perhaps, quite a large one. He smacked it into his palm.
‘Yes. This school business. You could well be the right person there but one does need to make a few checks. Eh? Discipline, Miss Haddon. Discipline is very important to we country folk. And not only the children, one has to be assured that a teacher is well-disciplined too, to set an example so to speak. That is especially important with a young woman because otherwise the youngsters can play her up. Are you well disciplined, Sarah?’
Sarah was still trembling. Shivering in spite of the voluminous clown’s outfit covering her from neck to ankles. Major Lambton was just the worst kind of monster and all she wanted was to get away from him. She stuttered out that she was disciplined.
‘We must check of course, my dear. We must see that you can take discipline. Eh?’ The brush smacked into his palm again in a menacing manner. ‘Slip that dress down, would you? Let’s have a look at that bottom.’
He was going to beat her. That brush that he was smacking gloatingly into his hand, it was going to be smacked similarly into her bare bottom. She should have guessed the moment she saw it but she hadn’t. It was only now…
‘Drop the garment, Miss. You do need telling twice all the time, don’t you?’
Her hands at the drawstring which tightened the dress at the neck. Fingers that were all thumbs struggling with the knot. Finally loosening it. And then, eyes firmly on the floor and with her breath beginning to come in sharp gasps, opening the dress, sliding it off her shoulders. The full breasts exposed again.
‘Right down with it, Miss. And then kneel.’
She knelt, with the clown’s dress round her thighs. Upright but then Major Lambton made her bend down, hands on the floor. He was on his feet, round behind her. His hand all at once at her bare bottom. Slapping it; then groping.
‘A good-sized seat, Miss. I like a filly with a good bum on her.’ He smacked Sarah’s bottom hard again.
And then he was back seated on the chair with Sarah made to move forward and lie herself over one of his spread thighs. Major Lambton gripping her firmly with his left hand. His right with the clothes brush. Raising and then smacking down. Crack!… Onto the full flesh of her thrust-out bottom.
It was shaming and humiliating — as was most of what he’d done to her since she arrived — but the shame was quickly forgotten. There was only the agonising pain as the back of the clothes brush bit repeatedly into Sarah’s bottom. The full force of Major Lambton’s strong right arm, varying the target — the two ripe cheeks, the backs of the thighs — but keeping up a hard, rhythmic tempo. Sarah crying out, pleading for mercy, for Major Lambton to desist. Her poor bottom frantically churning, jerking. But all this evident distress seemed merely to spur Major Lambton on. To redouble his efforts.
He kept on. Maybe he would have gone on forever. But sometime later there was a discreet knock at the door. One of the maids presumably. ‘Mrs Lambton says Mr and Mrs Wilson-Ridgeley are here, sir, in the drawing room.’
Major Lambton stopped. ‘Very good, Jane. Tell Mrs Lambton I shall be with them shortly.’ He mopped his brow and put down the brush. ‘Good. Well that will do for the moment, Miss Haddon. Get the garment back on and you can meet my guests.’
In the drawing room 15 minutes later Sarah’s face was still red from crying. Her bottom needless to say was bright red too and she was still trembling from the shock but these aspects were concealed by the floor-length clown’s outfit. ‘How d’you like my clown?’ asked Major Lambton. ‘A stunner, eh?’
Mrs Lambton gave Sarah an amused look and Mrs Wilson-Ridgeley said, ‘What a lovely outfit.’ Her husband pulled at his moustache. ‘A real corker, Henry.’
Sarah did have to help out later; waiting the table, still in the clown’s outfit. How amusing for the Lambtons and their guests. Mr Wilson-Ridgeley pinched her bottom a couple of times and after dinner in Major Lambton’s study again with just the two men Sarah was made to take the outfit off. ‘What d’you think, Jack?’ Major Lambton asked with Sarah now nude. His guest looked as if his eyes were going to pop out of his head. Major Lambton said Sarah was probably going to teach at the school. ‘If we can teach her our country ways.’
Later on when his guests left Major Lambton said he’d drive Sarah home as it was getting dark. She had finally been allowed to change back into her own clothes. Her bicycle was put in the boot of Major Lambton’s Bentley. On the way he stopped, saying it was such a lovely evening. With an excited look Major Lambton suggested they get into the back seat.
In the back seat of the Bentley Major Lambton’s eyes gleaming in the half-light. His hands up under Sarah’s skirt, busy at her knickers. Sarah making whimpering but unavailing sounds of protest. ‘Don’t be silly, young woman. You want that job and I’m going to see you get it. But I’ve got to see if you really are a virgin, haven’t I? I mean you modern town girls…’
The Bentley was parked at the edge of the wood. Major Lambton’s wood. Quite close to where Sarah and David Parslow had sat the afternoon before.


  1. Loved that story. Just wish the pics had been better lit and more colour pics. Ah well.

    1. It's not just the lighting which could make things a little more revealing. Not a sexy outfit but appropriately humiliating. I would rather have her remove it for the benefit of all the major's guests, rather than just the two gentlemen. And there would have to be further testing of her suitability for that school job. I'm sure Mmes Lambton and Wilson-Ridgeley would have very exacting standards if the girl is to teach the local children. Is she fit enough to lead them in PE? Maybe a few circuits of the garden...just pretend the gardener isn't there. Can she sing? Can she dance? And yes, before that job is decided upon she would help out as maid in the manor for a few weeks. Unpaid probationary work of course, when they could deal with any deficiency in her work ethic.

  2. Wonderful story. And what will Major Lambton do once he's ascertained that this pretty young slut is not a virgin (and we all know how, from the second to last paragraph, he's about to go about establishing that!)? I should hope that whatever else the Major has lined up for her at his upcoming 'party', her punishment for her deceitful 'modern ways' will include a severe bare bottom caning, one for which she will be stripped naked in full view of his like-minded aristocratic guests. The instilling of "simple country manners" into these hoity toity young city misses is a matter of the greatest importance, especially those inclined to think that occupying a teaching post somehow puts them above the station of a serving wench. She can hopefully wave goodbye to her commie boyfriend also!

  3. Speaking of country 'lords of the manor' it would be nice to think that in this benighted land there are still some arcane corners in which the fine old traditions of the squirearchy still persist. A place where the local yokel still tugs his forelock in respectful honour of his liege and is only too ready to offer up his pretty daughters' hymens by way of tribute.

    'Droit du seigneur' (the feudal lord's right of first night) is a subject of massive fascination to me, a kind of blueprint for the 'new moral order' of my dreams, though of course the idea would need some considerable readjustments for the modern age (one which, for instance, in a pyramidal social structure, would confer certain entitlements upon the relatively humble middle class, suburban gentleman householder).

    The painting which I link to below, itself called 'Le Droit du Seigneur' (so we can be in no doubt as to the nature of what it is depicting), is a really wonderful exposition of this subject matter. The wolfish, proprietorial disposition of the medieval lord as he greedily appraises the 'offering' before him is superbly realised. Also quite stunningly depicted are the objects of his piercing gaze, those trembling, frightened young maidens, who present a fine prospective feast indeed for a lordly, carnal appetite. Their fearful facial expressions, although one appears to be openly weeping (and well she might be), would certainly not be out of place on many a pretty Blushes photographic model. The presumption that they are sisters only adds to the overall piquancy of the scene. As to the figure whom I presume to be the girls' father, far from seeming resistant or resentful with regard to his daughters' predicament, this is probably the proudest day of his life as a loyal vassal. That the fruit of his own peasant loins has been found acceptable for His Lordship's bed (and whatever else he cares to do with them) confers great honour upon someone as lowly as he. For as even Sarah in the story above admits: “’s an honour: going to the big house.’

    Another great detail for me, aside from the overall imprisoning effect of the fairy tale medieval castle setting with the sentries on the gate, are those two figures lurking in the background on the castle steps. Though their facial features are indistinct they both seem to me to be unmistakeably brimming with pleasure and anticipation. I take them to be either noble associates of the central male aristocratic figure or else his most trusted henchmen. Either way, it seems highly likely to me that they take a very active part in His Lordship's debauches and are very much looking forward to the fresh one now imminent.

    1. Good post. The picture you refer to gets a reference in the classic Story of O. Modernising the concept of Droit de Seigneur is an interesting one, girls could definitely be displayed for selection on reality TV for example and scored against all sorts of humiliating criteria. The price young women would pay for being soap starlets would involve regular weekend sessions at gentleman's houses being 'taken to task and exercised'. I can think of a number of suitable candidates...

  4. A fine example of the social pecking order in Blushes is what goes on in the Valerie stories in Blushes 6 & 7. Henry Fultonby is a gentleman who expects the teenage girls who are sent to him to be fully sexually available. Valerie is pressured into losing her virginity (partly in return for a reduction in bare bottom caning).

    Fultonby’s hands are all over the girls all the time - as are those of Bert Miggins the gardener who sees them in his potting shed. He knows he won’t enjoy the same access as the gentleman but he helps himself to everything but. Meanwhile there is of course a housekeeper Mrs Douglas who makes sure there’s plenty of wholesome food and everything runs smoothly.