The start of a story in three parts from Blushes 30
‘Induction, Miss Maybury. The bank’s induction course. Someone must have mentioned it?’ The grey-green eyes widened, blank. No. Unless someone had but she hadn’t taken it in. There was so much to learn when you had just started, at times it seemed impossible to take it all in. ‘I… don’t think so, Mr Bayton.’
Slightly apologetic. Well, when you had only been there less than a week and were keen to make a good impression. She couldn’t remember… pretty cheeks flushing ever so slightly.
‘Not to worry, Miss Maybury. There’s a lot to remember right at the outset. But the induction course is necessary if you’re to go over to the dealing side. We have to be ultra-cautious these days. What with all these insider dealing scares. You know what I mean.’
Not really. She read the papers of course but it didn’t always mean too much. But no doubt she would learn. Mr Bayton had asked for her to be transferred to the dealing side. More specialised work of course and so really a sort of promotion. After only three days. Susan shifted her weight, from left high-heeled shoe to right. Standing in front of Mr Bayton in his office. Mr Bayton…
Mr Bayton eyeing the shape that went with the wide grey-green eyes and the short, curling, dark brown hair. A pretty girl and a very nice shape in the fetching green top and dark shirt. Tits. For a nice girl with an attractive upper-middle-class accent Susan had rather big ones. Somehow one associated tits like those with a more common type of girl. And her bottom as well. Yesterday she had worn a tight skirt. Nothing common or tarty but it had been tight enough to indicate that what Susan Maybury had to sit on was much too choice to be used for that purpose alone.
That of course was why Susan was being transferred to the Dealing Department, Mr Bayton’s own particular interest. Susan’s bottom. And the tits. And the fact that she was a nice, well brought-up young lady. One couldn’t have common girls, however splendid their tits, in a prestige department. It would upset some customers.
‘It’s nothing much, Miss Maybury. Susan? More of a getting-to-know-a-person business. Know what… ah… she’s like. But these days one has to be so careful. Department of Trade investigations, all that sort of thing. One has to be doubly sure. Anyway…’
Mr Bayton coughed. Stopping himself at the last moment. His mind wandering, or rather concentrating but on Miss Maybury’s tits, and his words had almost followed his train of thought. ‘Anyway what lovely tits, Miss Maybury.’
‘Anyway… ah, yes. We do it at my place down in the country, Susan. Pleasant spot.’ Mr Bayton getting to his feet. Unable to resist the urge to get to closer quarters. ‘Like the country, do you, Susan?’ Mr Bayton at close quarters. An arm avuncularly round the slim waist. The heady feel of vibrant young flesh. Clearly the induction testing could not wait. The feeling indeed that one should start there and then. Over the desk. No, that wasn’t possible.
But… ‘Tomorrow, young lady. Eh? Yes. I’m sure we can arrange it for tomorrow.’
Mr Bayton’s hand simply did it. Without him meaning to but equally without his being able to control it. As he held the door open for her. With his left hand. The right one. Simply dipped down to take a fleeting, but firm, grip of Susan’s left bottom-cheek.
This outfit. Shaking her head. ‘Your induction outfit,’ Mr Bayton had said downstairs. She hadn’t really looked at it then, though wondering why there had to be a special induction outfit. She still didn’t know what ‘induction’ was. Mr Bayton hadn’t said. Being told about classified information, she had supposed. Well what else? But now this. ‘Get into this,’ Mr Bayton had said. ‘It’s your induction outfit.’
Looking at it and shaking her head. A white halter with cross-over straps at the back, and a pair of cut-off denims, also white. Cut off or ripped off, to make a pair of extremely brief shorts. She had to put this on? And what…?
The door of the little bedroom suddenly opening. Mr Bayton. ‘OK, young lady?’ ‘No. I…’ Holding the two items helplessly. The shorts had a wide leather belt. ‘I don’t know if I made it clear, Susan. The induction… ah… dress. You just wear what I’ve given you. Just the shorts and top. Nothing else.’ Mr Bayton evidently keen that there be no doubt about this. ‘I mean you to take off your ah… knickers and bra.’ He grinned and then departed. The door closing.
A little bedroom with a narrow bed. Outside the window was a pretty garden. She had seen that when they arrived. It was right out in the country. Kent. An hour’s drive from London in Mr Bayton’s car. A pleasant enough drive, Mr Bayton chatting, questioning: her family, what she liked to do, etc. And telling her about the bank: the dealing side. There were special clients who did share dealing through the bank. That side of the business was very confidential and also these customers were very special. So only a special girl could be on that side of the work. It sounded all very exciting. But what was the induction? Exactly? Some form of screening?
Once or twice on the journey Mr Bayton’s hand had come down onto Susan’s thigh. Well actually more than once or twice. Over her skirt of course but still a little bit disconcerting. And inevitably reminding her of yesterday. Leaving his office. When Mr Bayton had taken hold of her bum. Just taken hold of it. Squeezing. Quite deliberate, not one of those sneaky feels that you could get on the tube or a bus. She hadn’t known what to do. Well what did you do, when it was Mr Bayton? Nothing.
Having his hand on your leg was disconcerting. One time with his hand there Mr Bayton had said, ‘Tights, Miss Maybury?’ Querying. Answering Yes, and feeling the colour rising a little in her cheeks. Mr Bayton’s hand had rubbed her leg. ‘I understand that some girls nowadays are going back to… ah… stockings. With a suspender belt. I’m sure some of our customers would like that. Old-fashioned gentlemen like a nice old-fashioned girl. In stockings and suspender belt. The good old days, eh?’
What could you say to that? Nothing.
And now, in this little bedroom, these skimpy shorts and the top. Why? A deep breath. Could it be some sort of sport? A girl had to be fit or something. But… better do it. Put them on. Biting her lip. No doubt she would soon find out.
Mr Bayton watching. Eye against the little spy-hole. His pulse picking up speed. The girl hesitating but now nonetheless beginning. To undress. He had to watch of course. Get all the detail he could on this young Susan with the tits. Essential. Oh look! Oh my! Those cute little knickers. Coming obediently off.
The cut-off shorts were a real struggle. The size gauged to an exactitude. She got them on, what there was of them. But only just. And then… the tits. Just look. Hot-faced pushing them into the halter. Almost as if she could believe the walls had eyes.
It was awful. Especially these shorts. She almost couldn’t get them on, and when she did half her bum was sticking out. She couldn’t go down in them. No. But then the door opened again. Mr Bayton. Face pink. ‘Lovely, dear. Absolutely lovely. Let me see…’ Taking her arm and turning her. To see that succulent seat of her shorts. To feast his eyes. And his free hand…
A sharp yelp from Susan. Writhing away from the hand at her bottom. At the brief skin-tight cut-offs and at the segments of cheek uncontained. But Mr Bayton hanging on to her, and the bottom-groping hand not keen to desist. ‘Just checking, dear. The fit. We want them nice and tight.’
Downstairs in the spacious kitchen. The tiled floor cold to her bare feet. All these chairs, almost as if there was to be a meeting or something. Two of the wooden chairs in the middle of the room were back to back. One with a cushion on its seat. And on the seat of another chair was a cane. The grey-green eyes took all this in while at the same time half of her mind was thinking of Mr Bayton’s hand. Which at any moment might make another heart-stopping strike at her rear. That cane… It couldn’t…
Mr Bayton went to pick it up. Swished it through the air. Giving her a little smile. ‘Susan: I think we might have a quick try-out. Before the others get here.’
A try-out? The others? And… that cane. Shaking the dark brown curls. Mouth trembling. ‘Wha…at.’
‘The customers, Susan. Just two or three, of our special clients. Coming to meet our lovely new girl. Have you ever had it before, my dear? The cane I mean.’
The cane. That cane. On… ‘NO!’
‘It is part of the induction, Susan. A most essential part. We have to be sure of a girl. Know that she’s absolutely reliable. And it’s the very best way. The cane makes her understand the necessity for discipline and integrity at all times. Mental discipline, but the point made by… ah… physical discipline. You can see that, I’m sure.’
No she couldn’t. ‘No! You can’t…’ Not that cane. Not that cane on her half-bare bottom, the part of her Mr Bayton no doubt intended applying it to.
The cane suddenly cutting in across her bare leg. ‘Don’t be silly, Miss. We must. Our clients demand it. They must be reassured.’
These clients. They were coming here? ‘Ooooh!’ Mr Bayton at close quarters again. Hands reaching for parts of her. Susan’s tits for one thing. As he pushed her to the back-to-back chairs. ‘Come on, dear. Doesn’t really hurt. Only a little… sting, in a girl’s tail.’
‘No! Noooo….’ Wailing. Yelps. Mr Bayton’s hands everywhere. Bare thighs. Those parts of her bum the inadequate shorts could not reach.
Even… ‘Ooooh!’ Right in there. Struggling, but having to get up on the chair. To kneel on that cushion thoughtfully provided for a girl’s knees. So her knees would not hurt while her bottom was… bend right over. Over the joined back. And reach her hands down to grip the legs.
‘Good girl.’ Mr Bayton’s eyes hot. Feasting. A choice young lady indeed. The clients would love her. My word yes. Just look at… where he had cut the denims away to almost nothing between the legs. Susan’s legs. My word. My word.
Raising the cane. Wiggling it to get the feel.
Ah… And then.A crescendo of shocked sound rising from the bowed dark brown head.