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Saturday, 23 May 2020


From Blushes 30
The summer of 1940 was a strange time. Not only were the German armies pouring across Europe, leaving a trail of destruction, but many people found themselves uprooted from their usual surroundings and involved in unusual adventures. Peter Wilson was one of these. Whilst waiting to go into the Army, he answered an advertisement requiring a tutor for six months at an address in Southern Ireland.
He was accepted for the post, the pay was good, and, a week later, he arrived at Strathbally Castle to find that his job was to teach two girls. They were the nieces of Lady Strathbally, the owner of the castle and a widow. Their parents were in Singapore. Peter was alarmed to discover that both girls were almost as old as he; old enough, indeed, to be in the services had they been in England. But they were not, and Lady Strathbally was determined that their education should be continued.
His employer made it perfectly clear that her only interest was her horses, and that the girls were a nuisance, and that his job was to keep them occupied and well away from Lady Strathbally. She had certain other ideas too. ‘The girls are in your sole charge, Mr Wilson,’ she said. ‘You may think that I should have had a governess for them, but I consider that they could do with a bit of firm male discipline, so I decided on a tutor. The eldest has a long way to go before she is too big to have her bottom warmed. You have my full permission, here and now, to give them both a good thrashing, if you think fit. It won’t be any good them running to me with tales. I’ll just send them back to you for more of the same medicine.’
With these encouraging words ringing in his ears, Peter went off to find his charges. They were in the teaching wing, where there was a large room where they ate, worked, and lived, two bedrooms for the girls, a bathroom, and a pleasant bed-sitting room for Peter. Both girls stood up when he entered. Debbie, the eldest, was well developed, with her grey jersey stretched tightly across her breasts, and her short pleated skirt outlining a plump bottom. Janet, the younger, was more boyish, although the outline of her breasts also made their mark under her jersey. Her tight, neat posterior was more like the sort of target that Peter had enjoyed as a target for his cane during his last year at school, when he had been Head Boy, despite her eighteen years.
The girls worked diligently and did as they were told, and all went well, until one day a red-cheeked Janet brought him a note. It was from Lady Strathbally, and read, ‘Janet has been extremely rude to me. I wish you to punish her. Six of the best.’ There was no way out. Peter told the weeping girl that she was to be punished. As he went out to the garden to cut a hazel switch to use, he reflected on the problems of punishing girls. A witness would be desirable in case the girl made a complaint. Debbie could be that witness.
Thus we find Debbie standing with her thighs tightly pressed together, watching Janet being prepared, bent over the arm of the armchair, her skirt folded back. She saw Peter feel the blue knickers to ensure that only one pair were being worn, and the strangest melty feeling began right down there. She pressed her legs together and it became stronger. Peter was so strong and so good-looking, it would almost be worth the cane to have him do all those things to you. The hazel switch was raised and brought down on the tight little bum. Janet yelled and sprang up. Peter forced her down and held her there, but the whole scene was one of weeping, cries for mercy, and struggles. She got her six and was sent to bed. All this Debbie had found strangely thrilling, and that melty sort of feeling had got more and more, until something happened, and Debbie found that she was all wet between the legs, and there was a damp patch in the crotch of her knickers. She found it very hard to concentrate on her lessons.
Peter had been tempted to give the girl a token caning. It was just as well that he did not. Lady Strathbally came up to the teaching room, and, taking Peter with her, went to Janet’s room. The pyjama-clad girl was ordered to get up. ‘Take down your pyjama trousers,’ ordered Lady Strathbally, ‘and let’s see what sort of a job Mr Wilson has done.’ Peter made as to leave, but was ordered to stay. ‘Don’t let the girl get any fancy ideas about modesty, as far as you are concerned. I hope you caned her bare, anyway. That’s how I expect you to do it in future.’ The pyjamas fell to the floor. Peter glimpsed a generous tuft of black curly hair between her legs. The girl was ordered to turn, and did so to expose six angry red stripes across her backside. Lady Strathbally signified approval and left.
Peter was left with his thoughts. He had enjoyed caning his first girl. Her struggles and cries had been most exciting. It was an experience to be repeated. He reflected on what Debbie might be like, particularly in view of his orders about removing the girls’ undergarments. He stiffened against his trousers at the thought, but his reflections were disturbed by a light knock at the door. It was the pyjama-clad Janet.
‘Please sir, I can’t sleep,’ she said pathetically, ‘My bottom’s so sore.’
‘What do you expect me to do,’ was Peter’s unsympathetic reply.
‘Could you rub in some cold cream?’ the girl replied. ‘I’ve got it here.’ Peter was tempted and gave way.
‘Right,’ he said, ‘Get across my knee.’ He rubbed some attractive smelling cream into the girl’s sore posterior. Janet moaned from time to time, but from pleasure or pain was not clear. Peter wondered if the girl could feel his hardened member against her stomach, as she lay supine. Her firm bottom and thighs were deliciously smooth to the touch, apart from the ridges where the cane had done its work. He shifted the girl further over his knee, so that her head hung down near the floor, and her bottom was more exposed to his gaze. From conversations with the two girls he had learnt that their parents had been very strict. The girls had been carefully supervised. There was no question of boyfriends, and their virginity could be guaranteed. They were not unacquainted with corporal punishment but had always been allowed to keep their knickers on. The elder girl, Debbie, had been the naughty one, and had suffered very frequent spankings and canings. With the girl in her new position, Peter inserted his hand between her thighs and began to ease them apart. There was no resistance and no protest. He could now see right down between her legs, and the tight virgin slit with its surrounding downy hair. His finger ran along the cleft. There was still no resistance. He became bolder, and a fingertip pressed in and rubbed back and forth. His fingertip felt wetness, and the girl moaned and spread her legs wider. He began to bring her to a climax.
‘Is it nice?’ he demanded.
‘Oooh, yes sir,’ was the eager reply.
‘Would you like it some more? You must be a good girl, otherwise I won’t do it for you, and it must be a real secret, even from Debbie.’ All this was warily agreed to, and the blushing girl departed for bed.
Peter was not particularly worried about the consequences. Consent was all, and the girl had certainly consented to what had happened. What an odd country it was, he mused. It had the lowest age of consent in Europe, and the latest average marriage age for men, and astonishing sexual ignorance, which was encouraged by the priests. Even at this minute, in some hotel bed, there must be some forty-year old bachelor trying to force his rigid organ up inside some bewildered innocent. Later, the young bride would find that if she failed to do the housework, she would feel his belt across her bottom, and after her thrashing she would have to remain in the same position, whilst her husband dropped his trousers to mount her. Yes, an odd country indeed…
Lessons next day were rather stressful. Janet could not concentrate. All she could think about was Mr Wilson’s finger tickling her between her legs and how nice it had been. Peter, in his turn, now at last realised the power that he had over these two girls, and how they were completely at his disposal. The caning of Janet had made him determined to exercise his rights over the older girl. He visualised her reluctant disrobing to receive her punishment. He would strip her completely and uncover that much plumper and more feminine bum, and the two well developed breasts, not to mention the triangle of curly hair between those thighs. Debbie was a redhead, and her bush would be red too. He had already issued some instructions to both girls. The dress for work in the teaching room was to be cotton dresses and ankle socks. Vests were to be worn, but no stockings or suspender belts, and particularly no brassieres.
Debbie, in her turn, was in a turmoil. She suspected that something had taken place after Janet’s whipping the previous evening. She had been in Mr Wilson’s room for ages, and refused to tell her anything. In a perverse sort of way, she wished that she had been the one to be punished. She had daydreams of Mr Wilson taking down her pants and forcing her to do unimaginable things. She was determined to attract his attention and sat, deliberately, legs apart, so that her tutor could get a good look up her legs to her white briefs which she had put on instead of the blue knickers that Mr Wilson had ordered. Peter had not failed to spot this ploy. From his seat, he could see these forbidden white briefs, and, from the immodestly sprawled way she was sitting, he could even glimpse a wisp of red pubic hair showing from the loose legs of her knickers. The maid came with the afternoon tea. She was a country girl, not more than eighteen herself.
‘Maeve,’ he said, ‘I want to ask you a question. What would your father do to you if he found you dressed in an immodest manner?’ Maeve coloured and replied ‘Why sir, he’d take me to the bedroom and belt the hide off me.’
‘Thank you’ said Peter, ‘I want you to go to the stables and get me a strap like your father uses on you and bring it back here. Miss Debbie has been behaving most indecently, and I am going to whip her bare bottom.’ The maid scuttled off, and Debbie blushed scarlet, the cold hand of fear now grasping her. Maeve the maid was soon back. She delivered the strap and made as to go, but was told to lock the door and remain. She watched fascinated. The haughty Miss Debbie was about to have her big bum tanned. She didn’t believe that this sort of thing happened to the gentry. She watched as Peter unbuttoned the girl’s dress and hauled it over her head. Then, my goodness, down came her pants. Her Dad had always let her keep her pants on. My goodness, Mr Peter was a fine-looking man. She wouldn’t mind him taking down her pants.
Debbie was then made to stand in the corner like a little girl, in nothing but her vest and socks. Then the surprise came. Mr Peter got the maid to take up Miss Debbie on her back and hold her. Her bare bum was sticking right out, and he fairly gave it to her. It was quite a struggle to hold Miss Debbie, and her cries and wriggling against her back made Maeve feel all funny.
Eventually, Miss Debbie was sent to bed crying, and Miss Janet was sent out for a walk. Mr Peter then began to ask the maid a lot of funny questions about how her dad punished her, what she felt, and what she felt this time.
‘Have you wet knickers, Maeve?’ he asked sternly. She denied this, but her blushes betrayed her. He knew she was lying and said, ‘Right, if you are telling the truth, here is ten shillings for you. If you are not, I shall have to tell Lady Strathbally.’ Before Maeve could even gasp, his hand was under her skirt and feeling the big damp patch at the front of her knickers. She pleaded with him that her employer should not be told. She would get the sack and a whipping from her dad as well. It was, of course, agreed that she would submit to a bottom smacking.
During the negotiations, Peter kept his hand up her skirt, feeling her. Then she had to pull up her skirt, and he hauled down her knickers. She was a big well-grown country girl with a generous bush of pubic hair. She took her smacking, which was nothing like so severe as one of her father’s beatings, and ran off giggling…
Debbie was not a bit surprised that Mr Wilson should come and have a look at her bum, when she was having a bath, but what was a surprise was that he should decide to dry her.
He held out the big towel and wrapped her in it. Then he dried her breasts. It was nice and she got that feeling down there again, and her titties all stood up. Next he made her part her legs and dried her there.
‘I wonder if you are ticklish’ he said and began to touch her between her thighs. She didn’t like to protest in case she got punished again, and, anyway, when he stroked her there it was really nice. It got better and better —
Some days later, the family doctor called. He was a grim looking middle-aged man, and he took the two girls with him into a bedroom. When he emerged, he was much more friendly and said to Peter, ‘Lady Strathbally asked me to examine the girls. I think you’re doing a good job with them. I must say, I had my doubts about a young male tutor, but I’m quite happy now. Don’t make the mistake of being soft with them because they’re girls. If they misbehave, there is nothing like a good hard thrashing on the seat of the knickers.’
‘Lady Strathbally has given me permission to punish them on the bare backside’ said Peter.
‘Even better’, said the doctor over his shoulder as he left.
Janet was cross-examined as to what had happened.
‘He made us take our pants off and lie on the bed with our legs wide open,’ she said. ‘He fiddled about down there and looked with a torch, and said he was making sure that we were good girls. What did he mean?’ Peter promised to tell her later. It was a narrow escape. The doctor had been sent to see if the girls were still virgins.
Later that day, when the girls were out riding, Maeve brought him his tea, but clumsily managed to break a cup.
‘Now I’m for it’ she said, ‘Lady Strathbally will deduct this from my wages. Will you be kind sir, and say you did it?’
‘Why should I?’
‘You could smack my bum and then it would be finished with,’ replied the pert girl, giving him a sideways glance.
‘That might be an idea’. He slipped his hand under her skirt. He felt her firm peasant thighs through the black cotton stockings, but when he progressed, there was just warm soft flesh. ‘Why aren’t you wearing your knickers?’ he demanded.
‘Well, sir, I just thought you might find some reason to smack my bum like last time,’ was the cheeky reply.
In seconds, Maeve found herself in the bedroom, her dress off, lying on her back, with her legs apart. This was not going to be a spanking. She was just a bit frightened, but eager all the same. Peter looked at her and saw a well-built girl, legs splayed, her vest pushed up, big peasant breasts and a generous muff of black hair hiding the slit between her sturdy thighs. Maeve watched fascinated as Peter undid his trousers. There was a glimpse of a long hard organ and a clump of hair, and he was on top of her. In spite of herself, she was wet and ready and he slipped into her. There was a little tightness, but the games she had played with the boys in the village had stretched her and she could hardly be called a virgin. Back and forth he thrust, she too pressing against him until she felt the spurt of warm wetness enter her… Peter had now decided that Lady Strathbally fully trusted him, and, as he had only a short time before he returned to England to join the Army, he would have both girls before he left. Things had settled to a routine. Maeve had been sent away for some reason, and the two girls only occasionally offended. Usually their behaviour merited no more than a smacked bottom, but once or twice both Debbie and Janet found themselves bent over the sofa for the cane. This was invariably followed by the rubbing-in of cold cream to the sore bottom, later that evening. Peter’s fingers always seemed to stray during the process, but this was something that neither girl would complain about.
He had long suspected that both girls played with themselves and fantasised about boys after they had gone to bed. His suspicions were confirmed one evening. Debbie’s door was ajar and he heard the tell-tale creak of bedsprings and faint moans of pleasure. He entered and found the girl, face flushed, lying legs apart. He whipped back the covers. Her nightdress was around her waist and her hand between her legs. Seconds later he had the girl in his bedroom with the door locked. She was fully prepared for a sound whipping, and in fact bent over his armchair ready for it, when she glanced back and saw Mr Wilson advancing, not with a cane in his hand, but something else. She felt his hard muscular body press against her and force her forward as he pushed up her nightie and fondled her breasts. She felt her nipples harden, and his fingers moved down to her virgin slit. She felt the wetness come as it had when she was playing with herself. She also felt his hard organ begin to penetrate between the soft lips of her vagina, into her body…
Janet’s initiation was slightly different. One of the girls used to bring him his tea in the morning. It happened to be Janet’s turn, and he found her beside his bed. As she bent forward, her dressing gown parted to disclose that she was wearing nothing underneath. Almost as a matter of habit he leant out and fingered her. Janet giggled and moved her feet apart.
‘My goodness, you do like it, you naughty little minx,’ he said.
‘Oooh, yes sir,’ she replied. He pulled her down into the bed.
‘It’s time I taught you a little more,’ he exclaimed. ‘I’ll show you some advanced tickling…’
The very next morning, it was Debbie’s turn to bring the tea. On the tray were two envelopes. One, a brown one, was his orders to join the Army. The other was a note from Lady Strathbally to tell him that both girls had been rude to the gardener and were to be severely punished. The gardener was sent for. His eyes lit up when he learned that he was to witness the beatings. Debbie and then Janet took down their knickers and bent over the table for six hard strokes of a swishy cane. He eyed the gardener covertly as he whipped first one squirming bottom then the other: the gardener didn’t take his eyes from the girls. Peter felt sure that he had found a replacement whom he could recommend with full confidence when he left…


  1. Although I usually dislike stories in which the young ladies concerned exhibit an enthusiasm for being spanked and caned (or whatever else the young gentleman involved might seek to do to them), in real life this would be a kind of dream situation to be in. I bet you wouldn't much feel like leaving it to go off and possibly get yourself killed in a war! Let's hope that if the gardener is to take over the disciplinary reins with these two brazen young hussies that he's old, nasty and lascivious and a much less attractive proposition for them than a handsome young tutor.

  2. Glorious story. Two pretty young things getting thrashed and screwed, and a buxom maid getting spanked and ravished...what more could you want?!