Room 2D

An enhanced version of the first in the delicious George Bartlow trilogy, George to the Rescue from Blushes 12. The delightful pictures used in the trilogy don’t entirely match the stories, but that isn’t too unusual for Blushes. In this one there is a kind of scene-setting preamble told in captions before we reach the main story. ‘If this awful man goes to the Head,’ Alison had said to George, ‘I’ll certainly be kicked out!’ That was what she had said, because of course Mr Bartlow couldn’t be expected to know that ‘kicking out’ was the kind of sanction that Mr Pinkerton would only resort to as a very last resort. His first recourse would be to that paragraph in the school’s prospectus which mentioned ‘exceptional circumstances’ in connection with the application of a cane to a girl’s bottom. Alison would, perhaps, have mentioned it to Mr Bartlow except that he was, in truth, a little — well, common — and she wasn’t sure that...

Photo feature from Janus 80 Twenty years old and in some aspects of life a little naive, Shirley is eager to please and willing to learn. She received a good academic education, but admits that, in many ways, her friends who attended the ‘university of life’ have a considerable advantage. There is much she missed out on: boys for example, and all those exciting allied experiences. The subject of corporal punishment is something she only learnt about from slightly more worldly friends, between giggles. Her first relationship was unique in one particular aspect. Her boyfriend spanked her pretty bottom on numerous occasions during the year-and-a-half they were together. The last few months before they parted were the most exciting. Shirley discovered the magnetic attraction of her own bottom and legs. Time and again, the backs of her thighs and feet were firmly smacked. This erotic prelude invariably heightened and intensified what...

An Irish story by Jean-Philippe Aubourg  from Janus 153 , the first in a series of four with nice illustrations by Anton that I will feature on the coming Saturdays. Siobhan picked nervously at the corner of her missal, only vaguely aware of the deep male voice that boomed through the church. Normally she would have listened attentively to the priest’s every word, but this Sunday she was pre-occupied. Father Murphy’s sermons seemed to be delivered by the voice of God himself. Authoritative and charismatic, his very tone convinced his congregation of the evils of the world outside, the books, the films and above all, the music of this new ‘free love’ generation, and how vital it was that it was kept out of their little corner of Ireland. It may be 1967 in the rest of the world, but there was no reason for this parish to leave the nineteen-thirties. Most of his elderly congregation nodded in solemn agreement. Siobhan may not...