Sally-Anne

Basil has a visitor. Story from Blushes 3.

The clock in the hall upstairs strikes ten and Basil checks his watch unnecessarily and says that he’d better go and phone the Major.

‘You can stay as you are,’ he says to the girl. I haven’t finished with you yet!’

The girl swallows nervously and Basil clumps up the cellar stairs to the study where April is still hovering around in her knickers waiting to be told she may go to bed. He sends her off and she goes gratefully. Basil picks up the phone and dials a number from memory.

‘Hello Major — Basil,’ he says. ’How’s the salvage business?’ ‘Eh?’ ‘— Eh, silly me. I meant ‘salvation’, of course. I thought you’d like to know that your girl arrived alright.’ ‘Hmm? — half-past nine. Well, a few minutes late — by my watch, that is.’ He laughs wickedly. ‘Oh yes — caned her for it —’

Downstairs, the girl whom Basil has just caned for being late lies quietly across the stool which Basil always puts her across. She is about eighteen, tall and well-built but with a look of innocence about her which is only explained by the dark blue uniform jacket which is hanging from a peg behind the stairs together with the dark blue straw bonnet with the mauve ribbon. Her blouse is hanging from the same hook, along with her skirt. She has been left in only her underwear and her black stockings, one of which has been laddered by a splinter from the stool. Her knickers are still stretched around the firm curves of her bum, flimsy and brief and edged with black lace, their sauciness out of place against the sombre formality of her uniform. Her bra is no more conservative, and isn’t really big enough for a girl as big as her. One nipple has escaped and points stiffly down towards the floor.

Across her big, plump bottom are a dozen thick cane weals — six for being late and six for having a bum that’s so nice to cane. She has another twelve to come, and although somehow she has managed to stay obediently across the stool so far, she really doesn’t think she’ll be able to stay down for the rest.

She glances over her shoulder, up the stairs, to check that Basil isn’t on his way back, then she reaches back and slips her scanty knickers down. She looks back up the stairs to be sure she isn’t being watched then she arranges herself properly over the stool again, knowing the importance which Basil places on these little things.

That done, she stares worriedly at the floor, knowing that in all probability she’ll still get half a dozen more, but hoping that Basil will choose to accept the offer and not give her the rest. The dozen she has already had will do to show her father when she gets home as evidence of her punishment. She notices something flaccid and pink lying discarded in a corner — it makes her blush, even though there is no-one to see her. Unworldly though she is, she knows from experience what those are for! Girls like her! She knows Basil well enough too, to guess that upstairs there is probably some unfortunate girl lying on the bed that she herself used to sleep in whenever she was sent here for a weekend’s ‘tuition’, trying to get to sleep on her tummy and wondering, just as she used to, whether she dares tell her mum.

A noise at the top of the stairs must mean that Basil is coming back. The girl’s bottom trembles as she peeps round her shoulder and sees his feet on the stairs, and then his legs, and then the cane in his hand. She crosses her fingers for luck and hopes that once again wickedness will be her poor bottom’s salvation.