Games in a Playsuit (continued)

From Blushes 49, continuing the story of poor Linda who has fallen into the clutches of Mr Ranbourne. But at least it means she won’t get sent to a dreaded Rehabilitation Centre, doesn’t it?

The camera is going: Click… Click… Click. As Linda is forced to assume pose after pose. In what is left of the pink playsuit. Her big tits thrusting out of the holes cut in the front, her crotch virtually bare, her bottom completely bare except for the narrow strip left between the ripely swelling cheeks. Kneeling up on the high stool. Bending over it: face down and then face up. On the bare boards of the floor. On hands and knees. Lying on her back. Her legs spread, or up in the air. Mr Ranbourne seems to have an inexhaustible imagination when it comes to thinking of poses. Poses which reveal a girl’s body, its most intimate parts, in the most intimate of detail.

At last, though, he is finally content. Presumably because there aren’t any more positions in which Linda can exhibit that ripely female form. ‘Yes, that will do. An absolutely marvellous set of shots. I can’t wait to get them developed.’

What now? Can she perhaps go?

Linda standing in the dreadful cut-away playsuit, drained emotionally and physically can think only of going home. What time is it anyway? There is Gregory expecting to see her at five. Has Mr Ranbourne finished now he’s got all those awful shots in his camera? Haltingly Linda asks, ‘C…can I go now… please Mr Ranbourne?’

He smiles at her… and takes hold of one of Linda’s tits. ‘Not in a hurry to leave, are we? I should have thought you would be quite happy here, playing our little games. Posing for pretty pictures. Mmmm? Rather than being out in the streets which I’m sure are full of characters like those two this morning. A pretty girl must get a lot of that sort of business, eh? A pretty girl with these lovely big things.’ His two hands mound her tits.

Mr Ranbourne repeats the question when Linda doesn’t answer. Biting her lip she reluctantly says, ‘Yes, sometimes… not as bad as that though.’ The truth is of course that Mr Ranbourne has been just as bad as the two men. Doing just as bad things: the only difference is that there is only him to see and not three men.

Mr Ranbourne says, ‘I happen to have the names and addresses of those two characters. They wanted to send in a report, to the Records Office. They wanted me to sign it. Actually I said I would phone them about it later. Of course what I could do, Linda, is send you round to their places. Then you could put in your own personal plea for leniency. I’m sure you’d be able to plead most effectively — with this lovely body of yours.’

Mr Ranbourne’s words are unbelievable. Impossible. All that business with the two men is over — Mr Ranbourne said so. In effect at least. He is still palming her nude tits. Smiling a sort of diabolical smile. He wouldn’t really send her to them… Linda shakes her head. Feeling weak at the knees again. ‘No… no… you said…’

‘Well I did agree with them that a spell at a Rehabilitation Centre is good for a girl. I mean those people are trained to handle young women — and it’s a fact that all young people have a certain tendency to antisocial behaviour. I think a spell at a Centre would be useful training for any girl, Linda.’

‘No…!’ she squeals hysterically. How can Mr Ranbourne even contemplate getting her sent. When everyone knows what they do there. ‘No…!’

Mr Ranbourne smiles disarmingly. His hands are hefting Linda’s tits. ‘Well we’ll see. We’ll talk about it. Right now… I think a nice warm bath is what you need. You’re getting all hot and bothered. Yes, a nice soothing bath.’

Linda is feeling really sick. Mr Ranbourne can’t mean those things. She goes out, scarcely knowing what she’s doing, walking in front of Mr Ranbourne as he directs her, his hand at her bottom. Along and up the stairs. To the bathroom. Mr Ranbourne runs the bath, and tells her to take the playsuit off. He is clearly planning to stay here while Linda gets in but she can’t worry about that. Not after what he’s said. Nude again she stumbles into the bath. Conscious of his hands fumbling her but thinking only of the two awful men — and of course the Rehab Centre. It is difficult to decide what would be worse if she had to choose. No, the Rehab Centre would have to be worse. Everyone says it is worse than anything.

Mr Ranbourne is running a soapy sponge over her. ‘Anyway why are you so keen to get away, my dear? Is there a boyfriend you’re desperate to see?’

She thinks of lying — but Linda is not very good at lies. She tries to prevaricate but Mr Ranbourne senses at once that he has hit on the truth. Not that having a boyfriend at the age of 19 is in any way illegal: it is only if you have more than one partner, or casual contacts, that you can get into trouble. But of course it can be made to seem illegal, or immoral. Mr Ranbourne, once he has forced Linda to admit it, wants to know all the details of Linda’s private life. Very much like Dr Fitchley in fact, although he does have the excuse that it has to go on Linda’s file. Is she having intercourse? Mr Ranbourne wants to know. Regularly? How frequent? All kinds of awful questions. How can you answer questions like this — especially when you are in the bath and your questioner — your tormentor — is soaping your nude tits with a sponge?

The answers come reluctantly out — and it is virtually impossible to conceal anything when he is keeping on at her as he is. Yes… she is having intercourse… but only once a week. Gregory naturally wants it more frequently but Linda won’t agree to it more often than that. Once a week of course is in line with medical guidance. A young couple who have a regular relationship can have intercourse once a week but should not do it more frequently until they are married. Once a week will prevent any excessive frustrations from building up, but any more than that is not necessary and is seen as purely for enjoyment. Naturally it is not possible to really monitor something like this and no doubt young couples do do it more frequently. Linda and Gregory don’t though. Mr Ranbourne, still soaping Linda’s magnificent tits which have aroused nipples now, presses her on this. It is just as well she is not lying.

‘Are you sure?’ he persists. ‘I know what girls your age are like. And more to the point what young men are like. They will find a limit of once a week very frustrating, in spite of what the medical experts say. And especially someone with a lovely girl like you, Linda. This marvellous body. It must be torture for that young lad waiting a week. Is it one particular day of the week?’

Mr Ranbourne has rinsed the soap off and is now hauling Linda out of the bath. She has to answer. Tell him they do it on Saturdays usually. Saturday evenings. Where? At Linda’s home when her parents are out. Having to tell Mr Ranbourne all this is almost as bad as having him cutting the playsuit off — or what he did in the changing room at the doctors. He is rubbing her dry now. His hand slides in between her legs — without the towel.

‘So there are three days to go? Until Saturday. Until you get it again, my dear. Unless of course you go round to see our two friends. I imagine you wouldn’t have to wait till Saturday then. Mmm…?’

Linda lets out a frantic yelp. He has to be joking — though if it is a joke it is the most awful dreadful joke. ‘Yes, my dear?’

‘No!’ she squeals. ‘No! No! No!’

Mr Ranbourne lets go of her. Frowning. ‘We mustn’t get hysterical, Miss. Acting hysterical can get a girl sent away, you know.’

It almost seems like a threat. As if Mr Ranbourne is trying to find an excuse… to get her sent to the Rehab Centre. Linda bites her lip. No… please God… ‘Are you aware of that?’ he asks.

She shakes her head. Half scared to make any sound that might possibly be called hysterical. ‘I… I’m not. Really. I’m not hysterical. Please… don’t let me go… to the Rehab Centre.’ Linda feels like getting down on her knees.

Mr Ranbourne’s eyes have a certain look. As if he might be imagining beautiful, voluptuous Linda at the Rehab Centre. Imagining the officials doing those things… ‘You did sound hysterical. Linda. So perhaps we need something. If nothing else… perhaps… a touch of the cane. Would that be preferable?’

Linda’s mouth opens. The ripe lips, like soft summer fruit, expel her breath in a shocked gasp. ‘But of course if you’d rather…’

‘No! No! All right. Yes. If you think…’

‘Oh I do think, Linda dear.’ Mr Ranbourne slides his hand in to the thick bush of shimmering brown pussy hair. Clasping her mound. ‘Oh I definitely do think so. A couple of touches of the cane. Yes indeed.’

The cane! Oh Jesus. But… she would certainly get the cane at the Rehab Centre. Six or seven times a day if what you hear is anything to go by. Caned until you think you’re going out of your mind. Mr Ranbourne won’t cane her like that. ‘A couple of touches…’ Whatever it is it won’t be half as bad…

‘We’ll go into the bedroom,’ Mr Ranbourne says, taking his hand away. ‘I’ll give you it in the bedroom.’

And so Linda is again being marched along in front of Mr Ranbourne. This time with nothing on. The cut-down playsuit left in a crumpled little heap in the corner of the bathroom. Linda is more or less dry, her ripe body glowing from the warm bath plus the brisk rub that Mr Ranbourne has given her. She is directed into a bedroom. Mr Ranbourne’s? Or someone else’s? A spare room perhaps? A room kept for a girl who might be told she is staying the night… Don’t think that, he is going to let her go, Linda tells herself. Very soon. As soon as he’s finished… this latest little… game?

Her bare feet in the deep pile of the carpet. Walking over to the bed. ‘Kneel down at the side,’ she is told. ‘I want you kneeling. With your bottom nicely out over the edge. Have you been caned before, Linda?’

A mumbled ‘No.’ Linda has been threatened with the cane a couple of times. Those men who stop her in the street. Wanting something else but sometimes they think the threat of the cane can get them it. The threat of the cane and the threat of the Rehab Centre. But Linda has always managed to deflect the threats. Until now… but it is only the cane, she tells herself. It is going to hurt but it is not… the Rehab Centre — or even being given to those two men to have more fun with. No, it is only…

CRACK!… Oh God. The cane has sliced in onto her poor bottom and the pain is just not possible. She can’t stand it, she is perhaps going out of her mind. For a few immediate seconds. Clutching at the bedspread like a drowning man clutching at a straw. Her poor bottom surging, jerking. Trying to come to grips with the horrendous sting.

‘Keep it still, Miss. And don’t make such a fuss. That’s only one, it’s not as if you’ve had 30 of them.’

CRACK!!! That is two though. A second mind-zapping stinger. To produce a second pretty red stripe across the pale expanse of the ripely out-thrust globes. Linda’s bottom is jerking and writhing as if it is about to take off, into orbit. And that is how it feels: her bottom red-hot — hot enough to rocket her off into space.

CRACKKK!!!… The third one catches her lower down, on the fat undercurve some inches below the other two stripes. If anything this part of a girl’s bottom is even more sensitive. Linda gives another frantic jerk, lets out another desperate cry. Mr Ranbourne says, ‘Keep it still. Or would you like one between your legs? Eh?’

CRACKKK! In fact the cane comes down virtually on top of the last stripe. Squarely across the fat undercurve again. In spite of that unthinkable threat it is not possible for Linda to keep her red-hot bottom still. Mr Ranbourne drops the cane and sits down beside her. His hand slides over the ripe globes with now their four angry red stripes, causing a further violent jerk.

‘Would you like that, Linda? Mmm? Get them apart. Come on, get these pretty legs apart. That’s it. His hand strokes her inner thigh, high up. ‘Would you like a few here, Miss. Or how about here…’

Mr Ranbourne’s hand is on her pussy. He strokes his fingers along the moist slit. Linda lets out a wailing cry into the bed cover. Mr Ranbourne’s voice, soft and purring. ‘You’d get that at the Centre. They give you the cane just about everywhere. Wherever it will hurt most. And a girl is nice and sensitive here, eh?’

Linda makes a gurgling sound… as Mr Ranbourne’s fingers work at her. Her bottom is still red hot from those awful cane strokes, but what Mr Ranbourne is saying is even worse than that pain. And at the same time his hand… her legs are spread wide and she wants to close them. But…

‘How does that idea seem, young lady? The cane right here. Maybe I should give you a couple. So that you can see what it’s like. Yes…?’

Conclusion of this story and more explicit action to follow soon in Supplement 35.