Fish and Chips and Hot Bottoms

From Blushes 62

‘I’ve got something rather nice coming. You might be interested, Harold.’

The speaker’s name is Arthur Grigham. He and his companion, Harold Benkins, are sitting in a quiet corner of the bar of the Sea View Hotel which is a substantial and rather stylish Edwardian building on the front in the centre of town. They are both fiftyish, in quiet but well-cut country suits. Solid middle-class citizens — the owner of a well-established men’s outfitters and an accountant respectively — in this pleasant south coast holiday town.

Harold Benkins smiles. ‘I’m always interested in nice things.’

Mr Grigham glances around the room in a relaxed manner. It is a quiet Wednesday evening with the season not yet started and the bar is largely empty. There is no need to lower his voice beyond the normal.

‘A pair of college girls. Rather nice ones. Two rather stunning blondes in fact. You might be interested?’

Harold Benkins raises his eyebrows.

They come from one of the agencies. Summer jobs. But of course they don’t know what summer jobs. Anyway they’ll be given a little bit of a rough time first of all. So that they’re nice and docile. So that they’ll be nice sensible girls.’ Arthur Grigham takes a swallow of his Best Bitter. ‘I rather fancy college girls. Don’t you? Once they’re nice and docile of course. Nice and cooperative.’

Mr Benkins, catching the gist of what he is being told, produces a smile. He is still new to the town, having moved to his present post in January. He has yet to experience a summer season. He doesn’t really know what it’s like, what goes on. But he has become friendly with Arthur Grigham. And… college girls… Does he fancy college girls?

‘A bit of a rough time. That sounds interesting.’

‘Yes.’ Arthur Grigham’s dry little laugh. ‘And I’m sure our two young ladies will find it interesting too. Oh yes, I really like college girls.’

Harold Benkins takes a draught of his own beer. Feeling his pulse rate rising. ‘If… they get a rough time why don’t they just clear off.’

Mr Grigham shakes his head. ‘Oh no. They can’t do that. We make sure they can’t do that. We can’t have them running off before they’ve given us a nice interesting time. A stimulating time. Oh no.’

He looks at his watch. It is about time to go. Muriel will have his dinner ready. ‘Right then. I’ll let you know. I’ll put you on the list. Harold Benkins to be near the top of the list. For both of them I suppose?’

----//----

He meets them on the station platform. A middle-aged man with a red flower in his buttonhole as arranged. A pleasant-looking man with a genial greeting. Mr Culvan, the name they had been given by the Job Agency.

‘Hilary Kenton and Sally Grayford?’

They in turn as agreed for identification are wearing light-coloured raincoats and white high heels. But in any case they are unmistakable: two pretty girls both with shoulder-length honey-blonde hair.

They have had a long train journey: from the north into London and then on down here to Milford-on-Sea on the Dorset coast. A hot and tiring journey but it is now over. Friendly Mr Culvan, helping with their bags, is conducting them out to his car.

‘What exactly are we going to be doing?’ Hilary asks as the bags are stowed in the boot of Mr Culvan’s Mercedes. Because they haven’t been told anything specific; only ‘holiday trade work’. They saw the advert on the college notice board and applied, sending their photos and the other details as requested and received a letter of acceptance by return. Summer holiday jobs in Milford-on-Sea. Their boyfriends also applied but unfortunately weren’t successful. However Kevin and Jim have subsequently got fixed up in other jobs and they’ll be able to meet later. It would have been nice to get jobs together but at the same time it will be more of an adventure for Hilary and Sally to be here by themselves.

Mr Culvan, smiling genially, is really no more informative than those letters have been. It is difficult to say exactly until the last moment, it all depends on what is needed. Mr Culvan’s organisation supplies help to a number of businesses. There’ll be more definite information in the morning,

The girls are taken to a small boarding house and given a room together by the landlady, Mrs Smith. Someone will come to see them first thing in the morning. But meanwhile Mr Culvan wants to take all their documentation. All the documents that they were told to bring. They haven’t forgotten them, have they? Driving License. Passports. The Social Security forms. University ID Cards. Also of course their bank cheque cards etc.

Mr Culvan assures them he only needs these documents to check and they’ll have them back in the morning. So they hand them all over. They are feeling tired anyway after travelling for most of the day. Otherwise perhaps they might have queried handing everything over like this. As it is they are in no mood to argue. Mr Culvan goes off. And after Mrs Smith has prepared a supper snack Hilary and Sally are content just to strip off their clothes and get in between the sheets.

They are feeling better in the morning after a good night’s sleep. After that and a bath and breakfast. Feeling bright and eager to see just what work has been arranged for them. Outside the sun is shining out of a clear blue sky, it looks like a glorious day. Probably they’ll be doing something inside, hotel work or something, and although it would be nice to be outside on such a nice day they are not going to be bothered.

‘Remember to ask for our stuff back,’ Sally says. ‘Mr Culvan said he’d bring them.’

But it is not Mr Culvan who comes for them, it is a man called Vince. Not dressed in a suit like Mr Culvan but in a work jacket and jeans. Rougher looking — he doesn’t look as if he’s shaved this morning — and younger, maybe in his thirties, with also a rougher sounding voice. He has come from Mr Culvan.

‘We’ll go up to your room,’ he tells them.

This Vince is not at all like Mr Culvan. In their room he sits heavily down on Hilary’s bed and, grinning, slides his hand under the cover.

‘Nice and warm still. From a nice warm girl eh? Which one of you in this one? Not that I’d mind. I’d be happy to be in it with either of you. Ha-ha.’ He reaches under the pillow. ‘No nightie? Sleep in the altogether eh? Christ, I’d like some of that.’

‘Look…!’ Hilary says, her face flushing. ‘I don’t… we were to see Mr Culvan. And where are our things?’

Vince looks up at them. ‘What things? Your pussies? I expect they’re nice and snug between your legs. But if you come here, darling, I’ll check.’

‘You… You dirty bastard!’ Sally blurts. ‘We… We want to see Mr Culvan.’

‘Hey! Don’t you dirty bastard me. Or I’ll have your knickers down a bit smartish. Give that pretty arse a good tanning. And then maybe give you something else for good measure. They say you college girls are all hot for it.’

It is scarcely possible to believe. That nice Mr Culvan yesterday and now… this awful foul-mouthed creature.

He turns to Hilary. ‘What about you? Would you like your knickers taken down. Eh? Over my lap here. And if you think I can’t manage the two of you you’d better think again. There’re a couple of blokes downstairs who’d be more than ready to give me a hand.’

Hilary can feel herself sweating. ‘Pl… Please… we want to see Mr Culvan.’

‘And I’d like to see the Queen of England. Only she’s busy and Mr Culvan is busy too. So it’s me, good old Vince. I’ve got to get you started. Broken in like. It’s a job I’m pretty good at — breaking in pretty girls. Especially hoity-toity college girls. Now first of all… I’m taking you two to the chippy. Fred’s Fryer.’

----//----

‘Look… This is dreadful. You can’t make us… Aaaooowww…!!’

Hilary’s complaint is cut short as the flat of Vince’s heavy hand cracks stingingly in across the back of one bare thigh.

The girls are in this awful fish-and-chip place. The back room where the preparation is done. There is a strong smell of fish everywhere, plus great piles of peeled and unpeeled potatoes. The floor is more or less awash with horrible dirty water. Vince is alright, he has changed his shoes for a pair of wellingtons. But the girls…

Their feet are in insubstantial black canvas shoes, alright for general hotel work but definitely not for this sort of thing. Their legs are bare. And not only their legs, they are just about half-naked. In blue short-sleeved work shirts, plus knickers. But no skirts. Hilary has a short white tunic, like a waiter’s jacket, on top of her shirt; Sally has a blue-and-white striped apron. And that is it. Their bare thighs are exposed up to their bottoms and their bottoms are in these tight and skimpy little knickers — Sally’s blushing-pink. Hilary’s pink-and-white polka-dotted.

These outfits were handed to them by Vince in the other back room of this awful place: a back street fish-and-chip shop called Fred’s Fryer. Telling them to change into the outfits ‘in two minutes flat’ and if they weren’t changed when he came back ‘in two minutes’ he would have them working in the nude.

Faced with that threat Hilary and Sally did it — close to tears at this unbelievable turn of events. None of those things that they handed over yesterday — cheque cards, passports etc — have been returned. But for the moment in this awful back room and in their awful semi-nude state they are not thinking about their documents.

What Hilary and Sally are thinking about for one thing is that the unspeakable Vince has now got a cane in his hand. He is telling them to brush up the horrible mess on the floor and whipping the cane through the air by way of encouragement. He wants to cane them, he says. He is just looking for the slightest excuse. The cane whips through the air again.

With whimpering cries they grab the big brushes. They have landed in some sort of nightmare. It is all simply unbelievable. But… they start desperately pushing the brushes, their ripe-cheeked bottoms in the tight little knickers quivering and shivering and presenting two almost irresistible targets for the cane…

‘Come on! You’re not working. You’re just pretending…’

‘Aaaarrraaaagh…!’

The cane has sliced agonisingly in across Hilary’s rear. Those diaphanous briefs — looking no more substantial than a butterfly-wing — do nothing to check the cane. It is exactly as if she has had it on the bare.

‘Come on then, look lively. And you too. Sally is it?’

‘Aaaaeeeoooowwwhh…!’

A similar swiping cut across Sally’s unprotected, backside. The pain in both bottoms is outrageous, killing, like a hundred’ hornets. He can’t hit them with that cane…

But awful Vince is of a different opinion. And who is there here in this dreadful kitchen to stop him? No one. The cane slices in again, this time to the back of Hilary’s bare thighs.

‘Aaaaaeeeoowwwww…! No! No…! Please… No more!’

‘Get on then. Let’s see more action. You college girls think the world owes you a living. Well I’ve got to teach you different. I think I’ll have to take both of your knickers down and cane you properly.’

‘No! Please!’ They work frantically with the brushes, pushing the messy water towards the drain. They are desperately doing what they can… but the fact is of course that Vince is very keen to take their knickers down. And so therefore he is not going to be satisfied with their efforts. However efficiently and well the cleaning chore is done. No: Hilary and. Sally unfortunately cannot win.

‘Come on. You’re only messing about, both of you. I’m going to give you both a proper caning. Come on, you first Hilary. Stop that and get your knickers down. Then get bent over those sacks.’

‘No… Please…!’

But this only brings another encouraging cut of the cane. ‘Get them down.’

Hilary does it. Half in tears, sliding the bright-pink knickers down. Then bending herself over the sacks of potatoes in the corner. Her bare bottom already has that one glowing cane-mark squarely across the fullest swell of the cheeks. Sally, forced to look at this awful but mesmerising spectacle, feels sick. Vince, moving in close with the cane for the moment transferred to his left hand, roughly gropes Hilary’s bottom, cackling.

‘I must say you college girls have got lovely bums. And nice hot pussies too I reckon.’

His groping hand slides in between Hilary’s legs. She gives a convulsive jerk — and a frantic howl.

Vince cackles again and takes his groping fingers away. The cane is moved back to his right hand.

‘OK. Nice and still now. Stick it out. Let’s see how you take a proper caning.’

----//----

‘What are we going to do?’ Hilary’s plaintive wail. The two girls are back in their little room. It is about five o’clock in the afternoon (they don’t know the exact time because their watches have been taken away with everything else). Hilary’s despairing question is not of course posed for the first time. They have asked themselves and each other the same question a hundred times. But there is still no answer.

The door is locked. They have been in here for something like half an hour now. After an unbelievable day. That dreadful chip shop in the morning — where if anything things got even worse after their canings. After another go at the floor Hilary and Sally were made to strip down to just their knickers… and Vince turned the water hose on them. Asking if they would like to wash off a bit… and then directing an icy blast of water full on them. There was then another caning each, this time across the seats of their soaking wet knickers.

After lunch (congealed fish-and-chips which had been cooked some time earlier) the girls were taken to another establishment; a seedy hotel this time. The kitchen again, and again made to perform dirty, menial tasks, in a similar semi-clad state to that of the morning. The same blue shirts but a change of knickers after their soaking in the chip kitchen. ‘We don’t want you lovely girls catching cold,’ said a mock-solicitous Vince.

Yes it is all quite unbelievable. They have thought of attempting to escape of course — except that they have been closely chaperoned or locked up all day. And also Vince has thought of this as well, guessing that the idea might enter the girls’ heads.

‘Just remember we’ve got all your documents,’ he said at lunch time, ‘If you’re thinking of doing anything silly. And if for instance you thought of going to the police with some silly story, well don’t. We would have three or four very respectable citizens who could testify that the two of you have come down here and have been looking for trade on the streets. Yes, on the game. Have you got me? You would be done for soliciting and how would that look on your college records?’

‘He was probably bluffing,’ Sally said. But it was a very nasty thought.

So what are they going to do? Hilary and Sally could be kept here all summer like this. Just imagine that: the whole summer like today! And of course they are imagining it. Suddenly there is the sound of the key in the door lock. Oh Christ! That dreadful Vince again…?

No it is not. It is Mr Culvan. Genial and friendly Mr Culvan whom the girls have almost forgotten in this nightmare they’ve been experiencing. Hilary and Sally are immediately on their feet, both babbling desperately at once.

‘OK, OK. Yes I know. I’m sorry girls. Yes, one at a time. You see…’

Mr Culvan sits down in the other rather seedy armchair and the girls sit on Hilary’s bed. Mr Culvan has eyed their partially nude state of course, the fact that they have no skirts on. His eyes naturally taking in those sexy little knickers they are wearing, and their lovely bare thighs. ‘That dreadful Vince took our clothes,’ blurts Sally. ‘And made us go about like this.’

Mr Culvan shakes his head sympathetically. and begins to explain. It seems there’s been something of a problem. That Vince and a couple of friends of his, who are not really in Mr Culvan’s company at all, but they’ve taken the girls’ papers and everything and…

‘Can’t you get them back?’ demands a shrill-voiced Hilary. ‘And… we’ve been treated really dreadfully. Caned…’ She could almost burst into tears at the enormity of it all.

‘Yes I know. Or I guessed as much. That Vince, he’s a bad lot. Yes I’m sure we can get your things back. If we play our cards right.’

What does that mean? Why can’t they go straight to the police station and get Vince arrested?

‘Oh no,’ Mr Culvan says nervously. ‘That’s not the way. Not at all. You might never see your things again. We can’t go at it like a bull in a china shop. Not the way to do it… Well there are these two other gentlemen. They’re not like Vince but they are a little… unscrupulous. They will need persuading. The soft approach. Otherwise they’ll listen to Vince and Vince of course wants to keep the two of you more or less like slaves for the rest of the summer. But those other two I am sure could be persuaded. By two pretty girls.’

‘Just explain everything?’ Sally asks.

Mr Culvan gives a little shake of his head. ‘I think it will need something more than mere explaining. You see to these men business is business. And there’s money in you two girls. Vince of course isn’t planning to pay you any wages.’

Hilary gives a little cry of outrage.

‘So… it will mean being persuasive as I say. And you are both very lovely girls. Do you know what I mean?’ Mr Culvan produces a winning smile. His hand reaches out to pat Hilary’s bare leg. Just above the knee: a pat and then a little squeeze.

Hilary and Sally glance at each other. What exactly does Mr Culvan mean? Being persuasive. It can mean… well, a lot of things. George Culvan, to put things in the right perspective, says, ‘just remember the alternative. Which I am afraid is a lot more of our friend Vince. Possibly even worse than you’ve had today.’ Shaking his head. ‘Vince is a bit of a lad.’

‘He’s a… dreadful bastard!’ Sally says with feeling.

Well yes. Quite so. What Mr Culvan suggests is that he takes them separately to see these two gentlemen. Hilary to one and Sally to the other. It is of course much easier for a man to be persuaded by a pretty girl if just the two of them are together. ‘Nice and cosy,’ Mr Culvan says.

----//----

It is pretty awful. Unless of course you view it in the light of dreadful Vince; then it is not so awful. This Mr Grigham who is the one Hilary goes to see. (And also as it turns out Mr Stanfield who is the other one, assigned to Sally, he is very much the same. Awful, that is.)

Mr Grigham is a middle-aged businessman-sort of person — not unlike Mr Culvan — and he says, in this very pleasant flat where Hilary sees him, that he understands and will help, but of course he also unfortunately wants to get his hands on Hilary. As she sits with him on the settee. (Hilary is of course wearing a proper dress now and her white high heels which have reappeared, and also some make-up.) Mr Grigham wants to get his hands on Hilary’s lovely legs. Up her skirt. And on her lovely tits. Even in fact… he wants to get his hand on her cunt. His groping hand at the tight little crotch of her knickers.

Telling unhappy Hilary as he progresses in what he wants that yes, if she is cooperative he will certainly do all he can to help.

Soft-voiced seductive words: ‘Now just be a nice girl. You’re such a lovely girl. I don’t want that Vince to mess you about. Everything can be alright, you can have a really nice time here. Only…’

Hot-faced — indeed hot all over — Hilary is somehow letting Mr Grigham’s hand slide in between her thighs and get at what it wants to get at. Stroking her there. Which of course will soon get a girl hot even if it is a middle-aged man that you don’t fancy like this Mr Grigham doing it. Oh Cripes! Mr Grigham is going to want to fuck her — which of course is a thing that has been in Hilary’s mind ever since Mr Culvan mentioned going to see these two men and persuading them. Having to fuck this Mr Grigham.

But in fact he doesn’t want a fuck. At least not now at this particular time he doesn’t. What Mr Grigham wants… is for Hilary to unzip his trousers… and take out his big stiff thing… and stroke it. Masturbate it in fact. And then after a certain amount of this… something else. Mr Grigham pushing Hilary’s head down. Yes, he wants it in her mouth. He wants… to come in her mouth.

----//----

That is Mr Grigham. Or rather that is the start with Mr Grigham. Because naturally he is not going to be content with that one-off pleasure. That one-off coming in Hilary’s mouth. Mr Stanfield with Sally is very much the same. Not wanting the same as Mr Grigham but the same sort of thing. Mr Stanfield wants a proper fuck. And Sally, knowing the situation the same as Hilary, knows she has to let him have it. Have a nice fuck in the bed in his flat. When Mr Stanfield is very persuasive and indicates that he really wants it.

But Mr Grigham and Mr Stanfield aren’t the only ones. Unfortunately. There are others who are in on this and need to be sweetened as it were. Other businessman-type-gentlemen. Including in fact Mr Culvan. Yes that nice Mr Culvan. He wants to enjoy similar pleasures too. ‘Come on, it’s nothing really. Not to you college girls, I know. I know you’re not going to deny poor old George Culvan. Not when I know those others…’ Yes, Mr Culvan wants a fuck too. And he is just as persuasive as any of the others in insisting on what he wants. From both Hilary and Sally.

It is pretty awful. Dreadful. If you think about it. Well then, don’t think about it. And certainly don’t think about Kevin and Jim, who fortunately as it turns out aren’t here to know what is going on. Think of what things would be like with that awful Vince. And it does seem that Mr Horrible Vincent can now be forgotten, that is the bright side.

And there is more of the bright side too.

Hilary and Sally can spend a good part of the day on the beach. Most days. Having a lovely time. The beach, the sea, the sun. Whenever their services are not required by Mr Grigham and Mr Stanfield. And Mr Culvan and the others. Mr Benkins, that is another one. Quite a number altogether. All proper businessman-types, stalwarts of the community in this very proper old seaside town.