The Price!

From Blushes 13. The sequel to George to the Rescue from Blushes 12 (second part of the Mr Bartlow trilogy) featuring one of their most succulent models.

‘Why don’t you see old Barters,’ said Alison Randall. ‘He’s pretty good at sorting things out.’

‘Oh yes, but what is his price,’ chirped in Mandy Whittingham. ‘Tell us that! Has old Barters sorted anything out for you, Alison Randall? And if so, tell us please what he wanted for his little service. I wouldn’t be surprised if he wanted to service you!’

Alison went bright red at Mandy’s nasty taunt. All the nastier because it was true, but surely no one knew that! Anyway, attack is the best form of defence, even if your cheeks are blazing red.

‘Clearly you have the mind of a guttersnipe, Mandy Whittingham, and are therefore to be pitied. But, Penny, anyone will tell you that Mr Bartlow can be very helpful. Or anyone except Mandy here! Isn’t that right, Angela?’

Angela said ‘Yes’ in a slightly dubious manner. ‘But I have heard that he likes a little reward. I’ve heard that he likes to smack bottoms.’

‘Well I don’t know anything about that,’ replied Alison, quite untruthfully. ‘Anyway it’s only a suggestion. It’s up to you, Penny. I mean can you sort Miss Kingston out yourself?’

Pretty Penelope Mather made a face which indicated she didn’t think she could.

Miss Kingston was a new gym mistress. She was not old, no more than 25 one would say, tall and slim and with a quite attractive but stern countenance. The trouble with Miss Kingston was that, as far as one could tell in the five weeks she had been at St Helena’s, she seemed to have a marked liking for members of her own sex. This liking had, apparently, settled on Penny Mather. Pretty, well-rounded Penny, class-mate of Alison and Mandy and the others in the Lower Sixth.

There really wasn’t much doubt about Miss Kingston, nor that her eye had alighted on Penny. Miss Kingston had taken to giving the latter some pretty unmistakable gropes in the changing room and then last week had kept her behind after swimming for some extra practice. Penny was in the swimming team and Miss Kingston said she wanted to check her action. But did she need to have Penny nude in the changing-room for this?

When Penny had objected Miss Kingston had come on a bit nasty. ‘We must all of us learn to accept that others more experienced may know better, Penny dear.’ Then she grabbed Penny and yanked her swimsuit down and sharply spanked Penny’s nude bottom.

Yes Miss Kingston was clearly one of those but at the same time you were not likely to get much change out of Mr Pinkerton, Headmaster, if you went to him. The Head was not keen on girls ratting and would usually take a member of staff’s word rather than a girl’s. So what did you do?

‘I’ve told you what I think,’ Alison told Penny when the others had left. ‘Try Mr Bartlow.’

‘But supposing what they said is true…’

Alison knew that what they said was true but whose hand would you rather have in your knickers?

‘It’s up to you, Penny. If you’re happy with Miss Kingston’s hand in your pants, OK. Otherwise…’ Penny sometimes needed to have the stark realities of life spelled out before she could make a decision. She shuddered. ‘OK… I… I’ll go and see him.’

Mr Bartlow, caretaker at St Helena’s School for Girls, did not look or sound like an ogre or even a Dirty Old Man; that perhaps was part of the key to his success. He indeed was the picture of friendly reassurance when opening his door to Penny’s nervous knock. ‘Hello, young Penny. Come in. How about a nice cup of tea? And what brings such a pretty girl to my little abode?’ George could lay it on when he wanted to.

Anyway it wasn’t difficult to put on a friendly face if your visitor was Penny Mather, not if you were partial to pretty girls as George Bartlow certainly was. Penny was another blue-eyed blonde but with a much more rounded, less boyish, shape than Alison Randall; George though had a catholic taste in such matters. ‘Any little problems?’ he inquired. Girls’ problems could usually be turned to good advantage — as we have seen with young Alison.

‘Well…’ began Penny.

George beamed. ‘Just a mo; let me pour you a nice cuppa and then you can tell me it all.’

They sat together on George’s sofa. You couldn’t look up a girl’s skirt when you were sitting next to her but there were other advantages; you had a good angle on those softly trembling boobs for one thing. Penny was not wearing her blazer so one was able to get a good appreciation of the boobs. Penny’s were definitely on the large side for a 16-year-old.

Hesitantly and with prompting here and there from George, Penny told her rather embarrassing tale. It was an emotional business telling all this to a man, especially when he was pressed close up against you. There were also those things that girls said about Mr Bartlow. Penny could feel herself trembling, her hand was trembling when she picked up her tea cup and her big boobs were trembling as well in the front of the green-and-white check St Helena’s summer frock.

Mr Bartlow when Penny glanced at him had his eyes fixed on her frock front. When she got to that very embarrassing bit where Miss Kingston had taken her swimsuit down and smacked her bum Penny could feel herself sweating: beads of perspiration on her upper lip. She licked her lips nervously; yes definitely salty.

Mr Bartlow said, ‘That must have been a lovely sight.’

‘Wha… what?’

‘You with that swimsuit down round those pretty thighs. And then that Miss Kingston smacking your pretty bum.’

Penny blinked and went a deeper shade of red. Really that wasn’t the response you wanted, Mr Bartlow gloating over it. ‘It… it’s not funny.’ She blinked again. If he was going to make fun of it there was a real danger of tears.

Suddenly there was a tweed-jacketed arm round Penny’s shoulders. She gave a little gasp as a large hand squeezed her upper arm. ‘Don’t you worry, young Penny. I know it’s not funny. I was just picturing the scene, that’s all.’ The hand squeezed tighter. ‘Don’t you worry. I reckon I can sort that Miss Kingston out.’ As he spoke Penny felt herself being pulled round to face Mr Bartlow.

She was a decidedly appealing sight, the ash-blonde curls, the soft full lips, the big blue eyes with perhaps a hint of moisture in them. There was also of course those full trembling tits that frankly George was itching to get his hands on. The big blue eyes looked into George’s and blinked again. ‘C…can you? Can you do something about it?’

‘Aye, I reckon I can.’ George could resist it no longer and his unoccupied hand came up and took firm hold of one thinly covered globe. As Penny let out a startled yelp he kept a firm grip while asking, ‘Did that Miss Kingston get her hands on these lovelies?’

Penny didn’t answer as she struggled desperately to get the hand off. George did finally let go, grabbing hold instead of both of Penny’s wrists to keep her still. Thus held, the red-faced and spluttering girl had what you might call the facts of life explained to her.

‘Listen to me, young lady. I’ve told you I’ll sort this out with that new young woman; now I think in return you could at least be a little bit friendly, don’t you?’

Penny said nothing, still feeling the shock of his hand on her right breast. ‘Cause if you don’t I just might go to that Miss Kingston and tell her you’ve been spreading nasty tales, vicious tales; and then I might just go to the Head and tell him the same thing. And then where’d you be, my pretty Miss? In rather hot water, that’s where.’

As Penny tried to take in what he was saying George let go of her and got quickly up to go over to his door and lock it. He came straight back. ‘Well, young lady?’

‘I…It’s blackmail.’

‘What a nasty word,’ said George. ‘And especially as I am going to help you. Most ungrateful.’ He slid his arm round her again. Penny shivered but accepted it.

‘Wha… what… Are you sure… you can…’

‘Oh yes,’ said George confidently. Penny gave a gasp as his hand came back to cup her breast again; this time though she didn’t struggle. George squeezed it and then squeezed the other one and then his hand went in between, to the row of little buttons. ‘No!’ whimpered Penny.

‘I want you to show me you’re a nice co-operative girl,’ said George. ‘Co-operative and grateful.’ One by one he dealt with the little buttons. The bodice of the summer frock was pulled open. Underneath there was just the white bra, apart from Penny herself that is. George reached in round behind. ‘NO!’ squealed the pretty blonde. ‘Yes,’ said George firmly, his fingers working with the catch. ‘This is the real test of being a good grateful girl; and I’m sure you’re going to pass the test, Penny.’

The catch was released, the bra was pulled away, rather like a jelly-mould being taken off to reveal its contents, quivering but deliciously firm. Penny made a moaning sound, George a sort of growl.

----//----

‘Where are we going?’ wondered Penny and received the answer, ‘Just a nice little place I know.’

Penelope Mather and George Bartlow were in the latter’s little car purring along a minor road some five miles from the school. It was two days after that somewhat traumatic afternoon when Penny enlisted George’s help with Miss Kingston, 2 o’clock on a warm Wednesday afternoon with just a few fleecy clouds in a bright blue sky. Penny had been told to get a pass out for the afternoon as George wanted to take her out. He didn’t say exactly what for but as he had apparently not yet made his move regarding Miss Kingston it seemed best to agree.

Penny had resigned herself to the possibility that there might be more of that awful business like last time. She still trembled when she thought about it — and she had thought about it quite a bit. To think that Mr Bartlow could do such a thing — open her dress and undo her bra and then… just play with her like that.  And she had been quite helpless because he had blackmailed her. It was really awful. It was also quite definitely exciting, just thinking about it. Very scary but also very exciting. Penny had never had anything like that happen before.

As they drove along though there was shortly something else to think about as Mr Bartlow became a little more forthcoming. Continuing to concentrate on the twisty road he said.

‘There’s a nice stretch of river at this place, so you’ll be able to have a dip, young Penny. You’re quite a swimmer I understand, and it’s a nice warm afternoon for it.’

Penny said ‘What!’ in an alarmed manner. And then, ‘I…l can’t. I haven’t got my swimsuit.’ Mr Bartlow, still looking straight ahead, said, ‘Oh don’t worry about that. It’s a very secluded little place where we’re going. Won’t be anyone there except us.’

Penny gulped. ‘Look…’ With no swimsuit that meant either knickers and bra or — nothing. ‘Look…’ she said again. ‘Please…’

Mr Bartlow didn’t say anything, just took one hand off the wheel and patted Penny’s thigh.

It was a nice place, you walked across this meadow and then there was the river with a nice little sandy bit at the bank. There weren’t any other people either, like Mr Bartlow had said. He had a picnic basket and a blanket to sit on. Or lie on! He also had a towel to dry yourself with. To dry Penny, that was, because clearly Mr Bartlow didn’t intend going in the water.

‘I should have a dip right away,’ he said. ‘It’s nice and warm, and then we can have a bite to eat afterwards.’

It was quite hot it was true, in fact Penny could feel her knickers sticking damply in the cleft of her bottom. Surreptitiously she tugged at them. ‘Look…’ she said, like before. She stood watching Mr Bartlow arrange the blanket and things, thinking about herself in just bra and knickers.

Mr Bartlow stood up. ‘Come on, young lady. I want to see some of that fancy swimming. Get your clothes off.’ Then he grabbed her.

Penny had just started to say No meaning taking her frock off but it changed to a squeal as Mr Bartlow’s arms went round her, one round her waist and the other hand simply taking hold of her bottom. Penny had quite a big bottom, certainly compared to Alison Randall’s it was big. A nice firm one but, well, cheeky. As she squealed Mr Bartlow’s hand yanked up her frock and roamed about on those tight, thin, and at the moment rather damp knickers which were still, in spite of Penny’s tugging, sticking in the crack of her bottom. She could hear herself squealing, at the same time feeling all weak at the knees. It was shocking but it was also undoubtedly arousing, being manhandled by Mr Bartlow.

After what seemed like ages Mr Bartlow did let go. Penny stood shaking. Mr Bartlow said. ‘I just had to get my hand on what that Miss Kingston seems so keen on. I can’t say as I blame her, you’ve got a really nice one. But now let’s have that frock off. I want to see some swimming action.’

Penny said ‘No!’ once more but Mr Bartlow grabbed her again and started unbuttoning. There seemed to be nothing for it but to comply. She broke away and, reluctantly, unfastened the rest of the buttons herself; at least she didn’t want her frock torn. Penny looked around hoping vaguely that there might be someone else in sight and she could use that as an excuse, but there wasn’t, only some cows. She took a deep breath and lifted the frock over her head. Holding it in front of her she made some quick adjustments behind where the knickers were still sticking embarrassingly in between the cheeks of her bum. Mr Bartlow took the frock from her and there Penny was, in just white bra and knickers and ankle socks and sandals.

‘Very choice,’ declared Mr Bartlow. ‘Now the sandals.’ It was difficult to believe this was happening. Despairingly Penny wailed, ‘My bra and pants’ll get wet,’ but Mr Bartlow said they would dry in no time, and to stop hanging about.

‘You’re really awful,’ she told him but nonetheless removed socks and sandals. Harried by Mr Bartlow’s very active hands Penny stepped in the water. She yelped; it wasn’t cold but there were some slippery pebbles. She waded further in and then, conscious of Mr Bartlow’s eyes on her bottom, slid down in the water. Actually it was nice, cool and refreshing. She swam down the river and then up again, breast-stroke and then her crawl that she was rather proud of. ‘Come in,’ she called to Mr Bartlow, ‘It’s super!’ But of course there wasn’t much chance of that.

He grinned. ‘Come out when you’re ready.’

That was the problem: coming out. Thin white garments when they get wet can become awfully transparent. As her top appeared Penny, glancing down, saw that her quite big nipples were clearly showing. And then further down the knickers were sticking to her like a transparent skin. She grabbed for the towel in Mr Bartlow’s hand, to cover herself.

Mr Bartlow said, ‘Hang on. Get those wet things off first.’

Penny’s head went in a spin. ’NO!’ she breathed. But then Mr Bartlow was at her, wet and slippery as she was, and taking them off. And then when he had yanked off the two wet garments it was Mr Bartlow who kept hold of the towel and did the drying. Penny couldn’t believe this was happening, though there was no doubt that it was.

‘That’s better,’ he said as he finally whisked the towel away, his eyes greedy on Penny’s burgeoning bare flesh. ‘Now lie down and get some sun on you.’

‘C-can I have my frock,’ she gasped, two hands and arms attempting the impossible task of covering up two large breasts, their nipples now firmly erect, plus a downy groin.

‘No,’ said Mr Bartlow briskly. ‘Get some sun, my girl. There’s no one here.’

No one except Mr Bartlow, that was. He had some doughnuts and some lemonade in his hamper, also beer for himself, but how can you eat and drink when you’re stark naked on a blanket with a man. ‘This is simply awful,’ she wailed.

Penny tried lying on her front, that at least shielded certain strategic parts but of course left her bottom unprotected. Mr Bartlow’s hand was soon there. ‘Please,’ she pleaded. ‘Please don’t do that…’ Mr Bartlow simply said to stop being silly and have a doughnut.

Penny was quite hungry, growing girls frequently are, and once she bit into it it tasted good, but Cripes and Double Cripes could this be possible?

She ate the doughnut, nonetheless, and another one and then had some lemonade, propped up on her elbows but not too much so that her boobs didn’t show. But why bother because Mr Bartlow was shortly telling her to turn over and get some sun on her front. Her wailing refusal was met by Mr Bartlow turning her over himself.

‘Not like that,’ he told her as Penny’s arms and hands did their best to cover things. ‘Let the sun get at you.’ He pulled her arms away. She lay shivering, in spite of the hot sun, while Mr Bartlow sitting at her side gazed keenly down.

‘You’ve got a really lovely figure, young Penny,’ he told her. And then she gave a gurgling squeal as that big hand reached out.

Well, she couldn’t stop him, she was quite helpless, like on Monday in his room only of course this was a lot worse. It wasn’t only Penny’s big boobs that were bare now it was something else as well. Could you believe Mr Bartlow could do such things; his hand going just everywhere and getting Penny, in spite of herself, all hot and aroused. And then when she was in such a state that she barely knew what was happening he did that. And Penny couldn’t help it, she couldn’t help responding to that. Her body writhing, with her strong thighs spread, her hips arching and bucking, thrusting against that hand, those fingers…

----//----

‘What’s going on over there?’ Mandy Whittingham’s querying voice in the darkened dorm. It was just after 11, two days later. ‘Mind your own business, Mandy Whittingham, and don’t be a pig.’ Alison Randall in fact had just climbed in bed with Penny. ‘We’ve got private matters to discuss.’

Mandy laughed. ‘Well, don’t let Miss Kingston catch you, or she’ll be in there as well.’

It was naturally the Miss Kingston affair that Alison wanted to talk about. Had Mr Bartlow been able to do anything yet? Penny, a bit startled to find Alison suddenly in with her, said yes he had apparently. That afternoon he had seen Penny and said it was OK. He had had a word with Miss Kingston, warning her to be very careful because Mr Pinkerton had a horror of that sort of thing. Mr Bartlow had told her that a previous teacher had been booted out and Mr Pinkerton had gone to the police. Miss Kingston had apparently gone white at this (quite untrue) information.

‘So she’s been warned off you?’

‘Yes… I think so,’ said Penny recalling hotly the various liberties Mr Bartlow had taken with her person in payment. Not content with what he had done on the blanket he had taken her to his room when they got back — and taken Penny over his lap and pulled her knickers down and smacked her bottom. Just because he felt like it he had said.

‘What did he do?’ queried Alison in a hoarse whisper.

‘What?’

‘You know. What did he do? Come on: he must have done something. He always does. Come on: we’re friends, aren’t we?’

In a hoarse whisper of her own Penny told what had been done. It made you feel a bit faint just telling it.

‘He brought you off?’

‘Y…yes.’

 ’Did he do you?’

‘NO!’ Well really!

There was a hot whisper in Penny’s ear.

‘Cripes!’

‘Yes, it was quite good.’ As she said this Alison’s hand slid down the front of Penny and up inside her nightie. Penny gave a stifled squeal.

Mandy’s voice again came out of the darkness. ‘What’s going on over there? And what about old Barters? Have you seen him yet, Pen?’

‘Mind your own business,’ said Alison. Penny she had found was quite wet between her legs. ‘Please,’ hissed Penny.

Alison took Penny’s hand and put it between her own legs. ‘What we should do,’ she whispered, stroking away at Penny, ‘is put old Barters on to Mandy. Set her up. That would teach her.’

Continued in Still Waters from Blushes 13