Wonderful work, Darcy. I suspect the reason she was late home was because her lecherous old Form Master had kept her back again to check over her... ahem... exercise book. When he'd finally released her from his lascivious clutches she'd run hell for leather for the bus but just missed it. Too bad.
Sally was sure she had made it home with minutes to spare but the big grandfather clock told a different story. Her elderly stepfather stood in the hallway as she burst through the front door, pink-faced from running. He glanced significantly at the clock face - two minutes past four - then turned back to young Sally. His gaze drifted down from her sweet face, now creasing as tears welled up, past her white blouse doing a poor job of concealing her pert breasts heaving from her exertion, to her pleated green skirt, long white socks and black school shoes. A pretty picture indeed.
A gruff “Alright, let’s get this dealt with young lady” and Sally was trudging up the stairs followed closely by her stepfather - enjoying the view of her pale slim thighs and the roll of her bottom beneath the school skirt. Now, in her bedroom: “Shoes, blouse and bra off, now!”. Once, she had queried the gratuitous baring of her breasts. “Why do I have to have bare boobs when it’s only my bum and legs you’re spanking?” That time, he had produced a leather-thonged martinet, had her kneel up on her bed facing him, hands laced behind her neck to push out her chest as he demonstrated that it didn’t have to be just her bum and legs. Since then, fearing a repeat, she had kept her thoughts to herself. Today, he wanted her with legs up, a position she hated. Everything exposed to him, his leering expression making plain his enjoyment, as if the bulge in his trouser front were not evidence enough. It was only his hand but that was little consolation for today was Friday and tonight would be her weekly “correction” - a totting up of her faults, actual or fabricated, and her sentence carried out with cane or tawse, most likely both, followed by early bed. Why did Mum never stick up for her? “Your father knows what’s best for you” (But he wasn’t her father!). “ It’s time he took you down a peg or two”. Always the same excuses. Could it really be something to do with the noises that came from Mum and stepdad’s adjoining bedroom as Sally cried herself to sleep after her thrashing? She didn’t like to think about it too much.
For now, Sally’s stepfather left her to cry out her smacked bum and thighs and went back downstairs. The five o’clock pips on the radio reminded him to attend to the grandfather clock, currently standing at five minutes past five, and return the hands to their correct position. He would call the girl down in a while, still in just her skirt and socks, to have her lay the table for supper.
But, was salvation just around the corner for Sally? Could the correction she would undergo later that evening be the last she would suffer? For in the next door semi, Arthur Collins, a stout fellow in his early sixties, about the age of Sally’s stepfather, had removed his ear from the wall having listened from the start of the girl’s spanking. And not for the first time - the thwick of the cane and thwack of the tawse on bare flesh, accompanied by girlish shrieks and protests, had penetrated the thin walls of the ex-council house on many previous occasions. My goodness, that poor Sally is under a strict regime, Arthur thought. She seems to get a sound thrashing at least once a week. It’s about time someone brought the situation to attention. There were authorities to contact about such matters. There’s nobody else in a position to take action so it’s incumbent on me to step up.
With the air of a good citizen doing his duty, Arthur sat at the table with his pad and put pen to paper:
‘Dear Blushes, I wonder if your readers might be interested in……..’
Thank you, Uncle George, for adding a stimulating storyline to Darcy's excellent drawing. I had it in mind to do the same but you beat me to it, and yours was exactly along the lines I was thinking, even down to the adjustment of the clock! Loved the inference about baring her breasts.The idea with the neighbour was novel and I should think, at some point in the future, Arthur will have the opportunity of "dealing" with Sally himself, given his interests. Sally's further predicaments could certainly make an ongoing series.
I’m sure you’re right, Anon, about Arthur’s future involvement in Sally’s discipline, particularly if he is to send further and more detailed reports to, um, interested parties. I look forward to reading your future observations or commentaries on posts and no doubt some in the archives that I haven’t yet seen. I won’t always be able to be quick off the mark with my own ramblings.
Thanks Darcy for such a marvellously evocative drawing. I love the way you have captured the sculpting of the girl’s firm young bottom and shapely, smackable thighs.
Wonderful work, Darcy. I suspect the reason she was late home was because her lecherous old Form Master had kept her back again to check over her... ahem... exercise book. When he'd finally released her from his lascivious clutches she'd run hell for leather for the bus but just missed it. Too bad.
ReplyDeleteSally was sure she had made it home with minutes to spare but the big grandfather clock told a different story. Her elderly stepfather stood in the hallway as she burst through the front door, pink-faced from running. He glanced significantly at the clock face - two minutes past four - then turned back to young Sally. His gaze drifted down from her sweet face, now creasing as tears welled up, past her white blouse doing a poor job of concealing her pert breasts heaving from her exertion, to her pleated green skirt, long white socks and black school shoes. A pretty picture indeed.
ReplyDeleteA gruff “Alright, let’s get this dealt with young lady” and Sally was trudging up the stairs followed closely by her stepfather - enjoying the view of her pale slim thighs and the roll of her bottom beneath the school skirt. Now, in her bedroom: “Shoes, blouse and bra off, now!”. Once, she had queried the gratuitous baring of her breasts. “Why do I have to have bare boobs when it’s only my bum and legs you’re spanking?” That time, he had produced a leather-thonged martinet, had her kneel up on her bed facing him, hands laced behind her neck to push out her chest as he demonstrated that it didn’t have to be just her bum and legs. Since then, fearing a repeat, she had kept her thoughts to herself. Today, he wanted her with legs up, a position she hated. Everything exposed to him, his leering expression making plain his enjoyment, as if the bulge in his trouser front were not evidence enough. It was only his hand but that was little consolation for today was Friday and tonight would be her weekly “correction” - a totting up of her faults, actual or fabricated, and her sentence carried out with cane or tawse, most likely both, followed by early bed. Why did Mum never stick up for her? “Your father knows what’s best for you” (But he wasn’t her father!). “ It’s time he took you down a peg or two”. Always the same excuses. Could it really be something to do with the noises that came from Mum and stepdad’s adjoining bedroom as Sally cried herself to sleep after her thrashing? She didn’t like to think about it too much.
For now, Sally’s stepfather left her to cry out her smacked bum and thighs and went back downstairs. The five o’clock pips on the radio reminded him to attend to the grandfather clock, currently standing at five minutes past five, and return the hands to their correct position. He would call the girl down in a while, still in just her skirt and socks, to have her lay the table for supper.
But, was salvation just around the corner for Sally? Could the correction she would undergo later that evening be the last she would suffer? For in the next door semi, Arthur Collins, a stout fellow in his early sixties, about the age of Sally’s stepfather, had removed his ear from the wall having listened from the start of the girl’s spanking. And not for the first time - the thwick of the cane and thwack of the tawse on bare flesh, accompanied by girlish shrieks and protests, had penetrated the thin walls of the ex-council house on many previous occasions. My goodness, that poor Sally is under a strict regime, Arthur thought. She seems to get a sound thrashing at least once a week. It’s about time someone brought the situation to attention. There were authorities to contact about such matters. There’s nobody else in a position to take action so it’s incumbent on me to step up.
With the air of a good citizen doing his duty, Arthur sat at the table with his pad and put pen to paper:
‘Dear Blushes, I wonder if your readers might be interested in……..’
Thank you, Uncle George, for adding a stimulating storyline to Darcy's excellent drawing. I had it in mind to do the same but you beat me to it, and yours was exactly along the lines I was thinking, even down to the adjustment of the clock! Loved the inference about baring her breasts.The idea with the neighbour was novel and I should think, at some point in the future, Arthur will have the opportunity of "dealing" with Sally himself, given his interests. Sally's further predicaments could certainly make an ongoing series.
DeleteI’m sure you’re right, Anon, about Arthur’s future involvement in Sally’s discipline, particularly if he is to send further and more detailed reports to, um, interested parties. I look forward to reading your future observations or commentaries on posts and no doubt some in the archives that I haven’t yet seen. I won’t always be able to be quick off the mark with my own ramblings.
DeleteThanks Darcy for such a marvellously evocative drawing. I love the way you have captured the sculpting of the girl’s firm young bottom and shapely, smackable thighs.
ReplyDelete