First Impressions 3 — Next Weekend

Final part of a Guardians’ Club three-parter from Blushes 9, following on from Curiouser and Curiouser. Also following up the fate of Charlotte from The Club.

‘Where are you taking me?’

‘That, Miss Charlotte, I am not allowed to reveal,’ replied the elderly peak-capped man driving a rather ancient, musty-smelling Rover. ‘Strict orders from your Uncle Dennis.’

Charlotte pouted angrily but, at the same time, felt a pang of nervous apprehension. She knew that some other girl would be staying with her guardian over the weekend whilst she was to be transferred into the care of a member of this strange, but secret and powerful, organisation which Uncle Dennis had somehow managed to join. It was all very disturbing but it seemed best to go along with it. For the time being anyway. That spanking she had got from her Guardian earlier in the week still lingered hotly in her memory. It had gone on and on and on, until she had thought she simply could not bear one single slap more. But she had had to. No… Charlotte did not wish a repeat of that performance and she was quite certain that Uncle Dennis would be perfectly happy to give it.

‘How long before we get there?’

‘About an hour, Miss Charlotte.’

Charlotte pouted again. What a bore! She could certainly have done with a cigarette to while away the time and quieten her nerves. However, in the first place, she hadn’t got any (since she had not dared take a packet from her secret cache, kept in the bottom drawer of her tallboy) and, in the second place, if she had had any, she was sure this grumpy old man in the driving seat would have reported back. How tedious life was! What bliss it would be to be 18 and a person in her own right! That, however, was something like two years away yet.

At first when she had come into her Guardian’s care at 14, things hadn’t been too bad. She had attended boarding school and he had been pretty strict but quite fair with her during holiday times. Now that she was older, however, things had suddenly gone from bad to worse. Especially since he had joined this organisation. It had seemed to have given him new principles and ideas. ‘Though you may not realise it, Charlotte,’ he had said only the other day, ‘you are at an age when a young lady needs discipline. Really quite strict discipline, too. It is all for your own good; you’ll see.’

Charlotte didn’t see, of course. But that discipline had tightened up no end was for sure and she now found herself in a new, unpredictable and quite frightening world. Yet there seemed no way out. I’ll just have to grin and bear it, Charlotte told herself. Not that there was anything to grin about.

Why, for example, had Uncle Dennis not brought some clothes more suitable for a girl of her age? Something smart and pretty, even if not too daring? Instead, he had insisted she take her boarding school uniform — which she naturally hated. It consisted of white blouse and blue tie, black gym slip, blue serge knickers, white calf-length socks and flat-heeled black shoes. He had even made her wear her school hat. Ridiculous!

‘Just take a couple of fresh blouses,’ he had said. ‘And extra knickers. Also a nightdress I suppose. That will be quite sufficient. There’ll be plenty of time for dressing up later.’

Charlotte had fumed but dare do nothing about it. Any protest could have well brought another spanking. It was all so maddening. She had the feelings and body of a young woman but there she was kitted out like some kid in her early teens. Slumped in the back of the Rover, Charlotte sulked and sulked.

----//----

Tyres crunched on gravel; in the gathering gloom, heavy-laden laurel bushes could be discerned on either side. It must be quite a big place, thought Charlotte, for the drive wound on for several hundred yards. She wondered vaguely where they were. They had seemed to be heading North-West so it could be Berkshire. Not that it mattered much. The car came to a halt by some wide stone steps.

‘You’re to stay here Miss Charlotte — till I say,’ said peak-cap. It wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order. Charlotte bit her lips in frustration and almost opened the door and leapt out. Then she thought better of it. She didn’t know what lay ahead of her. In silence she sat, trembling inside. She thought she heard a distant bell at some point then, with startling suddenness, the car door opened. ‘Out you come, Miss… up those stairs. I’ll bring your case.’

Charlotte stepped out, feeling the chill evening air on her bare thighs. Up ahead a large door was a little ajar; she pushed it open. A high-ceilinged, half-lit hall lay beyond. Her case was dropped beside her. ‘You’re to wait here, Miss. Someone’ll be along presently.’

The door slammed behind her. Charlotte was alone in utterly strange surroundings. Not surprisingly, she began to tremble even more inside.

The figure which came rustling into the hall about half a minute later was rather like something out of a Victorian novel. It was a plump-faced woman of middle age wearing a full-length dress of black bombazine.

‘I am Miss Bryant,’ she announced. ‘Follow me and I will show you to your room.’

The figure turned and mounted a wide, curving staircase. Charlotte followed, bringing her case. What a barn of a place; real creepy! At the top of the stairs they turned along a picture-lined corridor and stopped before a wide door of dark, polished wood with heavy brass fittings. Miss Bryant opened the door and Charlotte was at once surprised to note how comfortable it appeared — even if the bed was a four-poster and more portrait-pictures glared indifferently or accusingly down from beige-coloured walls.

‘I am Sir Algernon’s house-keeper,’ announced the Victorian figure a shade unnecessarily. ‘He is expecting you. When you have freshened up, go down to his study. Turn left at the bottom of the staircase and knock on the second door on the right. And don’t take longer than ten minutes.’

‘Sir Algernon who?’ enquired Charlotte.

‘Sir Algernon Barford,’ came a snappy reply. ‘Amongst other things, a J.P. and a lay preacher. A most respected member of our local community. I advise you to be on your best behaviour during your stay here, young miss.’

‘Yes… yes… I w-will…’ nodded Charlotte. She did indeed, in that moment, standing there in her horrible school uniform, feel a ‘young miss’.

For minutes Charlotte sat miserably and undecidedly on the bed, before going into the bathroom which was en suite. So she was the guest of Sir Algernon Barford, was she? At the back of her mind came a little tickle of memory. Had there not been someone called Algernon on that awful organisation committee she had had to go to before?

----//----

Second door on the right, the housekeeper had said. Charlotte stood hesitantly before it, feeling her heart pounding faster. Then she knocked timidly.

‘Come…’ said a distant voice and Charlotte turned an ornate handle and entered. At first, the study — which was lined with bookshelves and somewhat over-crowded with furniture — seemed empty. Then she realised the voice must have come from the high-backed leather armchair set before a huge marble fireplace.

‘I…I’m Charlotte,’ she announced nervously.

‘Ahh… Dennis Romsey’s ward. You were expected. Come round here by the fire. I expect you’re a bit chilled.’

----//----

This was getting embarrassing! Philip Barclay adjusted his position in his deep armchair so that he might appear to be more at ease than he actually was and answered his visitor’s question with a nod. A slight sweat broke out under his hairline.

‘So —’ The man smiled knowingly. ‘Sarah at least knows what it’s for eh?’ A chuckle, and a note on the pad on his lap. ‘Any other — er — experience in that line?’

Philip shifted awkwardly in his seat.

‘Well, when I was a good bit younger —’ he began, but the enquirer interrupted him.

‘Sorry — I was referring to the girl. Has she had any other sexual experience? I presume that any such experience would be known to you.’

Philip took his point; it would indeed be known to him, certainly not to anyone else though. He’d kept young Sarah on a very tight rein in that respect. He folded his hands in his lap and watched the ends of his fingers.

‘Ah — well, ‘variations on a theme’, don’t you know? There are only so many things you can do without completely outraging one’s conscience.’

‘I see.’ The visitor wrote ‘Limited sexual experience’ but was careful not to let Sarah’s ‘guardian’ see the comment. He pondered for a moment then shut his book with a plop. ‘Well, that’ll do for background, I dare say. Sarah will be going to Algernon Barford next weekend, if that’s alright with you?’ He waited for Philip to nod before continuing. ‘I see she’s interested in music. I expect Algernon will encourage her to play the piano whilst she’s with him; he too has an interest in music you know.’

‘I see —’ Philip sought for the right words. ‘Er — who will I be — er — getting?’ He almost added the words ‘in return’ but stopped himself in time.

‘Nice young lady named Pauline.’ He smiled again. ‘Can’t ask you to let us have her back in exactly the condition you get her in, of course, but I would ask you to take the usual precautions, just in case the girl’s silly enough not to look after those things herself. Can do?’

Philip nodded and glanced with more than a passing interest at the photograph he was handed, relegating consideration of what his own Sarah might have to go through to a dim and rarely-explored corner of his mind.

To Sir Algernon, whose substantial country home was only a few miles away, although Philip Barclay wouldn’t find that out for several months at least, next weekend with Sarah was only a thought for the future in a corner of his mind; today he was looking forward to the imminent arrival of one Charlotte, whose pre-enrolment ‘interview’ he had attended some weeks previously.

----//----

Charlotte went and stood with her back to a glowing log fire, feeling the heat on the backs of her thighs. Yes, it was that same Algernon who had been on the Committee. She felt herself flushing, remembering what had happened to her that day; knowing all he must have seen. Pale blue eyes, rather prominent, were roving upon her. A tongue licked over rather fleshy lips. In the silence, Charlotte became aware of the ticking of a grandfather clock.

‘I… I don’t quite know why… why I’m here…’ said Charlotte at last.

For a while, Sir Algernon still said nothing. When he did so, his voice was just a shade strident. ‘It is not the policy of our organisation to give reasons to minors,’ he said. ‘Wards are simply exchanged between members, from time to time, for the benefit of their upbringing. It is a well-known fact that a guardian can become over-fond of someone who has been put in their charge and this can lead to him — or her — going ‘soft’ on her up-bringing and even neglecting her moral and physical training.’

What a pompous old bore, thought Charlotte. She could well imagine him pontificating from the Bench before sentencing some poor miscreant.

‘I…I understand,’ she heard herself saying.

‘I hope you do, Charlotte,’ came the reply. ‘And incidentally, you address me as SIR.’

‘Yes… SIR…’

‘And I hope, while you are here you will show proper respect and obedience to myself and Miss Bryant. If there’s one thing I can’t abide in a girl of your age, it’s cheekiness.’

‘No, sir…’ Charlotte had already decided that a low profile was definitely going to be the right policy for the coming weekend. Another long silence ensued, during which Sir Algernon rather irritatingly kept on cracking his knuckles. Those pale blue eyes never ceased to rove; the fleshy lips looked wetter. Charlotte felt ridiculous standing there in her school uniform, not knowing what to do with her hands. But what else could she do? Perhaps she might ask if she could have some supper, for she felt quite hungry. She was trying to make up her mind when her temporary guardian spoke again.

‘I am afraid, Charlotte, a rather serious matter has come up,’ he said. ‘A short while before you arrived, I had a telephone communication from Mr Romsey.’

Charlotte felt her heart give an extra thump. ‘Oh? What did he want? Does he want me back?’ she asked hopefully. Even home would be better than this gloomy place.

‘On the contrary,’ replied Sir Algernon. ‘And he gave me some specific instructions.’

Charlotte had a rather sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. ‘Oh… what?’

‘I will first give you the facts, Miss,’ said Sir Algernon. ‘After you left, your guardian made a routine inspection of your bedroom. An important precaution with girls of your age, in my view. During the course of this inspection, he opened various drawers to see if you were concealing anything illicit. And, of course Charlotte, you know you were.’

Charlotte felt herself going hot and cold all over. There were quite a number of things she had been concealing. Which of these had been discovered?

‘Wh-what…’ she began, but Sir Algernon held up a hand to silence her.

‘Cigarettes were discovered,’ announced Sir Algernon in his best Bench voice.

‘And, as you also know, young lady, you are expressly forbidden to smoke. It is certainly something I find an anathema, in young girls particularly.’

Charlotte crossed her fingers behind her back. Lucky it was only the fags, she thought. Now, if it had been that vibrator, she reckoned she really would have been in the soup. Obviously she would have to find far better hiding places in future.

‘I only smoke very occasionally, sir,’ she said.

‘Even one is too much,’ snapped Sir Algernon. ‘But that is only part of it. The main point is that you were disobeying instructions laid down by your guardian. Is that not so?’

‘Yes… yes, I suppose so…’

‘Suppose!’ snapped Sir Algernon. ‘There’s no suppose about it. It’s a fact.’ He paused, tapping fingers together. ‘As you will be aware, Charlotte, your guardian would have punished you for this offence. Since you are absent from home for the time being, he has delegated me to carry out the punishment he himself would have administered…’

A gasp from Charlotte as she covered her face with her hands.

‘… in fact, Mr Romsey told me directly to deal with the matter immediately on your arrival. That I now intend to do.’ Sir Algernon stood up and something like panic gripped Charlotte.

‘Oh… oh please,’ she half sobbed. ‘It… it’s not all that serious. Lots of girls smoke nowadays.’

‘That is not the point,’ replied that rasping Bench voice. ‘You are not ‘lots of girls’. You are one, Charlotte — in Mr Romsey’s charge. He is responsible for your behaviour and you have disobeyed him. I may add, young lady, that your guardian left the punishment to me. Let me tell you that I consider such an offence a serious one and, accordingly, I intend to cane you!’

‘Oh no! Oh no… n-not the c-cane!’ cried Charlotte, filled with sudden terror. She had been strapped and she had been manually spanked but never had she been caned. She knew it would be quite awful, hurting far more. That was bad enough to know, worse was the knowledge that it would be a complete stranger doing it. A horrible old pop-eyed lecher in his fifties!

Sir Algernon was opening a cupboard on the far side of the study; out was coming a hook-handled cane. Slim, pale yellow, polished. Charlotte, freezing inside, watched him flex it easily into a semi-circle with his fingers. The tip sprang up whippily when released.

‘No… no…’ she heard herself pleading. ‘Couldn’t you… couldn’t you just… just spank me… just this time… I won’t ever smoke again. I swear, sir, I swear!’

Sir Algernon, tall and angular, greying and balding, advanced across the room. ‘You are going to be caned, Charlotte,’ he said. ‘And you deserve to be. Promises are easy to make, but the rod makes sure you keep such promises.’

My God, thought Charlotte desperately, this is becoming more like something out of the Victorian era every moment! Should she run? Would she escape anyway? More than likely that Housekeeper was standing outside the door at that very moment. Wouldn’t she just be making matters worse for herself?

‘Remove your knickers, Charlotte.’

‘Oh no, please… it… it’s not r-right…’

‘Remove your knickers, Charlotte. Then bend over the arm of this chair.’

The cane whacked viciously down on the leather arm of the chair in which Sir Algernon had recently been seated and Charlotte flinched with dread. How would she be able to bear it?

‘P-plea…eeeease!’ Oh what a beseeching cry!

‘Unless, Charlotte, you want me to ring for Miss Bryant, who will do it for you. The consequences of that being your punishment will be increased. Doubled, I would say.’

‘No…no…ooo!’ Charlotte was panicking but she realised that what was being said was spoken in deadly earnest. There was no way out. ‘A-alright… alright… I’ll do it… but please… please… don’t be too h-hard on me.’

Sir Algernon’s features were implacable. As a J.P., he was quite used to hearing pleading from those who had been found guilty. It always left him quite unmoved. He watched as Charlotte’s hands went up under her gymslip and, moments later, down came a pair of blue serge knickers. Sir Algernon experienced a stirring in his loins. What bygone memories those school knickers evoked! How enchanting they were! He far preferred them to any fancy pair of silk or nylon briefs. Charlotte stood shaking, feeling even more vulnerable now with nothing on underneath.

‘I have decided,’ said the Bench voice, ‘that your offence merits eight strokes, Charlotte. Eight hard strokes, Charlotte…’

‘Ohhh…n-nooo… please…’

‘… however, if you attempt to evade or ward off any stroke, that stroke will be repeated. Is that quite clear, young lady?’

‘Oh please… not too hard…’

‘Is it clear, young lady?’

‘Yes… yes, sir…’

‘Very well then, bend over the arm of this chair and put your face into its cushion.’ Once more the cane whacked down on to polished leather. Charlotte felt her buttock-cheeks clench involuntarily with dread. She was aware that, if she did not do as she had been told without delay, worse would happen. Already sobbing, she knelt by the side of the chair, hoisted herself up and over its arm. She felt the cane flip up her gymslip and knew her bare bum was now fully exposed to the old lecher. The flesh was goose-pimpling at the thought of what was to come.

Meanwhile, the ‘old lecher’ was gazing with infinite satisfaction at the two curvaceous globes of young female flesh exposed to him. He had seen them before, of course, and had much appreciated them then. However, being in a position to deal with them was quite another matter. A matter most pleasing. How sumptuous were those cheeks! How deliciously they kept on quivering and twitching in anticipation. Very understandable, of course.

‘I advise you, Charlotte,’ he said, ‘to take a hard grip on the edge of that cushion… because, when I lay a cane across a young lady’s bottom, she knows all about it!’

Moaning, nates clenching more rapidly, Charlotte not only gripped the edge of the cushion with all her might, she bit fiercely into it, too.

Sir Algernon Barford, J.P., felt an exquisite shaft of lust go through his being as he tapped the tip of the cane on Charlotte’s lush bottom-flesh, watching the girl squirm sideways in dread. Then he gave it to her.

Sswwee…cccrraacckkk!

Right across the very centre. The slim willow burying momentarily deep, then springing away, leaving a bright red, twin-tracked weal. Charlotte, never having experienced quite such intense pain before, catapulted up off the arm of the chair, hands clamping frantically to her bottom as she twisted down on to the carpet.

‘Oooowww… ooowww… OOOOWWWWW!’ she cried out disbelievingly.

‘Seven more like that to come, Charlotte,’ said that pompous voice from above her. ‘I don’t think you’ll be smoking again in a hurry.’

‘No…ooo… I can’t stand that… I can’t… I can’t…’

‘You can… and will,’ replied Sir Algernon calmly. ‘I know it’s unpleasant; I know it hurts. But ultimately it’s for your own good. Come along, young lady, let’s have you back over again.’ The whippy cane tapped on curving leather.

‘Please… no…ooo… please…’

‘Do you want me to send for Miss Bryant?’

‘NO…OOO!’

‘Move then, Charlotte. Hands away… and get your backside presented again. Your punishment has only just begun.’

Sobbing and sobbing, bottom twisting and flinching, Charlotte somehow made herself drape herself over the arm again. Reluctantly… most reluctantly… she removed her hands. And Sir Algernon, ever ready to take advantage of a well-presented, fulsome young bottom, whiplashed the cane down again.

----//----

Charlotte’s first caning took a good twenty minutes. Each stroke was interspersed with much weeping and pleading. Also, a mounting series of threats from Sir Algernon. He was delighted that the girl earned herself two extra strokes for taking the brunt of a couple of his savage cuts across her wrists. Tears and beseeching did not deter him. He was punishing justly and punishing well. This girl would never forget the lesson he was giving her. Was he not saving her from a lifetime of nicotine addiction?

Yes, he was. But, at the same time, he was giving himself the hardest erection he has achieved for months! Oh what a marvellous young bottom it was! Oh how it quaked and shuddered! Oh how it writhed and writhed as each searing stroke bit into it!

Again and again, Sir Algernon waited patiently until Charlotte forced herself back over the arm of his chair, ready for the next cut to come. After all, he was in no hurry. He would have been delighted to spend most of the evening watching this curvaceous young creature getting her bottom up for his attention.

Then, when it was at last in position, he would keep it waiting. Delighting in those frantic clenchings of dread… those jerks and twists of anguished apprehension. Until the moment came and he would lash down yet again. Just as hard as he could.

----//----

‘You don’t seem to have started the week-end off too well, Charlotte,’ said Miss Bryant as she plastered some more cold cream over the girl’s weal-striped bottom.

‘Oohhh… ooorrr …aahhh… ooohhh…..’

‘What’s the matter? Isn’t it making it better?’

‘Oooohh… y-yes… yess… but please… please b-be… gentle…aaahhh.’

Miss Bryant’s suety features creased into a grin. She loved dealing with these youngsters. Kneading and squeezing as she put soothing cream on to them… making them gasp and wince repeatedly. The master certainly seemed to have done a good job on this one. Those thin tramlines of torment were already purpling nicely. She’d find it most uncomfortable to sit down for days to come. More than that, the weekend had only just begun. Knowing Sir Algernon, she was sure that something more lay in store. After all, before now, she had had to attend to dozens like this one.

‘There… now you can get up.’ Miss Bryant gave the plump, cream-covered bottom none too gentle a slap. Charlotte yelped as she turned over on to her side.

‘Ohh… aahhh… don’t… don’t!’ cried the girl.

‘Don’t give me orders, Miss!’ rasped the Housekeeper, eyes suddenly hard and bright. ‘I can report you, you know.’

‘I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I didn’t mean… didn’t mean anything…’

‘Get off the bed. Take off the rest of your clothes. Then put on your nightie. Come along… hurry it up… I haven’t got time to waste on the likes of you.’

Gasping and flinching with the pain of throbbing weals encircling her bottom, Charlotte slid off the bed. Whimpering, she took off the rest of her clothes and put on her plain, cotton nightgown.

‘Sleep well,’ said Miss Bryant, with a little lopsided smile. ‘You’ll have to be up by eight. Sir Algernon plans to take you riding, I believe.’ The bedroom door opened and closed. Lying face down, Charlotte pressed her hands gently to her burning-throbbing sticky bottom. She wept copiously.

Oh Lord, what was it going to be like having that smarting tenderness thumping up and down on a saddle tomorrow morning!