Emma on a High Note

From Uniform Girls 2

At the last smack, Edwin watched the plump young cheeks quiver, tighten, and relax again. Where the honey-tinged furrow separated the half peaches of pinkly-glowing flesh, his forefinger rested and soothed gently for a moment while broken sobs came from the girl who hung across his lap.

‘That, Jennifer, was for not washing your surplice or, if you did, for not doing it thoroughly. As senior girl in the choir, I expect you to set an example. And no, you do not get up yet, do you?’ Edwin asked suavely, affording the blushing globe another though slightly less-stinging Smack! and bringing a ‘Nee-ow!’ followed by a sobbing hiss of ‘S…sorry, sir.’

Palms flat on the floor, her hair having long tumbled forward to cloud her face, Jennifer waited while the would-be soothing hand impressed the hot sparks of chastisement deeper into her silk-smooth flesh. At seventeen and a half, she had long learned that it was part of her disciplinary trials to remain still and acquiescent afterwards.

‘Nor should you have worn stockings, Jennifer,’ Edwin said ruminatively, relinquishing her throbbing bottom for a moment and circling his fingers around the ridging tops of her white nylons where the flesh of her thighs swelled out appealingly. — ‘I d… didn’t have time to change, sir,’ Jennifer replied in a throttled tone as the gentle movement of his hand persuaded her legs to form a vee.

‘I have a new entrant to the choir to see in a moment, Jennifer. You may consider yourself therefore to have been but lightly admonished on this occasion. Next time — next Tuesday — I shall require to see you properly attired and indeed shall require you to be good. It would be as well, therefore, if you remain for a while after practise next week. Is that understood? You may rise now.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Jennifer answered dutifully. In rising, she slithered back a little, allowing Edwin to cup her bulb more closely for a moment or two until with an awkward twisting of her admirably long legs she was able to press up and stand, self-consciously aware that while her knickers were still on the floor, Mr Harkins’ eyes were where that garment should have been since his light grip on her caused her to face him, his open legs nudging the outside of her knees, the svelte curve of her tummy sweeping down to where a thicket of brown curls puffed out their pride.

‘We shall see, then, how good you are going to be on Tuesday. Six o’clock would not be too early. You can come straight from college. Hairdressing you are doing, are you not?’ Edwin asked, admiring the well-fluffed coiffure-in-miniature between her thighs rather than her long gold tresses above. His hand drooped from her arm and came to rest on the violin curve of Jennifer’s hip, causing her to blink.

‘Yes, sir, I’ll b… be here at six…’

‘And?’ prompted Edwin, — ‘And… and I’ll be good,’ Jennifer responded in a very small voice, trying hard not to look sideways to an old, abandoned pew which stood in the small hall, and over the back of which she had ‘been good’ twice already now when the other girls had gone. At first it had taken twenty strokes of Mr Harkins’ tawse to make her be ‘good.’ The second time she had uttered up the little urgent squeal he had been seeking after only fifteen. Maybe on Tuesday it would be twelve before she heard the tawse drop to the floor while she remained perfectly in position, her trim ankles a regulation fourteen inches apart, waiting, waiting…

A knock sounded then at the barred doors, making Jennifer jump in a manner that implied complicity rather than guilt, Edwin thought happily. Anticipating the interruption, he, had asked her to remove only her blue knicks — the colour he insisted upon — and Jennifer was already scrabbling back into them, affording him a quick view of two twinkling love-lips which the material (unaccustomedly thicker than Jennifer normally wore) sheathed them from his sight.

‘Take the side door, my dear,’ Edwin said, rising, but she was already moving knowingly towards it, and with a quietness that pleased him. He unlatched the door and she passed by him cautiously, her shoulder brushing his chest. ‘You’ll be later home next week, Jennifer,’ he said. — ‘Yes, sir. It’ll be extra practise, won’t it,’ she replied, rehearsing already the excuse she would make when returning home on that occasion.’

‘Precisely, Jennifer — extra — I may have good cause to commend you,’ came the unctuous reply. For a moment he watched the girl’s retreating figure, admiring the way she stepped quietly on the flagstones, and admiring, too, the challenging rolling of her tight bottom that would deservedly get the treatment it required on her next visit.

It was only 7pm now, and an hour to go before dusk. Just about right for the new girl. Another and more hesitant tap on the twin doors beyond caused him to hasten his footsteps a little. With a clang of the bars they parted.

‘Emma Rogers, sir. Mum said…’ The sweet, chirpy voice paused for a moment as the girl turned to wave at the departing car. ‘Said she’d be at least an hour, sir, is that all right?’ came a breathless little flood of words. She looked to be sixteen, or so.

‘Perfectly, Emma. And you’ve brought your things, I see,’ Edwin said, nodding down at the holdall she carried and simultaneously closing the doors behind her. ‘The other girls have left. I thought it best if I gave you a private rehearsal, you know,’ he went on gravely, guiding Emma in the direction of a small table where he would sometimes sit while the girls stood. That a girl should stand before she was instructed to bend over was the rule whereby he conducted his auditions.

‘I didn’t… I didn’t know whether to change or not before I came. Mummy said…’ — ‘No, it is better to change here,’ Edwin soothed, ‘We had a screen here for some time, but two of the girls became over-playful and knocked it over, and so it is being repaired. Show me your things and then you can slip out of your dress and put them on, eh?’ asked Edwin jocularly.

Petite as Emma was, he found himself gazing down at three distinct and most promising prominences which her simple dress revealed. Two were comprised of the twin melons of her tits and the other of the pert bulb of her bottom. Her shoes, of the strap-over variety, were black and neat, and he was pleased to see that she was already wearing socks.

‘Er… here, sir?’ Emma asked, gazing around at the slight bleakness of the hall. — ‘Here, now, Emma, yes. The quicker we have you properly dressed, the quicker we can begin, can we not. Place your things on the table as you take them off. What colour knickers have you got on?’

‘They’re… they’re wh… white, sir,’ came from Emma, and to the great pleasure of Edwin who realised — just as Emma blushingly did — that she would have to take them off. And in front of him! Putting her blue holdall on the table, she twisted her neatly-shod feet awkwardly, bringing a faint ‘Tut-tut’ from Edwin who glanced deliberately at his watch, saying with great care, ‘We have only an hour, Emma. We must not be dilatory, must we! Off with your dress now.’

‘Oh!’ Emma ejaculated, though it was not so much a word as a voice-wobble that accompanied the movement of her hands up to the small white buttons that, interestingly enough to his eyes, ran down to her waspy waist. The dress was gathered in there. It meant that she would then wriggle it down: always an attractive sight. As her slightly trembly fingers worked, so a white vest came into view. Aertex. Pinky nipples peeping through the spotless mesh.

‘Right down now, Emma; let me help you,’ Edwin said gallantly and knelt more swiftly than Emma imagined he could (for her father was always complaining about getting down to weed the borders in the garden) and brought her opened dress slither-sliding down beyond the waistband and the crotch of her tight, white knicks to the tops of two exquisitely-formed thighs, though they were not the only vista that was presented to Edwin.

‘Just step out of it, Emma,’ uttered Edwin in a slightly chokey tone as a plump little bulge offered itself to his eyes where the crinkled edges of her panties drew closely in between her legs. As she first lifted her left leg, Emma flushed and had to lay her fingertips supportingly on Edwin’s shoulders, leaning forward slightly so that her promising young gourds bobbled momentarily on the top of his head.

‘Now, Emma, take your knickers off,’ Edwin intoned when in seconds he rose holding her dress, experiencing in one and the same moment two kinds of stiffness, one of which was in his knees. Hesitant and shy as the girl was, he could have slipped them down to her ankles himself, but it was a prime rule with Edwin that his young choristers had to learn to do it themselves, in front of him.

The little hissing of breath that came then from Emma’s nostrils did not surprise him. In his experience as choirmaster and churchwarden these past five years some girls who came to him were not entirely untutored in certain matters, but this one seemingly was.

B… b… but, sir…’ came her squeak. — ‘You have to change them, Emma, and have to learn to do so promptly in my presence. A choirgirl who is not disciplined cannot be at her best, can she now?’

‘N… no, I s’pose,’ uttered Emma doubtfully. The tip of her tongue slipped out for a second to touch her upper lip. A bee-sting of an upper lip, small as a rosebud. It was a slim, moist tongue. She would be able to do wonders with it when properly tutored. She would turn now, he knew, and Emma did. Odd how they preferred to show their bottoms first, but very appropriate. The skin there had a pearly sheen to it as Emma doubtfully and slowly brought her chubby half-moons into view. The same honey tone, though fainter where they inrolled, as the now more advanced Jennifer had. The polished surfaces were exquisite, proud in their plenitude — deliciously weighty to the palms… when he finally got his there.

‘And your vest now, Emma, and then put on your vestments,’ Edwin said grandly. In near-profile as he watched her lithe, nervous movements, he saw that her tits, too, offered a promise of slightly more weightiness than even her vest had shown. One nipple, outrageously perky, sauntered briefly into his oblique view and then was gone. Her dressing was hastier than her undressing had been. In less than a minute and a half Emma stood angelically in navy knicks, a white surplice with a red cassock, and a white ruff that gave her an air of a nymphet rather than a demure choirgirl. A pocket Venus, Edwin thought, and held his breath for a moment just as he also clasped his hands thoughtfully in front of him to endeavour to conceal that which had erupted beneath his trousers.

‘When you are slow at doing things at home, Emma, are you chastised?,’ Edwin asked gently, bringing a rather too quick shake of the head from Emma who flustered, ‘Oh no, sir, but Daddy said the other day that…’

‘Yes,’ interrupted Edwin, ‘And he was perfectly right, but it seemingly falls to me, Emma, to provide the discipline that you clearly need. In the first instance, that is, and then we may better get on with your training, may we not? Come to the pew, Emma.’

‘T… t… to the pew, sir?’ — ‘The bench seat, Emma. It is called a pew, and I believe you know that, so be not artless with me or you will receive even more than I propose at the moment to donate to you. Bring your tummy against the back of it. Quickly now! We must learn instant obedience, Emma! Bend over now — right over.’

‘Oh, sir, but I don’t want! I came to learn to… Noooo-Hooo, oh please!’ came Emma’s tremulous wail as a firm hand forced her over and therewith her crisp white surplice was swept up at the back to unveil her well-stretched blue knicks.

‘You came to learn, yes, Emma, and do not forget it. We all have to start at the bottom,’ uttered Edwin with an excruciating pun. Her knicks were at bursting point where her cleft peach bulbed into and through the material. Laying his left hand on the nape of the young Venus’s neck, he brought his other palm in a firm and loud-sounding Smack! full across her haplessly-offered bum.

‘Neee-Yeeeek!’ Emma squealed. Only once had a hand assaulted her bottom, though she had never told her Mum that, and indeed had been told not to. That was months and months ago, though, and she had forgotten how deeply it stung. Her head and shoulders made to jerk up, but Edwin held her secure. — ‘That, Emma, was your taster, and more are to follow. Not in this way, though. It is not my practice to hold a new girl beyond her first smack. Entirely unnecessary. Bound to send her back with a bad report, and that would not do would it? Eh?’

‘N… no, sir, I s’pose not, but… Eeech!’ gritted Emma clawing at the front of the pew as another peach-heating Smack! caused her hips to jerk and her bottom to tingle and burn horribly. — ‘A single word of admission suffices, Emma. You are going to take your knickers off now and bend over again. Stop snivelling, girl, and listen to me. Stand up straight again! Good. Now — you observe those two small blocks of wood on either side of your feet?’

Gulping, and exuding a single tear from each eye, Emma obeyed and cast her wondering glance downwards, this way and that. A ‘Yes’ came to her lips, but she swallowed it and nodded. — ‘Those, Emma, are regulation distance apart — that is to say, fourteen inches — and it is against those that I want the sides of your feet to press once you have bared your bottom to me and bent over again. Quickly now, or it will be a dozen.’

A pause followed. Silence hung around and above them like a net. It was a pause in which both were momentarily unmoving, and in which Edwin pondered whether to give her another encouraging smack. Three seconds… four… passed whereupon, with a faint mewing sound that was plaintive in its tone, Emma slid her slim, white-socked legs apart and slid dolefully once more over the unyielding back of the pew.

‘Splendid, Emma, splendid. I am about to teach you two things. The first is that obedience both precedes and follows such attentions as I propose to give to your bottom,’ declared Edwin who was casting a fond and hopeful eye upon the tight-lipped crevice that her posture now revealed. The second is that you will learn here what I call signal words. Some relate to your singing — others to forms of exercise. The first such word is SHOW. When I utter it, Emma, you will dip your back and push your bottom up and out to me. Now… show!’

‘Ooooh!’ Emma choked, for as he spoke so Edwin moved a little to the side of her, extended one arm and, placing his hand flat under her silky tummy, brought her nubile young hips up slowly as if propelled by a jack until her spread legs strained and her heels left the floor, leaving her teetering on tiptoe.

‘Nearly right, Emma, but you have failed to dip your back. Shall we try?’ Come, show me how supple you are,’ Edwin purred, palming her bottom beneath its deepest curve and hearing a little, explosive outburst of her breath as his forefinger wheedled itself further under to pass tinglingly across the slightly-rolled lips of her nest.

‘Th… th… the…’ Emma stuttered incoherently. — ‘Dip, girl, dip your back!’ , commanded Edwin patiently wherewith Emma managed at last to do so, globing herself up to him in a supreme offering of girlhood, her mouth open and her hair clouding down much as Jennifer’s had done. Except that this exquisite treasure was, if possible, even more enticing than his most senior girl, Edwin thought. Three smacks and then he would have her over his lap to savour even more closely the yielding warmth of her…

‘Wooo-Ah!’ — Emma’s cry as his palm met her tight peach echoed from the ceiling together with the sharp Slap-Smack! of his leathery palm into her warm, rearing flesh. Her feet jittered, heels sinking until a sharp, snapping, ‘No, Emma!’ from Edwin sent them up again, her spread legs a-quiver.

‘D… don’t sir, oh please, sir, don’t!’ she wailed. — ‘Very well then, Emma,’ came Edwin’s reply in a manner that sounded placating but in fact underlay his growing desire for an even closer proximity to her lithe limbs and all that accompanied them than he had achieved in this short space of time. Three quick backward steps took him to a chair where, sitting, he snapped his fingers and said crisply, ‘Emma — come here!’

Those three words came familiarly to Emma. Perhaps they all said it, she thought, but last time — that last time that had also been the first time — she had had her knicks on and it didn’t seem so bad, even though they had covered only half her bottom. Showing herself was awful, but showing herself at the front was worse. Surreptitiously she made to ease down her ruffled surplice as she rose, but was met with such a sharp, ‘No, Emma!’ from Edwin that her fingers released the slipping hem just above the crisp, straight edge of her bush where — thanks to the starching her mother had given it — it stayed.

‘It would be a disobedience, Emma, if you were to cover yourself unless I tell you to. Come to me, as I told you to, Emma.’

And then, hesitantly, slowly, she turned and moved, her shoes slurring on the floorboards as she moved, her eyes like lanterns, thighs rubbing together with an innocent sensuousness while Edwin’s drank in the exquisite vision of her flat tummy with its twinky navel like a whorl of cream, the trim brown thicket that crowned her Venus mount, and the subtle incurving of her hips that in a couple of years’ time would yield an even greater fullness.

It was with a little ‘Gooo!’ of surprise that Emma found the floor up-turning to her in the sudden, enforced descent of her nubile curves across Edwin’s legs, his left hand subsiding once more into the small of her back, pressing insistently there while he raised the other.

‘Oh, No!’ — Emma’s little, beseeching cry came even as she felt the motion of that unseen arm, but Edwin — with practised cunning — had no intention of spanking her too hard on this occasion. In a matter of about ten minutes or so he would know whether such would be necessary next time. For the nonce, she had — in his own mind — to be stung and urged.

So deciding, his free arm ringed Emma’s narrow waist and ringed it securely, drawing the upper part of her body over more until the apple of her bottom was better poised. With a quick smile he watched the darling, chubby cheeks tighten in anticipation. Perhaps she had been spanked before, after all. A bit, anyway.

‘No!’ Again the plea came in a tiny wail that wafted like a breeze across the hall even as his palm came down and bounced once more off of her deliciously elastic bum-cheeks. — ‘Geee-Heee! You mustn’t!’ he heard, but then he soothed the quivering orb with a knowing butterfly touch that tickled where the stinging was. Emma’s calves swung up at that and a bitter sob broke from her as a darkening pink spread across her helplessly-offered peach.

‘No, Emma, no.’ It was Edwin’s turn to say it then, and he said it quietly paternally, almost, he prided himself. Once more he soothed — this time with the flat of his palm, savouring the sweet plumpness and the warmth — but the next was harder, more biting. She had to learn. — ‘Ouch!’ came then, but within that yelping utterance Edwin detected a subtle note of greater submission. When he stroked her next there was no movement upwards of her calves, only a lower sob and a mutinous wriggling of her milky tummy over the stiff prodding she could feel.

Smack!… ‘Woh!’… Smack!… ‘Neee-Ow!’

‘In a moment, Emma, I am going to put you over the back of the pew again. Do you remember what I said about forms of exercise?’

Smack! Splatt! Smack!

‘Oh-woh-woh-woh! Y… esssss, sir, I do, I do! You said… Aaargh! Oh no more, sir, please!’

‘You want your exercise now, then, Emma? You do want to be exercised?’

‘Yeth!’ her breathless cry came out, and with such an urgent rush that it seemed satisfactorily like a plea. Maybe some faint instinct in Emma made her realise that, but Edwin had already swung her up and brought her to turn her back on him so that her pert bottom hovered like a deep-pink moon close to his eyes.

‘Undress now, Emma, and go to the pew. Bend over it as you did before, but put your feet this time against the outer sides of the blocks,’ Edwin intoned, giving her throbbing botty an avuncular pat.

‘Boo-hooo,’ sobbed Emma. The hall seemed all strange to her bleared vision now, and her bottom felt swollen as if it were filled with hot, compressed air. Her slim thighs rubbed silkily together again in her stumbling towards the waiting back of the pew, her fingers scrabbling hurriedly at the buttons of her surplice in case he smacked her again. Unclipping her ruff and then letting the whole garment fall, she offered up to Edwin’s ears a small juicy gulping sound while she bent — naked to her socks and shoes — over the polished, worn oak and then with a final sniffle put her feet as he had told her to.

‘There, now, you have learned to show, Emma,’ she heard him say approvingly, and with his voice came other sounds as if he were removing his jacket and… and other things. ‘Haven’t you, Emma?’ he asked.

‘Yeh-esss, sir,’ came her muffled bleat. She could feel that he was closer to her now, and foursquare behind her. She felt his hands take her hips lightly, and the front of his shirt flipped up to rest over the top of her bottom.

‘Still now, Emma.’

‘Ow-wer!’ Emma bubbled, but swallowed down anything else she might have said. Something warm and plummy was nubbing up beneath her where only a fingertip had ever touched before, and the little blocks of wood were stopping her from closing her legs, and it was insistent, persuasive, insurgent, but it was a b… b… bit better than being — Oooh! — spanked…