Blushes School for Girls

A tribute to early Blushes by Basil from the archives

You know the place I’m referring to, don’t you?  It can be found nestled deep in the English countryside, well away from any prying eyes. The girls that attend this establishment all seem to have just turned sixteen, whereas the teachers are all male, in their mid to late fifties, balding and are somewhat portly. A typical example of the latter being outwardly avuncular in manner but with beady little eyes and a smug expression that would make any sixteen-year-old schoolgirl somewhat uneasy, even if she didn’t already know that the funny tenting out at the front of his tweed trousers meant that her education would soon be somewhat broader than mummy and daddy had bargained for.

Lessons take place not so much for the girls to learn but for the teacher to ‘choose’. That is, to choose which of the little darlings will be reporting to his study at 4 o’clock, after the last lesson. Is it to be red-headed Mandy Walker with the delicate milk-white bum-cheeks that are simply asking for a firmly applied caning? Or Jackie Thomas with the big tits, whom one could have running on the spot, blouse and bra removed, of course — ‘just to prevent any chaffing’? Or perhaps, Charlotte Hampton, who never seems to do anything remotely deserving of punishment, other than being the prettiest girl in school, to whom it is a mystery as to what she has done to deserve so many punishments — seven canings and she’s been at the school only four weeks. That request at the end of a lesson is becoming all too common. ‘Charlotte — stay behind for a moment, would you?’ And then: ‘Not really trying hard enough in history, are you?’ or ‘Your handwriting was rather untidy in this week’s essay, don’t you think?’  Any pleas are listened to with a certain amount of enjoyment and then studiously ignored. ‘Well, pop along to my study at 4, and we shall see what’s what.’ The choice is almost endless…

The ‘school governors’ are not actual governors at all, but are really just friends of the headmaster or have made a generous donation to the school funds (also known as the headmaster’s tax-free retirement pot). They have the onerous duty of ‘ensuring that proper discipline is being maintained’, which they do by watching as many girls as possible being caned, preferably on their bare bottoms. Those who have been particularly generous or who have a reciprocal arrangement with the headmaster, can expect to be invited, on a regular basis, to deal with a girl themselves.

The school caretaker, one Bert Miggins, is ever present, stalking the corridors to catch a girl ‘up to mischief’ who might be lured down to his little basement workshop with the threatened alternative that he’ll report her to the Head for a caning. Most girls are silly enough to opt for Miggins over the Head but then find that the caretaker canes them anyway. And afterwards, Miggins wants something else, which is easily obtained: ‘Want me to report you to the Head after all, Missy?’ When the girl is bent over his workbench with Miggins going at her greedily, she instantly regrets her choice but any attempts to go back on the arrangement are answered in a way that reveals the caretaker’s rather simplistic view of the world: ‘What’s all the fuss about? I got a durex on, ain’t I?’

The local village, which is a short bike ride away, is strictly out of bounds, of course, and therefore becomes instantly attractive to the girls. If a girl is stupid enough (which most of them are) to ignore the rule, she finds that the road to the village, is so winding that it is impossible to ride safely while at the same time holding down her short school skirt to retain some modesty. Along the road are likely to be several retired army major types walking dogs or clipping privet hedges, who will be treated to an enticing display of girlish thighs and skimpy white knickers. After having a good look, they will be straight on the telephone to the headmaster expressing their indignation at such a brazen exhibition: ‘… the little minx needs a damned good thrashing, Headmaster… Oh! You will?… the cane?… on the bare!… Um… perhaps I ought to attend?’

The local village is also home to a variety of gormless local youths who turn up just outside the school grounds and whose sole intention in life is to get into the knickers of girls from the school. These youths somehow have a magnetic attraction for the girls, who take little persuasion to allow grubby hands to roam over tits and pussies, and choose to do so 5 minutes before the bell is due to ring. Now all hot and bothered they become oblivious to the sound of the bell or the fact that the Duty Master is watching avidly from his vantage point just inside the school gates, with a smile on his face, knowing that he now holds a valuable secret. The girl will, of course, be given a sound caning for being late, which will be duly entered in the school punishment book. But then there is the matter of her immoral behaviour, which will be dealt with in a more unofficial manner, during evening visits to the Duty Master’s rooms. If a girl wants a secret kept, then she will have to keep up the payments on a regular basis. Sooner or later, that which she has not yet given up to the local youths may well be offered, to ensure that the cane remains dangling from its hook on the back of the door. She tells herself that she didn’t really have a choice and keeps her fingers crossed, wondering if what he said about experienced older men is actually true.

The clock on the school tower shows five minutes to four, waiting girls are pouting, canes are being twirled in fat, tobacco-stained fingers, trouser fronts are being adjusted and bottoms are trembling in rueful anticipation…