Nicola’s Friday

Well, seeing as it’s Friday… From Blushes 7

Wet afternoons during the holidays were days which Nicola dreaded — days when she and he would be about the house together, she self-conscious in the brief little shorts or top-of-the-thigh-high skirts with which her wardrobe was now stocked, he studiedly friendly but over familiar with his looks and touchings and pats on the bottom — always up under her skirt and the hand deliberately cupped around a plump buttock-cheek delighting in the warm vulnerability of her smackable and often smacked little bum.

On wet afternoons the probability of a knickers-off spanking was high indeed: she would try to keep out of the way but he would seem to seek her out, the atmosphere in the house tightening until the tingle of well-smacked buttocks was in the very air itself, only a half-reasonable excuse wanting to make it a tangible reality on a certain young lady’s actual bottom itself. So then he would insist they play Monopoly or draughts or chess to pass the time. Chess, preferably, because there was no element of chance in that, unlike the other games, and because Nikki hadn’t yet learnt nearly well enough to have even a hope of winning. Always the stakes were the same. Chess or Monopoly or whatever — double pocket money against a no-kickers smacked bottom upstairs in his big bedroom. The outcome was never in doubt.

Nikki couldn’t remember that she had ever been spanked for actual naughtiness. Well, maybe a couple of times — but not often. Mostly it was because she was ‘broody’, she was told, and being ‘broody’ meant when she pouted.

It puzzled her sometimes. After all, she only really pouted for two reasons: one, when she couldn’t get her own way and the other…… oh, the other when she was told sternly, ‘Nikki — come here!’ She knew that tone of voice. It didn’t permit of any arguing. Her feet would edge forward hesitantly, flat black shoes scraping on the carpet as she neared the waiting lap, her brief black skirt swinging bell-like to reveal her taut stocking tops, darker even than the charcoal-shade of her everyday nylons and the pale rims of flesh above that seemed now to swell more promisingly with each passing month.

As slowly as she went, and as stern as the command was, there was always patience throughout the ten seconds or so that it took her to reach the waiting male legs. Then a hand would reach out and take her own warm, moist one. Quite gently it would take hers, fingers entwining, drawing her even closer.

For months now, Nikki had worn self-suspending stockings. They looked neater, she had been told and — as she herself knew — they held up, unwrinkled, even while she was wriggling under the searing, insistent palm.

There was still something dreamlike about having to bend right over the waiting, broad thighs. Her slim body would curve from the waist upwards like a slow but uncertain wave and always, as she did so, Nikki would clip her heels together, compressing her calves and the warm, inner flesh of her thighs. But to no purpose, even though it had become a habit with her. Taller now by a whole inch since she had first been spanked, her palms would lie flat upon the blue carpet as her short, pleated skirt was gently drawn up until it wreathed above her hips.

Everything happened so slowly at first when she was to be spanked. Maybe that was the way it had to be. But Nikki had learned that it was best to be docile. Her white blouse would strain against its buttons as her tits plumped into the thin material, making her nipples press into the cotton. There would be scarcely a sound at first save for the soft swishing of her miniskirt as it was folded tightly, and for the little gulp she would utter as her stretched knicks revealed the two chubby globes of her bottom. Biting her lower lip she would receive a first SMACK! there — not harsh but admonitory. It meant that she had to support herself more on her hands and raise her hips slightly to allow her blue knickers to be rolled down over the plump orb of her bottom until the tiny garment was descended to the dips of her knees.

Then, next, her blouse would be urged upwards. Nikki never knew why. After all, it didn’t get in the way. Sleekly it would uncover the faint ridge of her spine, being equally gathered-up beneath by strong fingers in the process until her young tits were freed from the flimsy garment and poised their nipples nakedly. The hand that thus uncovered her torso would sometimes seek the swelling, silky mounds of her breasts to make sure — as it seemed to her — that they were completely freed. It made her tingly and funny when that happened, and she would feel the first awakening of her nipples against the suavely-searching palm that occasionally remain long enough — passing from one dangling breast to the other — to ensure that the browny-pink points became stiff under the fingers.

Nikki loses her knickers.

Nikki would hiss her breath out through her nostrils then, feeling curious tendrils of excitement flitter through her resilient breasts — but otherwise all was still quiet. Three months before, when it had all begun, she had howled, sobbed and kicked her stockinged legs. But then, the backs of her bared thighs had been slapped first and the insistent voice that had first told her, ‘Come here!’ had admonished her even more sharply, saying, ‘Be QUIET, Nikki — be quiet!’ She had tried, but she couldn’t. The spankings on her quivering, tightening cheeks had been so hard that her face had been as infused with pinky-red as her bottom had been.

But slowly Nikki had learned. She WAS quieter now. It was best to be, especially after you were told, ‘I want no more silly howling, Nikki, or it will be four dozen EVERY time’. In a way, Nikki was proud of how comparatively quiet she was. Her cries were more muffled now. — ‘PMMFFFF!’, she would always gasp when the first big SMACK! descended on her waiting derriere, but it was a small explosion of sound rather than a yell. It was coarse to yell, she had been told. Uncivilised even. He didn’t mind her wriggling, though. Between the big, steady smacks he would always wait a few seconds before according her the next — wait until her legs had almost stopped twisting before another blasted into her reddening cheeks.

He didn’t mind her sobbing: a quiet, bubbling sound, punctuated by the occasional and ‘quite pretty’ (he said) ‘OOOH-WER!’ from her as her bottom bounced to his descending palm, sending broad tongues of flame through her yielding half-moons — tongues of flame that, as her hips bounced across his lap, first expanded and then gradually narrowed until they sought out her most intimate crevices and tingled and burned there like impatient fingers seeking refuge.

— Then she loses her composure. Poor little Nikki!

Besides, there was praise for her sometimes, too, now, and that was as puzzling as everything else. Even when her little cry of ‘YOW-WER!’ filled the lounge for a second, she might be told, ‘Good girl, Nikki. Up now — push it up more’, and Nikki would try — try so hard to do so, compressing her rosebud lips and hissing softly through her nostrils.

It was when she first became ‘good’ that her top had begun to be eased up until it was rolled under her armpits and tucked under, the buttons still fastened so that it held tightly there and left her tits bobbing to the occasional brushing of his palm. By the time she had received six (it was always thus, or sometimes even five) her nipples would have stiffened right up, burning like thorns against the gently-enquiring hand that by its casual caressing appeared to praise their eminence.

Oh, the heat in her bottom, though! It was almost too much to contain, yet Nikki knew she must. If she had been asked why, she would not have known what to say. She just knew. The smacks on her quivering bottom were always rhythmical and hard. Just once or twice — even lately — she had frantically twisted one arm up behind her to try and fend off the next, but immediately then her wrist had been seized and held.

‘No, Nikki’, she had been told, and in such a tone of voice — one that seemed to be inflated by a sigh — that she had almost felt ashamed of her ‘silliness’ and had wriggled her wrist until it was freed and she was allowed to put that hand palm-down again on the carpet. Perhaps then (and this had happened only in the past few weeks) her dark-stockinged legs would be eased apart —coaxingly almost, until her ankles spanned some eighteen inches and her toes turned in. Sometimes in between big smacks now would come a much softer one, the fingers splaying and trailing briefly under her where two tightly-pursed lips nestled in a haze of brown curls.

It was funny how she grew moist and oily there, when she was being spanked. Sometimes an enquiring forefinger would dip right under there as if to taste the slightly-bubbling moisture. At first when this happened, Nikki had jerked her hips more and made to close her thighs — but she had learned better in this respect, too. The tenderness of her creamy thighs had been immediately slapped and then a wrist, inserted between the tops of her would-be closing legs had scissored them apart again. Not so much, she felt, by force as by a silent insistence that she had allowed to gain the upper hand over her.

The smacks would be a little lighter then — not much, but a little. Sometimes, careful fingers would draw her rimming stocking tops even tighter, in the very midst of a spanking, and it was by such gestures that Nikki knew how she must be. More and more she was beginning to sense a certain tightness, a sort of alertness in the air; even half an hour before she was going to ‘be seen to’. Those three words she had already learned, as well.

‘I shall see to you in a moment, Nikki,’ she would be told.

The first time, she had not replied, but then — ‘Did you hear what I said, Nikki?’ had come to her softly. ‘Yes, oh, yes,’ she had stammered, and with all the feminine instincts she had already gathered she would run up to the bathroom and stand inside, trembling slightly, though not in fear but more in a state of mingled apprehension and excitement — like going up in a jet for the first time. Once you were UP, though…

It was always in the evenings that she was spanked. When the day had grown softer, as it seemed, and dusk would infuse the detached, modern house. Slipping as quietly as she could to her bedroom, Nikki would sometimes slip a fresh pair of knickers on. It was funny how it made her flush a little when she did so, turning this way and that before a mirror and seeing how, ever more pertly, her bum cheeks seemed to swell out, naked in their silky gleaming, from the backstrap.

Letting her skirt fall — though none that she was allowed to wear descended to QUITE cover the dark banding tops of her stockings — Nikki would hastily run a brush over her hair, throwing it back petulantly where it hung and swung in golden splendour across her shoulders. She had no bra to worry about, at least. She was too firm there to need one, she had been told.

Flipping back tendrils of hair from her forehead impatiently, Nikki would become conscious of the little arrows of sound that her small clock threw into the otherwise quiet room. Sometimes she wondered why she always stared at herself in the mirror at times like this, aware of the peaking of her gently-wobbling tits.

‘Beautiful legs, Nikki,’ he had actually murmured a few evenings ago when he was peeling her skirt up. Her legs were quite long for her age really, though, and she was proud of them. — ‘And you have,’ he had begun next, but then he had stopped and she had wondered what he was going to say. Did he mean that she had a beautiful bottom, too? If he did — if he really thought that — why was he spanking her so often now? It made her so conscious of it, like never before — aware of the bulbing of her proud young cheeks into the tightness of her knickers, aware of his eyes and his hand on it often, for often between smacks he would rest his palm there momentarily on the throbbing, silky cheeks and sometimes would circle it gently before he dipped his finger… Oh, but that was just something that happened, and he didn’t mean it, and… ‘Come down, Nikki, now!’

Oh god, it was Friday, anyway, and he always ‘saw to her’ on Friday nights. Running the pink tip of her tongue across her lips, Nikki descended the stairs. Her legs felt wobbly. They always did, or rather they always did before, but never after. Afterwards she felt… well… different. Her bottom always felt bigger. As the fierce stinging slowly receded, a deep-throbbing glow would take its place.

Halfway down the stairs, Nikki stopped as she heard a car draw up outside. Simultaneously she heard footsteps down the hall and the front door opening. Her hand —already slightly clammy with nervous excitement — clung to the sloping banister rail.

‘All right?’ Nikki heard a woman’s voice say, and recognised it as that of her Aunt Jane whom she hadn’t seen for yonks. ‘Sure — come in,’ came the reassuring reply. It was almost funny, Nikki thought. One moment she was about to be spanked and the next it obviously couldn’t happen now. She wanted to feel relieved — actually to bubble with relief — and yet that wasn’t how she felt, and that was mad. A pout came to her lips — the ‘broody look’, as it was called — but then, gathering herself, Nikki tripped down to greet her aunt.

‘Nikki! How lovely you look!’ came her Aunt Jane’s greeting. ‘That skirt really does show your legs off, dear; I like it. Marianne wears them just as short now’, Jane went on, referring to her daughter — ‘Yes?’, Nikki answered and found herself flushing. Her miniskirt seemed to be momentarily the centre of attraction. They were both looking at her admiringly in that region until, to break the brief silence, she said brightly, ‘I’ll put the kettle on shall I?’

‘Right!’, replied Jane in a tone of voice that slightly echoed her professional status as the Headmistress of a girls’ school. The odd-looking long parcel she had brought in nestled by the side of her armchair as she took a seat. Not really taking it in at first, Nikki only noticed it when she came back in eventually with a tray and found her aunt sitting alone and the door from the lounge to the hall closed.

‘It’s nice to be on our own, Nikki. I did want to talk with you,’ her aunt said as they sipped from their cups. Nikki said ‘Oh…’, her voice trailing off. Little as she saw her aunt, Jane always appeared both attractive and yet authoritative. And a thousand years older than herself, although her aunt was still a few years in sight of forty.

‘I mean, the way I talk to some of MY girls — when the moment is right,’ Jane said and put down her cup to pick up the long package from the side of her chair. ‘S…something you’ve bought?’ Nikki asked, although a curious feeling of sickly apprehension ran through her.

‘No, dear, something I frequently use. This, in fact, is a spare one. I thought it might take up residence here, so to speak,’ her aunt replied with a smile. Then she added gently, ‘Drink your tea and come here, dear.’

Oh, those words again, Nikki thought, but then her aunt couldn’t POSSIBLY mean… Even as she gulped down a mouthful and rose dutifully, though, Nikki’s eyes widened as string was loosed from around brown paper and in her aunt’s hand emerged a whippy cane.

‘No, please!’ Nikki wanted to shriek, but her lips felt glued, her tongue dry. In the old way, the same old way, her black shoes slurred as she made it slowly across the carpet to where her aunt sat, bobbing the end of the cane up and down on her free hand.

‘B…b…but I don’t…’ Nikki began. She had found her voice, slightly strangled as it was. Even so, it was as if she had not spoken. ‘I call this my Grade Two-er, Nikki. Spanking is Grade One. The cane is Grade Two — and after that, sometime after that, you reach… Well, we’ll see, shall we? I want you to be good, Nikki, as I believe you are, and to be quiet. We won’t be disturbed. I have seen to that. If only I had time to coach you more, but…’

A sigh came from Jane. It was like other sighs that Nikki sometimes heard when her knicks were down. Her aunt stood slowly, smoothing down her own close-fitting skirt. —’To begin with, Nikki, Grade Two means that you remove your skirt and knickers of your own accord. You have been progressed through Grade One, I believe, so this first part will not arouse undue modesty in you. Come, dear, smoothly and gracefully, please. No… you face me as you do it. Silliness has no place in discipline, Nikki, and from what I gather I am pleased to know that you are past that stage. The awkward stage that most girls go through, that is.’

Open-mouthed, her cheeks flushed, Nikki found herself obeying exactly in the same way that she did when she was told, ‘Come here’, or when she even ran up to tidy her hair first, or…

And now already she was stepping out of the little black pool of her skirt, her flat-heeled shoes making her milky thighs appear slightly plumper than when she nowadays put on high heels to go out. The black wisp of her panties that had begun to replace her blue, thicker ones, slithered down under the approving eye of her aunt, her plump little bush coming into view, delicately shrouded with a mass of golden curls. Again a little gulp came from Nikki’s throat as she bent — making her chubby bottom protrude — and snicked the panties off of her ankles.

‘Now, dear, I want you to turn and walk to the back of that armchair — the one with the high back — and slip yourself right up over it, feet OFF the floor, please, Nikki.’

‘I d…d…don’t want to,’ Nikki whined, causing her aunt to raise her eyebrows in amusement. — ‘Oh dear, and I thought you had been better progressed, Nikki. Come on now, you’re old enough for this and you have to have it. Over the back of the chair with you. Display it, Miss. SHOW it to me!’ barked Jane suddenly and with that swished the cane so menacingly through the air, almost catching Nikki’s thigh, that the pocket Venus jumped and squealed, turning at the same time as she had commanded to.

The armchair swayed slightly as Nikki went up on tiptoe and somehow managed to sling her waist over it so that her tight apple-round bottom protruded superbly, her toes within an inch of the carpet and her face sinking down into the seat. Instinctively then — as always until she received several smacks — her black-stockinged legs came together in the most exquisite and harmonious curves, but then — blinded as to what was happening behind her — Nikki felt the end of the cane intervene between her shapely calves and edge her legs apart.

‘Legs limp — just let them hang, Nikki. There… that’s better — that’s good. Bring yourself up about another inch. More! Good! STAY!’ Jane commanded, and stepped back as Nikki hung helpless, bemused and waiting.

The rounded half-moons showed beautifully now, and beneath was the peeping fig with its sprouting of curls. Yes — just the right height like that, Jane thought approvingly. Once the cane had brought its lesson, Nikki’s hips might have to be drawn back and down about an inch, but no more. It was a perfect posture in which to receive…

SWOO-ISSSSH!

Nikki yelped in the millisecond before the cane actually took her, but then as it coursed across her bulbing cheeks the cry rose in pitch and her hips rolled wildly on the top of the rolled back of the chair. ‘ZEEE-EEEK!’, she screeched. The fire was like no fire she had experienced before. Oh, if only she were being spanked instead, and if her aunt weren’t here, and…

‘THEEE-OW!’ came her next burst, for even in its rising the cane arched and swooped again and cut a fiery path an inch below the first stroke. ‘SHUSH, Nikki, shush! Why, I heard you were a QUIET girl — a good girl’, Jane soothed, noting how the squirming of the girl’s shapely legs revealed more of her nest and caused her bottom-cheeks to roll together enticingly.

‘HOOO-HOOO! I am!’ howled Nikki truthfully.

‘Then you will pass this Grade also, my love; I know you will. And afterwards…’ But again it was to be an unfinished sentence so far as Nikki was concerned. Her strangled cry — instinctively smothered in the cushion now — throttled into the air as a third sweep of the cane took her, urging long tongues of sparkling fire into her bulbing flesh between the cheeks, and even beneath where her love-lips seemed to Jane’s knowing eyes to writhe together. Ah yes, there was the most delicious promise there…

‘Only three more, darling’, Jane coaxed. She knew the way of it well enough by now with girls who had only been spanked. One alternately soothed and commanded them. It always worked. Nikki COULD have slithered back down, on to the floor, but she didn’t. Already, then, she had learned responsiveness — and that was the best of the signs.

‘GOOO-HOOO-HOOO!’, Nikki sobbed into the mouth-wet cushion as her blazing young orb received its fourth. Her legs swung, kicking mutinously. Jane waited for them to be still. Five — ten — seconds passed before Nikki’s shapely young legs hung limp again, her heels apart. Aha, you HAVE learned the receiving posture, my girl, Jane pondered approvingly. Stepping forward a pace, she tipped the tapered end of her forefinger up under Nikki’s soft nest and slowly savoured the warm, inviting oiliness there, causing Nikki’s pink tongue to peep out between her even white teeth as it always did when a finger was naughty with her. But no alarmed cry escaped her, and Jane nodded approvingly to herself.

‘Oh yes, Nikki, yes,’ Jane uttered so softly that the girl did not catch the words. There was such a wicked tingling up in between Nikki’s legs now, after that touch, and such an awful, horrid scorching feeling in her bottom and… ‘YEEE-OOH!’ Nikki squealed as she received her fourth.

The whole maelstrom of sensations in her was so wild, so raging, that some thirty seconds later Nikki was hardly conscious of the fact that her first caning was over. The chair quivered under her as she fought blindly to contain herself, not hearing her aunt quietly retreat, not hearing the cane clatter lightly down onto the floor, where it was left in waiting, nor the faint click of the front door as it was open and closed.

‘BLUB!’ she sobbed all to herself then, her fire-streaked bottom still squeezing upon itself. Straining her feet down, she managed to touch the floor, turning limply as she did so, resting one elbow on the back of the chair, the creamy dimple of her navel peeking out from under her short top. The twin sensations were still there, between her thighs and all over her hot bottom. Her nipples stood like thorns upon their creamy mounds and her tummy felt tight and funny as if it were waiting for release.

Nikki’s head hung back, her lips parted. The zinging-stinging in her hot, ivory-smooth cheeks was still there. She heard footsteps — footsteps coming down the stairs and along the hall. But she couldn’t move, she couldn’t, not even to pick her panties up. The door to the lounge opened and Nikki sprang her thighs together for a moment, but then she remembered and let them go lax. She couldn’t, just couldn’t, control herself now. Someone had to… to……

Through the blearing tears in her eyes, the room seemed to have dimmed. The very floor seemed wobbly.

‘Nikki — come here!’ she heard.

Her flat black shoes slurred in the carpet as she obeyed, her head bowed slightly, her tits jiggling, prodding their stiff nipples forward as a hand reached up and took her own warm one and drew her down…