Discipline for Julie Greenaway

The first in a trilogy of Julie Greenaway stories from Blushes 82

‘Ah come in. It’s… ah… Julie isn’t it? Julie… Greenfields…’

‘Greenaway sir,’ she says. Mr Renby can be like that, appearing vague about names. But he knows who you are alright. Probably it is all a ploy, to catch you out, catch a girl on the hop. A good-looking one of course. And then… he can pounce.

‘Yes of course. Close the door then. And come over here.’

Julie Greenaway is a good-looking one. A pretty girl with curling chestnut-with-auburn-highlights hair and big brown eyes to match, plus a tallish and shapely figure in the well-cut skirts and plain cardigans and blouses that are mostly worn here at the College. On this warm May afternoon Julie is not wearing a cardigan and her tightish cream blouse shows the firm thrust of her full breasts. Mr Renby’s eyes are on them as she steps towards him. Their gently jogging motion indicates a lightweight bra but nothing else under the crisp thin cotton. There is nothing vague about Mr Renby’s eyes as he takes in Julie’s gently restrained boobs, and the neat pastel-mixture tweedy skirt and below it the shapely legs which show the sheen of nylon and end in sensible brown shoes.

‘Round here,’ he says, indicating a spot next to him, and Julie obediently goes round the desk. ‘Closer,’ Mr Renby says and reaches to take a pinch of her skirt in finger and thumb. She stumbles slightly as he tugs, pulling her in close.

‘That’s better. I like a girl to be right here when I’ve got something to say to her. You know that, don’t you Julie?’

‘Yes sir.’ Mr Renby’s hand is patting the back of her thigh. Yes she knows it. Julie has been here before. Mr Renby is fortyish, big and heavily built. He is in shirt-sleeves, his suit jacket hanging on the back of his chair, and it is not difficult to imagine the heavy muscles in his shoulders and arms. In the arm of the hand which is now squeezing the back of Julie’s thigh.

‘In that case, Miss Greenaway, you should be able to do it without prompting. And if you did that, did what you knew was wanted, you would obviously get on much better. Without… ah…. incidents.’

Mr Renby’s hand slides up. To Julie’s bottom. Mounding the full swell of her buttocks under the tweed skirt. ‘I don’t suppose you enjoy being caned? Mmm?’

‘No sir.’ The words coming out in a little sibilant gasp. With also of course the hand at her bottom. Wanting to slide away from it but that naturally would do nothing to help matters. She wants to gasp out that she has done nothing that warrants a caning but that also would not help.

‘No. But there are times, Miss, when… it is necessary. Not perhaps for one individual action or item but… more an accumulation. Your attitude, Julie. It could be much better.’

That doesn’t sound like anything much. She wants to blurt out: What then? What have I done? But that won’t help either.

Julie has had it. Once. The cane. From Mr Renby. It was quite devastating. The horrendous pain of it. And also the shock, the outrage. That at 18 it could be happening, that Mr Renby could be doing it. Caning her. With her skirt off. Caning her across the seat of her brief, skin-tight knickers as she bent over his desk. The thought of that again… Julie can feel herself trembling.

‘Yes Miss.’ The hand is still mounding her bottom. As if assessing its ability to take a caning. As if assessing perhaps just how firmly he should bring that powerfully muscled arm into play.

‘Yes. So what I thought… was that you should be given something… to improve your all round attitude. Or to see if it does improve it. A good firm caning.’

‘No…’ The word, popping out of the soft pink mouth as a breathy gasp. More words tumbling quickly after it. ‘No sir! I won’t… I mean I don’t… I don’t need it. Really… I will… improve!’

The mounding hand takes a grip of one cheek. Mr Renby shaking his head. ‘No, I think we must do it my way. So if you’ll please… slip your skirt off.’

The hand has a final squeeze and lets go. Mr Renby’s words hang in the still, slightly stifling air of his study like palpable things. Hanging, floating over his desk. Please… slip… your… skirt… off… Fat, buoyant words and if she could perhaps reach out and take them, put them somewhere, somewhere dark, Mr Renby’s desk drawer perhaps, then they would lose their power. But she can’t do that, Mr Renby would see her take them.

‘Did you hear me, Miss?’

‘Yes. Yes sir.’ Snapping her mind back into focus. She has no choice but to do it. Mr Renby doesn’t like protests, arguments. He is going to cane her.

Julie’s hands going to her skirt’s fastening on her hip. The hook-and-eye and the zipper. Her hands fumbling for a moment, then the skirt sliding down. Over the full ripe swell of her hips, her bottom. Underneath are brief white knickers, tight over the swelling flesh, semi-transparent; and a white suspender belt, its slim straps stretching tautly to grip the darker rims of her beige stockings. Mr Renby doesn’t approve of tights.

Julie steps out of the skirt, left sensible brown shoe and then the right. Standing erect again, not sure what to do with her skirt, holding it dangling from her left hand.

Mr Renby eyes her. He has swivelled his chair round so that now he is fully facing her. His eyes on her boobs under the tight blouse which are more prominent now with her agitated breathing. But more particularly his eyes are on Julie’s brief, tight knickers. Which are especially tight over the bulge of her sex. He gazes… and then he says matter-of-factly:

‘Now the knickers. Now slip your knickers down. They don’t have to come right off. Just down to your stocking tops.’

Julie gives a little gasp. Her colour deepening. She is already pink in the face, from having to take her skirt off and no doubt also the prospect of being caned on her bottom, across the tight seat of her knickers. But now… this wholly shocking extra dimension. Mr Renby is intending to cane her with her knickers down. Cane her bare bottom.

She has heard whispers that Mr Renby has done this, but never any direct account, and it is generally assumed to be just that: Whispers, rumours. Because he couldn’t do it. You can’t take a girl’s knickers down. And cane her bare bottom. No.

But Mr Renby is going to. It is clear from what he has said. It is clear also from his face — when Julie takes a quick glance to meet his gaze and then looks quickly away. Yes, he means it.

‘Are you going to take them down, Miss? Or do you want me to?’

A strangled sound jerks from Julie’s mouth as her hands move to comply. Thumbs hooking in the waistband of her knickers on either hip and sliding them down. Looking straight ahead, beyond Mr Renby to the window where a tree in full leaf can be seen. Trying not to think of Mr Renby. As her hands slide the knickers right down, to where Mr Renby said, the tops of her stockings.

Mr Renby’s eyes of course are intent on one thing. That neat bush of curling brown hair at the tops of Julie’s thighs. The thrusting hair-covered mound of her sex. And maybe possibly his intent eyes can see at the underside of the mound… where her actual business begins. The indentation, the front of her slit, clearly showing in the hair. Can he?

She stands trembling, her hands at her sides, her skirt now on the end of Mr Renby’s desk, wanting of course to bring her hands in front, over what Mr Renby is taking his good long look at. But of course she can’t do that. That would be the non-cooperation Mr Renby is talking about. She must stand here and let him see everything. And the more embarrassing and awful it is the better. Trying to concentrate on that tree. What is it? An oak?

‘Look at me, Miss. I want you looking at me, not trying to pretend this isn’t happening.’

Her eyes blink as they meet Mr Renby’s gaze. ‘I can sense that you are still defiant, Julie. Which is why you have to be caned.’

‘No… No I’m not, sir. Really…’

‘Turn round. And come closer.’

Doing it. Turning, and shuffling back a step. At least he can’t now stare at her bare pussy but… there is now Julie’s bare bottom. Now full in his line of vision. And not only vision. She gives a little shuddering moan as a hand takes hold of it. Mr Renby’s hand on her bare bottom. Cupping one quivering nude cheek. Still holding it Mr Renby is getting to his feet.

‘Yes Miss. Well, I’m not going to cane you now. You’ll probably be pleased to hear that. But instead…’

Mr Renby is not going to cane her now. He has made her take her skirt off herself like this presumably to embarrass and humiliate her. And scare her. Also no doubt for his own pleasure. But… she is not going to be caned now.

Julie’s spinning head struggles to take this in. And take in what else Mr Renby is saying. While behind her his hand is still at her bottom. Squeezing and jiggling the nude cheeks.

Is she listening carefully? Mr Renby asks. And then tells her. Julie is to be caned by several people. Several men of course. There is the Chairman of the Governors. And two other Governors. And of course Mr Renby himself. The series of canings has been arranged as a major character-improving exercise. The canings will take place on a number of consecutive weekends. Beginning this coming weekend. For Julie’s own benefit the exercise will remain strictly confidential — because clearly a girl would not wish it to appear on her record. Equally of course Julie herself will wish to be careful not to mention anything about it.

‘Is that clear?’ Mr Renby standing close behind Julie with his hands still playing with her bare bum. She doesn’t answer. Words won’t come. Her mind is struggling to take it in.

----//----

Upstairs in the little bedroom Julie begins to do what she has been told. What Mr Corfurd, Chairman of the Governors, told her downstairs. He is down there now, in the sitting room. Waiting for her. ‘Shall we say ten minutes, young lady? Yes, be back down here in ten minutes, Julie dear.’

It is Saturday morning. The first after that sickening interview with Mr Renby. When he made Julie take her skirt off and her knickers down and then fondled her bare bottom. And told her about the programme of weekend visits. This is the first, on this Saturday morning, to Mr Corfurd. ‘You will do precisely as you are told of course,’ Mr Renby said. ‘For Mr Corfurd and indeed for any of the others. That is part of the test programme. Testing that you are capable of discipline and obedience.’

Has anyone else ever had this dreadful business? Having to report for a series of visits like this with the object of the exercise each time to cane a girl’s bottom? It is impossible to believe — but equally it is impossible to believe that she, Julie Greenaway is having to do it but nonetheless she is. She is here and she is… having to take off all her clothes.

And no one else would have talked about it, if they did have it. Naturally. So there was no way of knowing. Julie certainly hasn’t told anyone, there is no way she could tell anyone. She has been vague about what she is doing this morning. She hasn’t said anything about Thursday either, about what happened at her appointment with Mr Renby. Sarah, her friend, knew she had to see him but Julie simply said afterwards that she got a ticking off. ‘Should work harder,’ she said, with difficulty keeping her voice even.

And Steve, her boyfriend, doesn’t even know about the visit to Mr Renby. Julie is seeing Steve this afternoon. After she gets back from here, Mr Corfurd’s place. It is on the edge of town and she rode her bike. She doesn’t think anyone she knew saw her — but even if someone did see her cycling here they wouldn’t know what for. They wouldn’t Know what she is doing now. Oh Christ!

She is ready. Or at least Julie is how Mr Corfurd wants her. Oh Christ! Just do it. Go out of this little room which looks over Mr Corfurd’s garden and down the stairs. No one else is here. Just Mr Corfurd downstairs in the sitting room.

Through the open door she sees him sitting in his armchair. Julie has seen Mr Corfurd before, knew who he was but hadn’t met him. A girl wouldn’t normally meet the Chairman of the Governors. Not normally. Only on a private visit like this. A secret visit. Mr Corfurd is a very recognisable figure: not tall, with a completely bald head and glasses. He has been looking at a magazine but it is now on the carpet by his chair. He looks up.

‘Ah Julie.’

She steps forward on shaking legs. Julie is how Mr Corfurd wants her. With her white bra still on and her black high heels but nothing else. Her skirt and blouse and the rest of her things have all been taken off. They are upstairs on the bed in that little room.

‘Come here then. Let me have a look at you.’

Making herself go closer. To stand close in front of him. With her hands at her sides. Although of course Julie’s hands desperately want to slide in front of her to cover her bush, her pussy. As they did when Mr Renby made her take her knickers down. Her face flushing, her body feeling little pin-pricks of perspiration. Mr Corfurd is of course looking at her pussy.

‘Good girl. It’s a discipline test of course. Having to take your clothes off. Mr Renby said you were in need of discipline. So many young people are nowadays of course. But he thought you especially.’

Mr Corfurd’s eyes are shiny behind the glasses. His tongue moistens his mouth.

‘Mr Renby thinks you should be caned. I believe he told you that. Something that will make you stop and think. Of your responsibilities. A good caning should do that. Mmm? Or a good smacked bottom. I don’t suppose an 18-year-old girl enjoys having her bare bottom smacked. Mmm?’

Julie shakes her head. Desperately wanting to put her hands in front of herself but of course she can’t. She must stand like this. Hands straight at her sides. Showing Mr Corfurd her pussy.

‘A spanking… mmm… is perhaps not as painful as a caning. But… mmm… as I say I don’t suppose a girl likes it. Bending over a man’s lap. Her bare bottom being given the treatment. Mmm?’

Julie doesn’t answer. It sounds pretty sickening. Maybe as bad as a caning. Mr Corfurd reflectively chews his lip. ‘Come down here. On your knees at the side. Where I can see you better.’

On her knees on the carpet. Julie feels a bit as if she is going to burst into tears. The feeling increases when Mr Corfurd reaches out to cup her chin. Lifting her face so that she has to meet those eyes behind the glasses. The thought of his hand spanking her bare bottom is sickening. And Mr Corfurd is only the start. There is the other one, Mr Gannon. And then Mr Renby, he is going to want to do it, cane her probably. And then… probably all of them wanting more, more visits. Repeats.

‘Yes.’ Mr Corfurd’s creamy, gloating voice ‘We’ll try the spanking. Warm up your bottom with a good brisk spanking. I’m sure that will be a good start. Come on then.’

Mr Corfurd reaches to hook a finger in the front of Julie’s bra, between the cups. Pulling her to him. Julie comes forward off of her knees, to slide across his lap. Mr Corfurd’s hand is immediately at her bottom. Hefting her forward. His hand gripping the ripe near-side cheek. Fingers sliding in and underneath. She lets out a yell.

‘Good girl.’

The hand slides right in between Julie’s legs. She yelps and squirms.

‘Good girl,’ Mr Corfurd murmurs again. ‘Just keep still.’

His fingers are at her pussy.

In the next instalment Julie visits Mr Gannon…