Teen Queen Trials

From Blushes 26, continued from Teen Queen

But what exactly was the situation? With regard to the Bilton Bodstock Teen Queen Contest? What was the exact state of play? Mrs Melanie Simmonds was wondering and so was daughter Tracy. And so also no doubt were various other hopeful mothers and daughters. You knew of course that there had to be a public contest, the contestants parading on the stage in the town hall with everyone watching, and then the three judges making their considered and momentous decision. Oh yes, you knew that. But you also knew, if you knew anything, that that was not how it really worked.

You knew that really the girl who won was the one who had most impressed the judges in private beforehand. Anyone who knew anything knew that that was how Beauty Contests were won. More to the point it was the one who had impressed the most important of the judges. Yes. And the most important in the Bilton Bodstock contest was without doubt Mr Eldridge. He had after all put up the money and so naturally he was the one who counted. In the same way that if it is your bat when you’re playing cricket you expect to have a lengthy innings even if you do happen to be bowled out. All men and judges are not equal.

Yes, Mr Eldridge, he was the one, any mother with an ounce of sense knew that. Melanie Simmonds knew it. And Tracy, on her mother’s instruction to be ‘sweet and co-operative’, had twice now obediently submitted to private examination sessions with Mr Eldridge. First in her own home and then again at Mr Eldridge’s somewhat grander residence. Each time Tracy had co-operatively taken her clothes off and submitted to intimate inspection. Each time also she had submitted to having her bare bottom spanked which had been decidedly painful. All this had been quite acceptable as far as Mrs Melanie Simmonds was concerned — if it meant Tracy was going to win. But... was Tracy going to win?

Were there other mothers who had likewise been urging their daughters to be ‘sweet and co-operative’? You could bet your last pound note (or coin) there were. Some mothers had no sense of shame for their daughters and equally some girls were no better than little sluts. What were they offering to Mr Eldridge? Or letting him do? The possibilities that Melanie Simmonds’ active mind could conjure up sent shivers down her spine. What if dear Tracy, sweet and charming and with lovely boobs and a pert and shapely rear but also refined and modest, what if she had been showing it all off to Mr Eldridge and allowing his no doubt coarse groping and that unpleasant spanking of her bare bottom all in vain? Because Mr Eldridge, after his now two intimate sessions with Tracy, was still only saying ‘Highly promising.’ ‘A very promising contestant.’ It was easy to believe that other girls were at the least being told the same thing. The prize was not yet won.

Mr Eldridge of course wanted to see Tracy again and there seemed to be not a lot that Melanie could do except reiterate the advice to be sweet and co-operative and agreeable. Co-operative and agreeable to taking her clothes off and showing it all to Mr Eldridge and also showing her delectable bottom to be spanked. Yes, but then Melanie Simmonds thought of those other girls, of the undoubtedly sluttish variety. What were they allowing? Maybe it was now time to hint to Tracy that if anything further was alluded to by Mr Eldridge, Tracy should indicate that she was agreeable in these areas as well. Mr Eldridge it seemed had not up to this point made any suggestions in those areas but if he did Tracy, without warning, might be inclined to shy away, co-operativeness and agreeableness notwithstanding.

Not that Tracy was to behave in any way like a slut. But when one had to compete against sluts with their mothers no doubt urging them on and with the matter still in the balance one could perhaps not afford to be too shy and too ladylike. It might be that one needed to do somewhat unladylike things although naturally still in a ladylike manner.

‘What, Mum?’ Tracy’s pretty blue eyes widening. ‘What... sort of things?’

‘Oh Tracy, you know what sort of things. You are 18 after all.’ It was not easy to spell it out, not to one’s own daughter. And Melanie was sure that Tracy did know. She was anyway blushing which meant she was thinking of something. Melanie considered saying ‘anything’ but was that going too far? One could think of an almost infinite spectrum of possibilities. ‘Almost anything’ was what she settled for. Tracy’s blush deepened.

But then Tracy’s mother suddenly thought of that other tack that might profitably be pursued. Indicating that a girl was prepared to do almost anything would no doubt bring her up in the same area as the slut-like competitors as far as Mr Eldridge was concerned. But Mr Eldridge was not the only judge: there were those other two. And in a close run contest with nice girls doing almost anything and the sluts happily doing anything at all, well, the views of those other two could well tip the balance. Major Smithers and Mr Philpot.

Melanie experienced a nasty shiver as the thought occurred that perhaps those stop-at-nothing other mothers had already thought of this. She got up and went straight to the phone.

Mr Arthur Philpot was very happy to get Melanie Simmonds’ phone call. Retired now from the law firm of Kimberwidge and Philpot, he was still a spry and vigorous man, keen to accept any pickings that came his way as a result of being on the Teen Queen judging panel. Naturally it was James Eldridge’s operation and he had to take pride of place. Arthur Philpot would not think therefore of ringing up girls or their mothers and suggesting private visits. James Eldridge could do this as it was his show but not the other two. But if a mother contacted Mr Philpot herself and herself suggested a meeting... As Mrs Simmonds had done. As indeed a couple of other mothers had already done. Well, that was something else. It was no more than the decent thing to do to agree to it. James Eldridge would have no objection: he no doubt had already had his visits, meetings. Arthur Philpot was simply getting what was left. And very happy to do so.

‘By all means, Mrs Simmonds. Would tomorrow be convenient?’

Mr Philpot lived in quite a large house, as big as Mr Eldridge’s. Melanie Simmonds naturally took her daughter round there, after she had finished work. Nice girls did not visit strange men’s houses without an escort, even if the strange man was a highly respected local figure. But although she was chaperoning Tracy she had no wish for Mr Philpot to feel inhibited. If he was going to get a favourable impression of Tracy he would not wish to feel inhibited. In the same way that when Mr Eldridge had visited the Simmonds home he had wanted to see Tracy alone, upstairs. At that time Melanie had first of all been hesitant, but had quickly realised.

She now gave Mr Philpot her most charming smile. ‘I expect you’ll want to see Tracy alone, Mr Philpot. I can wait here if that’s all right. While you, ah, take her upstairs.’

What an understanding mother! And so charming and attractive too. Arthur Philpot smiled back.

‘She’s got her swimsuit with her. And her high heels.’

Tracy flushed prettily. She wasn’t feeling as nervous as she had with Mr Eldridge, especially that first time. Getting more used to it now. Of course there was that business that her mother had been saying. Hinting at other things that a girl might be asked to do, besides taking her clothes off and submit to a bit of groping and also that painful and embarrassing bottom spanking. Almost anything, her mother had said. She was to be sweet and co-operative and agree to almost anything. But her mother hadn’t been any more specific than that and Tracy naturally had not wanted to question further in what was clearly an embarrassing area. She would have to make her own judgement — but it seemed best to err on the safe side. With all those other girls whom her mother had stressed would do absolutely anything.

A smart and stylish bedroom. Mr Philpot closing the door behind them. Tracy gave a sweet smile. It did not do to be too shy, her mother had told her, not when up against some of those others. ‘Shall I take my clothes off, Mr Philpot?’

Should she! What an absolute charmer. Arthur Philpot at once gave the go-ahead. Blouse and skirt came demurely off. And a slip. Under that... Something special. On the advice of Tracy’s mother who knew a thing or two about what gentlemen liked. Nylons and a suspender belt, changed into just 20 minutes earlier when Tracy got home from work. Oh yes. ‘Keep them on until last,’ her mother had further advised. ‘They, uh, set off a girl’s figure.’ Indeed they did. Bra and dainty knickers were being equally demurely removed and there was Tracy in just sexy black suspender belt and nylons and high heels. A mouth-watering sight indeed. Firm, full, pink-nippled tits thrusting engagingly out at Mr Philpot and down below, centring those two slim black straps, a delicate blonde bush pointing at him as well. Oh my word yes.

Mr Philpot coming close, hands itching and various parts of him twitching. The hands hotly investigating, as Mr Philpot, face pink, spoke. Questions. Tracy forcing a charming smile, remembering the advice not to be shy. Be co-operative. Sweetly agreeable. Almost anything. Don’t be embarrassed, she told herself. She was after all 18. She had had some experience and a girl should be ready to learn.

What unfortunately hadn’t properly got through to Tracy was that the ‘almost anything’ was meant for Mr Eldridge. Not the two junior members of the judging team.

Downstairs in the lounge Mrs Simmonds sat glancing at a magazine though in reality her thoughts were upstairs. Perhaps she should have been more specific regarding Mr Philpot and Major Smithers whom they were to see tomorrow. These two gentlemen were clearly not in the same position as Mr Eldridge. They were to be allowed to see Tracy. To see all of her. To as it were whet their appetites for when she was up on the stage in front of them. But that was all. But still Tracy no doubt understood this.

No. Unfortunately Tracy had not understood that. Tracy of whom at that moment in the master bedroom only small parts could be seen. Arms, nyloned feet and lower legs. Part of the blonde head. Because Mr Philpot... Of Mr Philpot only the back view could be seen. He was being very energetic. Making gasping sounds. Of effort — or pleasure? Perhaps in fact both at the same time.

Melanie Simmonds, downstairs, glanced thoughtfully up at the ceiling. Though being a substantially built house there was no sound or any other indication of what might be taking place. Perhaps just as well. Some little time later the two reappeared: judge and contestant. The latter, fully clothed again, looked rather pink in the face. As for that matter did also Mr Philpot.

‘All right, dear?’ queried Tracy’s mother.

Tracy produced an embarrassed grin — as well she might. Mr Philpot spoke with high enthusiasm: ‘Tracy is absolutely first rate. A lovely and talented girl. As far as I am concerned she has my vote here and now.’

Well you couldn’t ask for better than that. How nice it would be if Mr Eldridge could be equally forthright. Melanie beamed with pleasure. In the car going back she put a few general questions but as Tracy had done so well did not press for too much detail. Tracy in fact seemed a bit subdued in spite of getting that high praise from Mr Philpot — which just went to show what a sweet and modest girl she was.

----//----

The next afternoon there was the second result of Melanie Simmonds’ phone calls: a visit to Major Smithers. Somehow Tracy again got no more specific advice. Somehow events at Major Smithers’ went very much as they had at Mr Philpot’s. At least there was none of that nasty spanking. Again Tracy performed with flying colours, and subsequently received glowing praise from the Major.

Things as far as Melanie Simmonds was concerned were certainly looking up. There was now a further visit to Mr Eldridge due. This time he wanted the hopeful contestant in tight running briefs plus a plain tee-shirt. ‘Now remember what I said,’ Mrs Simmonds reminded her daughter. ‘This time you can, er, be a little freer. If Mr Eldridge indicates anything. Not like with those other two.’

Tracy looked a bit blank. ‘What, mum?’

‘Tracy please, we have discussed it. You know what I mean.’

Tracy shook her head. Yes she did know, or she thought she did. But those others... ‘But the other two, mum...’

‘What about them, dear?’

Tracy shook her head again. It wasn’t at all easy to spell it out. But surely her mother knew. Had told her to... Another shake of the head. ‘You know, mum.’

Melanie Simmonds didn’t, but very shortly she did. Tracy somehow managing to explain, more or less, what had taken place in the bedrooms of Mr Philpot and Major Smithers. ‘You told me to, mum. Almost anything you said and I thought...’

There was nothing to be said. It was, presumably, done. An objective view might well be that Tracy had behaved as sluttishly as any of the others could possibly behave. Well, two men in successive afternoons... words failed her poor mother: it was difficult to put any kind of gloss on it. What could be said? What Melanie Simmonds did finally say was, ‘I hope at least you were ladylike, Tracy.’

Had Tracy been ladylike in her performance? She looked dubious, not really knowing a lot about such matters. ‘I… I think so, mum.’

That left Mr Eldridge. ‘What about Mr Eldridge, mum?’ It seemed as well to get things straight this time. Melanie Simmonds bit her lip. In the circumstances what could a mother say?

Mr Eldridge was Mr Eldridge. He unfortunately did like that spanking. Which hurt. This time he spanked Tracy with his hand and then with a slipper which hurt even more. And after that? Was Mr Eldridge going to want more this time? The same as the others? No, it seemed not. He made her kneel on the carpet, upright, hands on head. Then he told her. Oh golly! It took a little while for it to register properly. But her mother had said, this time, after some thought, ‘Anything I suppose, Tracy.’

It clearly came under the heading of ‘Anything’. And Mr Eldridge was now saying, ‘You’ll be my Number One candidate, Tracy.’

Well that was something. And if she was Number One in everyone’s book how could Tracy Simmonds fail?