Community Service

From Blushes Supplement 18, another R.T.Mason-style story

‘We can go together,’ Diane had said. ‘Then it won’t be so bad. Safety in numbers.’ It sounded like a good idea. They looked through the lists in the papers. As usual there were lots of advertisers offering places for girls to do their Community Service and a number of them were prepared to take two girls. There was not a lot to go on in choosing, though, because they all gave only bare details and tended to say the same things. Good home for a girl doing her Community Service. Pleasant surroundings. Excellent discipline practised.

They all said that because that was the point of Community Service. Discipline. A girl had to have a taste of it after school, at the still formative age of 18. The country did not want to produce delinquents and disorderly elements, as in the past, but responsible young citizens. Hence the prescribed periods of Community Service, a three-month period when a girl was 18 and the same when she was 19. Young males of course went into the armed forces. Diane and Julia were due for their first stints.

How did you go about choosing? Those innocent-looking names and addresses listed in the Personal columns: what were the men like (it was almost always men) behind the names? Julia said mournfully, ‘Think about poor Amanda last year,’ which brought a quick ‘Shut up!’ from Diane. Amanda had had a really awful time. But they were free to be as awful as they liked, those gentlemen with their names and addresses in the paper. There was no point complaining; it was after all meant to be hard. Discipline. But some were a lot worse than others.

How could you tell, just by looking up and down the columns? You couldn’t, was the answer.

‘Lamb,’ said Julia finally. ‘Look,’ Right at the bottom of the page. ‘Mr Lamb can’t be too bad, with a name like that. And he’ll take two. And Bexley-on-Sea. The seaside.’ It was May, summer coming up.

‘You don’t imagine we’ll be spending the time sunbathing, do you?’ asked Diane incredulously. And you couldn’t imagine that, not if poor Amanda was anything to go by. And not only Amanda.

‘Bexley is nice,’ Julia’s mother said when they told her. ‘We used to go there for holidays when I was small. And I’m sure he’ll be reasonable. I mean with a name like that.’ She hoped so, but of course Community Service wasn’t supposed to be a holiday.

The die was cast anyway. Diane had rung Mr Lamb up and confirmed that he had a vacancy, at the beginning of July. ‘It’s for the two of us; my friend Julia and myself.’ The voice had sounded pleasant enough. ‘Yes, let me take that down. You’ll write confirming?’ A little laugh over the phone. ‘Two pretty girls, eh? I’m sure you and Julia are pretty. Yes?’

Diane made a face at Julia. ‘Yes. I s’pose.’

‘Lovely,’ the voice said. ‘Blonde or brunette?’ She told him. ‘Ah lovely. Two young English roses, eh? Send me your photos in the letter.’

‘Well he doesn’t sound vicious,’ Diane said and Julia said, ‘No. Pervy perhaps.’

‘Shut up.’

Pervyness could of course be as bad as viciousness. Gentlemen taking in girls for Community Service weren’t supposed to be pervy — but then neither were they supposed to be vicious. Just strict and imposing discipline. The trouble was, though, that you got the vicious ones who like making a girl suffer and you got the pervy ones who liked doing other things to a girl. When you had a pretty 18-year-old coming to stay with you for three months and she was yours to do what you wanted with (in fact if not in theory) it was no doubt a big temptation. No wonder there were all those names in the paper.

‘He may be just a nice man,’ Julia said. But she didn’t sound too convinced herself. ‘Have you got a photo?’

----//----

Arnold Lamb perused the two photos with studied interest. Yes they were blondes all right. Fluffy blonde locks framing two pretty faces each smiling winningly at the camera. They could almost be sisters. Delightful. He pursed his lips and, without thinking, rubbed his hands together. Oh yes, what a delightful prospect. It was always a good idea to ask for a photo; then if you weren’t too struck you could write back and say you’d made a mistake, you were booked up. And then re-advertise. But you wouldn’t want to do that with these two. Oh dear me no.

Arnold Lamb could really hardly wait. It could be such a joy, disciplining a pretty girl. Or two of them. Oh yes. He could hardly wait.

Was Mr Lamb vicious? Or… ah… pervy? He looked all right. An ordinary looking chap in his 50s. Glasses and grey hair. But you could never really tell by looks could you. And there was a certain gleam in his eye. As he studied those two photos.

And also when he welcomed the two pretty blondes. Pert and shapely Diane and Julia. Oh yes, a decided gleam in his eye. On the station platform nervously clutching their cases. ‘Diane Youngley and Julia Summers? If I am not mistaken.’ Right first time; they were after all the only two blondes of that age group standing nervously awaiting.

On the train, quite full of families heading for the seaside, a man in the carriage had guessed. ‘Going for your Community Service, girls?’ They had both blushed. The others in the carriage, a family with younger children, had all looked with great interest. Julia mumbled Yes. The man had laughed. ‘I wouldn’t mind having you two with me. I’d see your bottoms were spanked regularly.’ They had both cringed.

Both now standing apprehensively. As this man came up. Mr Lamb clearly. The man who had dominated their thoughts for the past weeks.

He welcomed them. Putting his arms round them one by one. And when he did so his hand slid down to briefly squeeze their bottoms. Diane’s and then Julia’s. Oh. Warning shots of adrenalin into the blood stream. You didn’t do anything of course. Not say ‘Hey, stop that’ or try to squirm away. Just let it happen. That hand through your skirt. But you thought. ‘Oh Cripes…’

It was a nice sunny summer day, a seaside smell in the air, but they weren’t going to the beach. No. ‘Here we are then: Mr Lamb’s car stopping in front of a neat, bow-windowed house like all the others on this street. Some of them with Bed and Breakfast signs but not this one: Roamindun. Its owner did not want distraction from the highly important business of looking after its visitors — for which of course there was a relatively generous government payment. ‘Here we are then, girls. Just a moment.’ Getting out and going round to open the other doors. His hand there again as they got out. Their bottoms. And when they reached in the boot to get their cases. Again. Oh Cripes. Mr Lamb was…

Inside, in the hallway. The front door closing with a sharp click behind them. Here they were. Mr Lamb’s girls for the next three months. Mr Lamb whose hand so blatantly ignored that silly name he, or someone, had given this house. Standing with their bottoms against the wall. Not that that was likely to help. If he wanted to do it. Bottom pinching and groping was nasty, unpleasant. Pervy. But there were degrees of pervyness and bottom pinching wasn’t the worst. You could no doubt learn to put up with bottom pinching. But…

‘Right, young ladies. So nice to have you here and I’m sure I can do something for you. I usually can. I have mothers write to me to say they scarcely recognise their daughters, they are so smart and disciplined when they get back. That is indeed rewarding, as I expect you can imagine, young lady.’

The young lady in question was Diane. Mr Lamb had moved close in front of her and for good measure his hand was at the front of her blouse. Squeezing her boob. Diane made a sort of strangled sound. With some effort she got out, ‘Yes… Mr Lamb…’

‘Good. Well, I’ll want to have a look at you both first. Upstairs to your room: it’s the one opposite the stairs. And then get undressed. Keep a vest on for the moment, but nothing else. No… ah… bra or knickers. Got that?’

They both said Yes, weakly. Diane perhaps more weakly than Julia for Mr Lamb was still squeezing her boobs. Diane had quite big boobs and Mr Lamb had presumably noticed this. With apparent approval. He was using two hands now.

‘Right, up you go then.’ He let go of Diane’s boobs. And had a quick grab at her bottom as she turned to go up the stairs. They scampered up, fearful. But Mr Lamb wasn’t following close behind. Not at the moment.

‘When you’re ready go in the bathroom,’ he called up. ‘I’ll see you in there.’

‘He’s pervy all right,’ Diane hissed once they were inside the little room. ‘Bloody hell!’

There was no point denying it. Certainly bottom-pinching and boob-squeezing pervy. But… what else? They had to strip off, except for vests. Oh Cripes. ‘I haven’t got a vest on,’ wailed Julia. Neither of them had, on this warm day. But they had brought vests. Well, you could never know with an English summer. It might be freezing. ‘Oh God,’ Diane moaned. ‘We’re not going to enjoy this. I know.’

But then you weren’t supposed to enjoy your Community Service.

Their vests… well, they were summer vests. Thin and short, reaching as far as the first outward swell of a girl’s hips but no further. ‘He did say…’ Julia’s voice tailed off into a whisper, ‘no bra and no… knickers…’ Oh yes, Mr Lamb had said that all right. ‘This is simply awful,’ she breathed. And indeed it was. You might as well be nude. Your boobs were covered, but that was all. Pussies and bottoms were quite bare. And really the tight-stretched vests served more as a means of displaying their boobs than covering them up. No, it wasn’t nice. Not at all. It was hateful, sickening.

They crept noiselessly out into the bathroom. There was no lock on the door. And anyway even if there had been… they looked around: a biggish bathroom with in addition to the normal things a table over to one side with a towel spread out on it. There was also a folding wooden chair. They looked at each other. What was going to happen…?

Then the unlockable door abruptly opened. Mr Lamb. Of course. Staring at their flinching, bared forms. ‘Ah good. Lovely girls, eh? Now then. Diane first shall we say. Up on the table, on your back. Knees up and legs apart. Must have a quick check of everything. Merely routine.’

‘No!’ His words hitting Diane like a bucket of cold water. ‘Not that. Please. No…’

Mr Lamb’s hand shot out, his flat palm stinging solidly into Diane’s flank. A full-blooded smack. She yelled out.

‘No, Miss? We don’t say no, my girl’ The hand shot out again, this time jolting the firm flesh of Diane’s near-side bottom-cheek. She yelled out again. ‘No, we don’t say no. What do we do?’

‘No… Please don’t. O… obey. We obey.’

‘Get up then. Or I’ll get the cane to you. Do you want that?’

‘No! Please!’ Climbing frantically onto the table. There was no choice. Not if Mr Lamb was going to hit like that. Or fetch a cane. Doing what he had told her, though it was hateful. On her back. Legs up. Knees apart.

‘That’s more like it, my girl. We do as we’re told here.’ Mr Lamb’s voice becoming softer. He was getting what he wanted. ‘Now then, keep still. Just a little… ah… check. It has to be done. Always. Routine…’

Julia looked away, unable to bear it. Knowing it would be her turn next. What Mr Lamb was doing… surely he wasn’t allowed to. He wasn’t a doctor or anything… But what could you do? Diane was making little gasping sounds. As Mr Lamb’s hand did what he said had to be done.

Red-faced Diane was at last allowed to get up. Mr Lamb was going over to sit on that chair. Beckoning Diane. ‘Come here now, young lady. We need a lesson for that refusal at the beginning. We can’t have girls saying no. That is one thing we cannot have.’

Diane was over his lap. Her head down low and her bare bottom up over Mr Lamb’s lap. Julia couldn’t look but nonetheless she had to. It was like an awful magnet. Mr Lamb’s hand…

Rising and falling. Splatting down with a pistol-like impact onto Diane’s poor bare bum. Diane yelling and gasping. It was sickening but Julia couldn’t help watching. Knowing that Mr Lamb was going to find an excuse to do exactly the same to her. After he had had her up on the table.

Mr Lamb. He was pervy and also vicious. Why had they chosen him? They should never have chosen a name like Lamb. It had just been tempting the fates. And they were here… for three months…