Games in the Garden

From Blushes 32

‘A gentleman will be calling,’ Mr Hilyard said. ‘This afternoon. So you will want to look pretty for him.’ He sipped his tea, eyes bright over the tea cup. ‘But then you’re always pretty, aren’t you, my dear?’

Charlotte flushed slightly. ‘Only if you say so, Uncle.’ She removed her wide-brimmed straw hat and replaced it again on her tresses. The morning sun was already hot in the garden. She was a very pretty girl and he wasn’t her uncle. Mr Hilyard was her guardian, since a year ago when she had left school. Nineteen now, a quite tall, full-grown young lady: a shapely figure under her skirt and top; a pretty full-lipped face beneath the wide straw brim of her hat.

She smiled her blue-eyed smile. ‘I shall be on my very best behaviour, Uncle.’

Mr Hilyard put down his delicate china tea cup. ‘I know you will, my dear. You are always an excellently behaved young lady. Come round here and let me see you.’

Charlotte got obediently to her feet. They were on the terrace at the edge of the wide lawn shimmering now in the bright sunlight. High heels clip-clopping on the broad paving stones. The full, calf-length skirt swaying with the movement of her hips and thighs. Standing at Mr Hilyard’s side. He smiled up at her.

‘Yes, always an excellently behaved young lady.’

His hand slid up the back of Charlotte’s skirt. Under the skirt and the lawn petticoat beneath she was wearing stockings although it was a warm morning and they were in the privacy of Mr Hilyard’s garden. Sheer, tan nylons. Mr Hilyard liked stockings. But above the stockings, and the warm bare thighs above them, there were no knickers. Mr Hilyard showed no surprise on finding this. His hand caressed the ripeness. Charlotte stood still, her hand lightly on the garden table. Only the long, soft eyelashes fluttering.

‘I’m wondering what you might have done,’ he said. ‘Or not done, that might warrant a spanking.’

Her fingers rubbed at the table. She shifted her weight from one high heel to the other, in the process moving her bottom in his hand. ‘Nothing, Uncle. You just said I am excellently behaved.’ She didn’t try to move away from the hand.

‘Well when I said that — as we both know — that doesn’t preclude certain more minor matters. No girl is perfect, not even my Charlotte. And that is how we keep her up to the mark — by spanking her occasionally. Isn’t that so?’

Charlotte emitted a sharp squeak. As a result of Mr Hilyard’s hand, not what he had said. She pouted. ‘Spanking isn’t very dignified. It hurts too.’

Mr Hilyard’s hand jiggled one bare cheek. He glanced up. ‘Not as much as the cane, though, Charlotte dear.’

Charlotte’s full mouth came open in a grimace, showing even white teeth. She gave a little moan. ‘Oh golly. Not the cane.’ The cane on a girl’s bare bottom made her think the world was about to end. Mr Hilyard didn’t cane her often but when he did —

‘No Uncle. I’ve not done anything to get the cane.’

‘I didn’t say you had. We’re talking about a spanking. And not even a very hard one I daresay. A moderate spanking for a minor shortcoming. Let’s see, I imagine you weren’t up very early this morning. Mmm, Charlotte? On this lovely May morning. In spite of your many excellent qualities you’re a rather lazy girl in the mornings, my dear.’

It was true, she wasn’t an early riser. Charlotte liked to lie in her cosy bed wondering vaguely about the coming day but in no actual hurry to meet it. Life with Mr Hilyard was not onerous — unless of course it was one of the days when he decided he felt like using his cane. ‘For your own good, Charlotte dear, Every girl needs it now and then.’ Spankings happened more frequently. Charlotte did not enjoy them but they were a fact of life with Mr Hilyard. They didn’t happen every day but it looked as if today was one when it would. Spankings were very undignified, upside down with your bottom bare.

‘Do I have to, Uncle?’ But it was only a rhetorical question. At the very beginning, when she first came to stay, Charlotte had tried to refuse — and had simply been caned instead. After that any protests were strictly for show.

Mr Hilyard was moving his chair back from the table, to give himself room. To give Charlotte room to get over his lap. She removed the straw hat and placed it on the table. Upside down it would fall off. She hoisted her skirt and petticoat. As she did so she recalled Mr Hilyard’s mention of the gentleman. The visitor this afternoon. She gave her guardian a wide-eyed look.

‘Am I… supposed to wear knickers this afternoon?’

Mr Hilyard smiled. ‘What a question, Charlotte.’ She presented a charming picture: the full length of the stockings; the rounded bare thighs above; a glimpse of russet bush where her skirt was held high.

She flushed and bent to get down over his lap. ‘Well, you know…’

Whether Mr Hilyard knew or not he was for the moment concentrating on the spanking. ‘Not a very hard spanking,’ he had said but his hand was nonetheless splatting crisply down on the firm bare cheeks. Producing that very distinctive echoing sound of flesh striking flesh and producing also a succession of urgent yelps from Charlotte. Her pale buttocks were rapidly transformed to a bright pink hue. Her face was a similar colour when finally she was helped to her feet. She was breathing heavily and a little shaky on her legs. Not looking at Mr Hilyard she picked up her hat and replaced it on her head. Mr Hilyard pulled her down to sit on his lap.

‘Feel better after that, do we? Oh yes, our guest of this afternoon.’ He smiled. ‘You won’t actually see him as it happens.’

Charlotte was still feeling the indignity of what had just taken place. Also there was a distinct soreness in what she was sitting on. She raised her eyebrows, ‘Am I to remain in my room then?’

Mr Hilyard squeezed her waist. ‘Did I say that, Charlotte? Oh no, our gentleman visitor will certainly wish to see you. It will no doubt form the high point of his visit.’

‘Don’t tease, Uncle,’ Charlotte said.

‘And as for knickers: yes, I think you should wear them. Because if it just happened — well, some gentlemen do like to take a girl’s knickers down, don’t they?’

That most becoming pink hue returned to Charlotte’s pretty cheeks. Mr Hilyard’s words were sufficiently clear to her. ‘He’s not… No!’

‘We must wait and see, mustn’t we?’ he said. ‘But you won’t see our friend because of a little game we are going to play. You are going to wear a blindfold, Charlotte dear.’

----//----

A piece of black material tied tightly round her pretty head. Charlotte was still wearing her skirt and top and straw hat. Everything was the same in fact, including the absence of knickers. Mr Hilyard had decided on reflection that she should leave them off. (Had he perhaps discussed the matter with the gentleman on the phone?) Yes, everything was the same except for the blindfold.

‘I can’t see,’ wailed Charlotte, stating the obvious. ‘It’s scary. I’ll walk into something. The pond!’

But Mr Hilyard held her firmly by the arm and so there was no danger of that. ‘We’re just going down the garden. By the summer-house,’ he told her. ‘There’s nothing to worry about and anyway I’ve got hold of you.’

‘I don’t like this game,’ she protested.

The visitor was arriving shortly. He wanted to be incognito, at least for the moment, Mr Hilyard said. Just a game, and so Mr Hilyard had agreed that he could meet Charlotte blindfolded. Charlotte didn’t like the blindfold at all. And there was the rest. What else would the gentleman want? ‘Be nice,’ Mr Hilyard had said, smiling. That meant agree to what he wanted.

‘What’s he like,’ she wanted to know. ‘I don’t want to be left with some horrible, villainous person. And where will you be?’

Mr Hilyard laughed again. He was evidently enjoying this game, whatever it was. ‘He’s not at all villainous, Charlotte. I would never leave my dear Charlotte with anyone remotely resembling that description. And as for me — well I don’t suppose I’ll be far away.’

He sat Charlotte down on a garden seat in the secluded corner of the garden near the summer-house. It was still hot and sunny, she could feel the sun’s heat, but all she could see was darkness. In the dark Mr Hilyard kissed her cheek.

‘Oh by the way, you can call him Mr Brown. You know, like William.’

William? Oh, William. ‘I never liked those stories,’ she said to the darkness. ‘I didn’t like that boy or his father, Mr Brown. And I don’t like this game…’

But she didn’t know if Mr Hilyard was still there to hear or had walked away. Theoretically she could remove the handkerchief: it was only knotted round her head. But even though she didn’t want to play the game Charlotte couldn’t go against Mr Hilyard’s wishes. Oh no — if he wanted to play this game then they had to play it. And of course she had played certain games before that she hadn’t liked.

Her hand went up to touch the blindfold. She knew where she was, she could picture the garden around her; the leafy green shrubbery to one side; over there the summer-house. But was there someone walking across the lawn towards her? This Mr Brown? Had he perhaps come to Mr Hilyard’s house before? Called something else? Charlotte thought of the various gentlemen friends of Mr Hilyard whom she had met. She hadn’t liked all of them. Mr Hilyard always said, ‘Be nice and friendly, Charlotte; show them what a charming girl I’ve got.’

She shifted her weight on the seat. What if they both came; Mr Brown and Mr Hilyard. Mr Hilyard keeping quiet, pretending he wasn’t there. While Mr Brown — did what? Mr Hilyard liked games. Funny games that weren’t always funny.

‘Hello, Charlotte.’

Oh. He had come. Out of the blue — or the black. She got to her feet. Was he old or not so old? His voice — ‘Hello — Mr Brown,’ she said.

‘My, what a pretty outfit. And of course what a pretty young lady wearing it. Mr Hilyard didn’t tell me you were quite this pretty, Charlotte.’

Mr Brown took her hand, then one arm slipped round Charlotte’s slim waist. He had a charming voice but not one she could recognise from anyone she had met. But then how distinctive were gentlemen’s voices — when you couldn’t see them?’

‘Do you like games, Charlotte? Do you like this game?’

Charlotte turned towards the voice and smiled. She must be pleasant, a charming companion, as a well brought up young lady should in the company of a gentleman. Mr Brown had, without much delay, slid his hand down, lightly to cup Charlotte’s bottom through her skirt and petticoat. ‘I think we won’t bother with knickers,’ Mr Hilyard had said. Mr Hilyard himself certainly preferred her without knickers and Charlotte mostly didn’t wear them. She had a truly lovely bottom, Mr Hilyard said, and knickers were not necessary. Young ladies in Victorian times never wore knickers, apparently.

They were strolling in the garden, Mr Brown holding Charlotte’s hand and with his other hand on her bottom. It was a funny feeling, walking in the dark, but Mr Brown had hold of her. They stopped. The unseen Mr Brown turned Charlotte so that her back was towards him. His hands came round and this time cupped her breasts. Charlotte swallowed, but kept still. Mr Brown’s hands mounding them. ‘Lovely,’ he said. ‘How big are they, Charlotte?’

He was pressed up against her back. She wondered what he looked like, if she had met him before. His voice was perhaps familiar. ‘I take a 35B cup,’ she said. Mr Brown’s voice in her ear said, ‘Will you take your clothes off, Charlotte?’

She shivered slightly. Had the sun gone in? Was he serious or joking? She didn’t really feel like taking her clothes off. And where was Mr Hilyard? He wasn’t standing watching? Laughing, enjoying his game?’

Mr Brown had let go of her. ‘Yes. Please take your clothes off, Charlotte dear.’

So she had to. He meant it. Charlotte forced out a nervous ‘Well, alright —’ at whoever was looking. What if Mr Hilyard had brought a whole group of his friends to watch? No, she didn’t really think so. Her hands were at the zip of her skirt. She removed her hat and dropped it on the grass. ‘What do I have to take off?’ she asked, trying to keep her voice confident. Mr Brown, in front of her, said, ‘Everything except shoes and stockings. And the blindfold of course.’ For no real reason that she could think of she said, ‘I haven’t got any knickers on.’

Mr Brown said, ‘I know. I could feel that. I want you in just your shoes and stockings and then I’m going to spank your bottom.’

Oh! She had somehow suspected that might be part of the game. Slipping her dress off. And then the petticoat. ‘I’m not all that keen… on being spanked.’ Trying to sound nonchalant, although she really didn’t like it, and she’d had a spanking that morning from Mr Hilyard. Mr Brown only laughed. Charlotte groped her way over the unseen lap and squeezed her eyes tight shut under the blindfold.

----//----

‘Would you like to see my pictures?’ Mr Hilyard asked. Charlotte looked up and saw a certain look in his eye, as if Mr Hilyard were enjoying a secret joke. Her heart gave a little jump as right away she made the connection, or the possible connection. He hadn’t —! But of course he could have been there all the time — with his camera. While Mr Brown — she had simply not thought of a camera.

‘You didn’t — No!’ But his smile said he had.

‘No! I’ll tear them up!’

‘Don’t be silly, Charlotte. I’m not going to show them to all and sundry. I don’t even know that I’ll show them to our friend. But here he is if you want to see him.’

Mr Brown was sitting on the garden seat and she, Charlotte, was over his lap. Nude except for stockings and shoes plus the blindfold. For the first time she saw him: an unexceptional looking man of Mr Hilyard’s age whom Charlotte didn’t recognise. Mr Hilyard showed her another. In this she was standing nude in front of the visitor.

‘Telephoto shots,’ Mr Hilyard said. ‘From the shrubbery. Rather good, eh? They certainly show what a lovely girl my Charlotte is.’

Charlotte looked at the photos, and two more. ‘Didn’t he know? That you were…?’ Mr Hilyard said No, that was part of the game.

She glanced up. His face still had that amused look. Charlotte lowered her eyes, her own face pinkening. She pushed the prints away. ‘You didn’t — I mean —’

For answer Mr Hilyard put his hand in his pocket. A large manila envelope. Which proved to contain more prints. He placed them on the table, a little pile face downwards.

‘I won’t look,’ she breathed, face scarlet.

Mr Hilyard said, ‘Don’t be silly.’ And turned the top one over. Charlotte did look — and quickly looked away. It was mostly Mr Brown you could see. Mr Brown was lying on the grass, face down. Or would have been lying on the grass if there hadn’t been the blanket and Charlotte underneath.

‘How could you…’ she managed.

Mr Hilyard put his arms round her waist and cooed mockingly; ‘Naughty Charlotte! Look at the others. There are some really super ones.’

Charlotte didn’t want to look. But she did. ‘How could you,’ she repeated. ‘How — how could you!’