Hovis & Horlicks

A short but sweet story from Blushes 33

Those days seemed always to have been sunny days, as he remembered them; they couldn’t all have been so, of course, but memory functions selectively, and his chose to bathe his recollections of those hours in the little room, in the warm yellow light of Hovis afternoons in mid-summer.

The window would have been open with the sweet tang of new-mown grass sharp in the still air; she would be naturally fresh-scented, the smell of her hair delicate in his nostrils as he stood behind and guided her, with a hand at either of her hips, to stand before the table over which she was to be caned.

He could see — could see even now — the wide expanse of grass beyond the window, and old Fred sitting on the big motor mower, its puttering and clattering muted by distance, his workman’s cap on his head come rain or shine; and he could hear behind him, as he stood at the window, the sibilant shush of cotton knickers being slipped hesitantly, resentfully, down over satin-skinned bottom-cheeks. The little scrape of the table’s legs against the floor as she lowered her weight on to it; the sound of the toes of her shoes as she straightened her legs and tried to settle herself, nervous as she is, and blush-cheeked as she will be when he turns round and she lifts her eyes to meet his.

Big eyes wide with apprehension. She blinks once, and her lower lip is trembly.

The cane is on the table beside her, where she will have seen it when she came in and will have had to look at it as she stood before the table and reached up under her skirt to pull her knickers down.

His hand reaches for the cane — it rattles quietly as he picks it up. He hears the soft intake of her breath, sees the faint wobble of her bare bottom as she presses her thighs close together and her toes push involuntarily against the floor.

The cane is in his hand, and is playing with the plumpness of her buttocks. The firm pink cheeks, toying with her vulnerability, raising a little higher, flicking a little harder, making her suck in a breath because she knows what’s coming……………

‘Drunk our Horlicks, have we? Got to drink it all up, then you can have your pill.’

The girl in the pink — bare bottom pink — overalls swooshed away to the old gentleman in the next armchair, hips swinging and a hint of knickers under her nylon uniform. A bottom he’d like to have caned, if he’d still had his little room and the authority he’d had then and the vigour in his old bones to swing a cane properly.

Ah well — perhaps the sun will come out tomorrow, and he’ll be able to sit out in the conservatory and remember how the days had always seemed to be sunny, a long time ago.