A Walk in the Country

An R.T. Mason inspired story from Blushes 41, although the prose style doesn’t quite hit the heights of the master himself.


‘I think I might take Julie out for a walk,’ Harold Pinkford, looking in the sitting room, informed his wife. ‘It’s a nice morning and I think she could do with a spot of exercise.’

Sylvia Pinkford, sitting in her favourite armchair and stroking the cat, looked up and smiled. ‘Just as you like, dear. She’s your girl of course. And I’m sure a little exercise would do her good. Yes, why don’t you?’

She smiled good-humouredly. Harold was so much more contented now he’d got the girl. He was that age of course, mid-fifties, when a man could get seriously bored with his life. And especially when, as in Harold’s case, he had taken early retirement. That was partly why he’d taken early retirement of course, to get a girl on the National Domestic Service and be able to really devote his time to her, to really enjoy her, but then, to Harold’s discomfiture, there didn’t seem to be that many available, for some reason. People did say that certain persons who could pull strings were taking two or three girls, although the Agency denied that this happened and it was certainly against the spirit if not actually the letter of the law.

Yes, for a while Harold had been very down in the mouth, with the one or two girls who did come up not being at all to his liking. Harold could be very choosy and Sylvia had gone so far as to suggest that he lower his sights and take whatever was available. But it finally turned out all right. That Julie was exactly what he wanted. He was very lucky, there had been a cancellation and it happened to be just when he was at the top of the list, otherwise she would certainly have been grabbed by some other hot-eyed gentleman.

She was certainly a splendid specimen. Sylvia had to agree about that. Very striking: tall and blonde and very well built. Big boobs and bottom and with long shapely legs. Perhaps just a bit obvious, Sylvia thought to herself, though being an honest person she knew that when younger she would have been not unhappy to look like that herself. She hadn’t: pleasant but not striking had been Sylvia Pinkford in her younger years and now of course she was in her fifties like Harold and not bothered. But this Julie was without doubt exactly what a man of Harold’s age would adore and having her in the house… well, Harold wasn’t going to want to go off wandering, casting his eyes over some other young bit of stuff outside. Not that he ever had, as far as she knew, but you never really did know, did you?

‘She’s a real blonde!’ Harold had announced triumphantly on that first day when he brought her home. About 20 minutes after he’d got her home, and those 20 minutes being spent up in the little room that was going to be Julie’s bedroom. Harold eventually coming down, eyes shining. ‘A real blonde. That’s not out of the bottle. Or if it is she’s done a proper job and done the other bit as well.’

Sylvia had smiled a ‘Yes dear.’ She wasn’t really interested in what colour fluff the girl had on her private parts — which no doubt Harold had been examining in keen detail. And of course the fact that she was blonde down there didn’t mean she hadn’t altered what nature had given her; she looked a bit too blonde for Sylvia to believe it was completely natural. But she wasn’t going to say that to Harold, not when he was clearly so pleased with himself. ‘Did you show her that cane?’ was what she said.

Harold had bought himself a cane some weeks earlier and for those weeks there had been nothing, no one, to use it on. He was no doubt keen to try it out and Sylvia was equally keen for him to do so. If you had to have a girl in the house, you wanted her kept in her place. You certainly wouldn’t want her getting any ideas — ideas that she could twist Harold round her little finger for instance. Sylvia had been listening for any suitable sounds from upstairs. Yelps, or the thwack of that bamboo impacting on her fleshy rump. There could have been some muffled yelps…

Harold was grinning. ‘I gave her a couple. Just so she knows what’s what.’

That had certainly been good news. What else had transpired in those first 20 minutes did not really concern Sylvia. Had Harold exercised his right of mastership: his droit de seigneur? Sylvia didn’t know, and wasn’t too bothered. As long as Harold didn’t do something silly, get over-excited. Well, a man of that age… his heart…

Sylvia still wasn’t sure about that side of things and she didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about it. What Harold did with the girl was his own concern. Sylvia knew he caned her — there had been some unmistakeable yelps since that first day — and that very much met with Sylvia’s approval. And the girl seemed all right: respectful and doing whatever jobs Harold gave her. She was primarily for his pleasure, though; his nice big live toy. That was what men wanted when they got a girl from the Domestic Service people. Harold was in a sort of Seventh Heaven.

‘Yes, take her for a nice walk,’ Sylvia repeated now, scratching Tibbles’ back. ‘It’ll do you good as well.’

Harold nodded enthusiastically and headed upstairs. It was really good that Sylvia was so understanding about the girl. Some men, he knew, had all sorts of problems in that direction, their wives intent it would seem simply on spoiling any enjoyment they might get out of a girl. Sylvia wasn’t like that, she let him get on with it which was as it should be. If a man had a girl for training he needed to be able to feel he could do whatever was necessary, and of course in private. That was what training a girl on the National Domestic Service was all about. Harold had read the advisory booklets so he knew.

Julie was in her room sitting at her dressing table writing a letter when Harold abruptly entered. He did not think of knocking or anything like that, one didn’t with a girl on her National Domestic. Such girls didn’t have any privacy from their employer, he could come in unannounced whenever he felt like it. Into her room or into her bed; a girl doing her National Domestic Service was at her master’s beck and call in all respects.

Julie looked up and stopped writing: a visit from Mr Pinkford was not necessarily something to be welcomed. It could mean the cane for instance. An impromptu caning. Julie was not aware of any particular thing she had done that deserved a caning; but that wouldn’t stop Mr Pinkford. If he was in the mood for a caning he would simply say it was good for her, part of her training, and that would be that. Or of course he might want something else. Something else that a master could demand of a girl on her National Domestic whether she wanted to oblige or not. Julie suppressed a shiver. As Harold Pinkford came over. His hand on her shoulder.

‘Who’s that letter to, Julie?’

It was to Bob, her boyfriend. That was all right, she was allowed to write to him, in fact Mr Pinkford had suggested that Julie write and tell him he could come and stay for the weekend. Julie was not sure she wanted to do that. She would certainly like to see Bob but not here at Mr Pinkford’s. She suspected that her employer wanted to have Bob there to watch when he did things to her. When Mr Pinkford caned her for instance. And perhaps other things too. There would be nothing stopping Mr Pinkford doing this, he could even say it was an extra test of discipline. It would of course be simply awful, ten times as bad as it normally was.

‘Have you invited him down for a weekend?’ Mr Pinkford predictably asked. He has positioned himself close behind her chair and his two hands now came down in front and appreciatively took hold of Julie’s boobs. With difficulty she made herself keep still and not flinch.

‘I… ah… haven’t yet… Mr Pinkford.’

‘Well you must.’ His hands mounding, squeezing the big tits. ‘Put it in your letter. Mrs Pinkford and I want you to have your friend visit. So he can see how well you’ve settled in. Of course he’d have to have a separate room but that would be no problem. All right?’

Julie said an unhappy ‘Yes Mr Pinkford.’ That gentleman was now unbuttoning her blouse. The top button and then the next and the next. Sufficient to slide his hand inside. Julie had no bra on, she wasn’t permitted to wear one by Mr Pinkford. Nor anything else under her blouse. The hand slid down over her bare boob, fingers feeling for the already erect nipple.

‘Good,’ he said, grasping it. ‘Now I thought we’d go for a drive before lunch. Or rather drive out and then have a walk in the country. Let you get a bit of exercise. In fact I might even have you to do a spot of running, Julie. See how fit you are. A girl needs to be fit, doesn’t she?’

----//----

‘I’ve been out here before,’ Harold told her. ‘With Mrs Pinkford, having a bit of a walk. And I saw something that I think will be very suitable. You’ll see when we come to it.’ Harold’s hand squeezed the flexing rear of his young blonde companion.

The were walking along a country track with fields on either side. It was a nice warm spring morning, cloudy but bright. As far as Harold Pinkford was concerned it was a perfect morning — but this of course was largely because of his companion. He had her dressed in one of his favourite outfits: an ultra-tight short-sleeved white top and a pair of ultra-brief, if anything even tighter matching shorts. So tight and brief in fact that a good part of Julie’s bottom was left bare. Below there were white knee-socks together with black flat-heeled shoes. The latter were Harold’s only concession to the country; when he had her wear this outfit in town, as he frequently did, to the great joy of all male observers, it was with four-inch-high stiletto heels. Those heels would not do out here —especially if he wanted her to run —but the rest, yes. Harold pinched the half-bare bottom again. In his other hand was his cane.

They continued along the track, Harold Pinkford’s hand mostly firmly fixed to the underside of Julie’s ripe bottom —indeed at times sufficiently under that it could perhaps be more accurately described as being between her legs. Harold’s hand had spent a great deal of time on that part of Julie’s anatomy since she had come to stay — there and on her impressive tits of course. But Harold and his hand showed no sign of getting bored with these parts of her. Further along the open field to one side of the track gave way to what would seem to have been an orchard at one time, with now overgrown grass and a few scraggly old trees. Facing this was a broken-down fence with a rickety gate. As they got to this Harold, with that ever attentive hand, steered Julie to the side.

‘Here. Here it is. What d’you think?’

Harold meant the fence. It wasn’t much of a fence: a rustic rail about hip high nailed on top of uprights. ‘Bend over it,’ Harold said.

Only then did Julie realise what was in Mr Pinkford’s mind. It was a convenient height for that. For bending her over and smacking her bottom. Or caning it. And he had of course got his cane with him. Mr Pinkford had been waving it about from time to time as they walked, decapitating inoffensive dandelions here and there. Eyeing the cane apprehensively at first, Julie had decided that perhaps Mr Pinkford had brought it simply for that purpose, as a sort of walking stick. Rather than for its primary function. Julie knew all about the cane’s primary function. She had experienced it sufficient times to know all about it. Across the seat of these very shorts she was wearing for instance. Also across the seat of various pairs of skimpy knickers (Mr Pinkford only allowed skimpy ones, when he allowed any at all). And last but certainly not least across the splendid bared cheeks of her bottom. All of that was very largely experienced up in that little room, and never out in the country. But then Julie hadn’t been taken out in the country by Mr Pinkford before.

Her breathing was somewhat more agitated now as she obediently bent over the fence. Mr Pinkford was groping at her thrust-out bottom. ‘Just the thing, eh Julie? And out here in the country, it’ll be quite a different experience.’

He told her to straighten up. And take her shorts off. Julie looked quickly round. The place was completely open. Anyone could come walking along that track. ‘Please…’ she gasped. ‘Please not here. Someone could…’

As if to prove this point other persons did now appear. A couple walking along the track towards them. Harold Pinkford’s eyes took them in: a middle-aged pair, man and wife probably. ‘Don’t worry about them. Everyone knows that a girl on her National Domestic gets her shorts taken down from time to time. Or her skirt lifted up. Come on.’

Indeed Harold felt a surging extra thrill at the prospect of doing it with this impromptu audience available. ‘Come on!’ he urged. ‘Get ‘em off.’

Unhappy Julie had the shorts off and was engaged in the equally unhappy task of removing the brief knickers underneath just as the strangers approached. ‘Morning!’ Harold greeted them cordially. ‘Don’t mind us. Just dealing with my girl here. National Domestic, you know.’

The man grinned. ‘My word. You’ve got a real winner there. Isn’t she splendid. Mind if I stop and watch.’

Harold Pinkford didn’t object to this, he welcomed it. The thought of an audience was an added stimulus. ‘Be my guest,’ he pronounced. ‘And your good wife. Have a girl yourself, do you?’

The stranger confessed that he didn’t. Being still employed he was a Category 2 as far as National Domestic girls were concerned and therefore with little chance of getting one. Harold grinned. ‘Take early retirement,’ was his advice. ‘Like I did. Then you’re immediately Category 1 and you get something like my Julie here.’ He slapped her now bare bottom. ‘Although I have to admit they’re not all like Julie.’

The man’s wife had a look which was probably supposed to indicate that she wasn’t really interested in what was going on, she was merely with her husband and men’s childish obsession with young women’s bodies, with their bottoms in particular, had nothing to do with her. But she was nonetheless surreptitiously eyeing Julie’s magnificent bare buttocks — and eyeing also the cane in Harold Pinkford’s hand. She certainly wasn’t moving off, continuing on her walk.

Harold was indeed enjoying himself. Why hadn’t he thought of taking Julie out before? Doing it in front of these two was really something. Julie was bending over now. This time with her bottom quite bare. Holding onto the wooden rail with her head right down, blonde locks falling about her face. The cane twitched in his hand. Harold gave it a practiced little flick. In the last week, with repeated use, he had become quite an expert. What a pleasure to be able to show this stranger, who didn’t have a girl of his own, how an expert operated!

‘Keep quite still, Julie. There’s a good girl…’

He brought it slicing down.

There was an involuntary little gasp from the woman. An appreciative ‘Ahh…’ from the man. From Julie a full-throated and desperate yell, because Harold Pinkford had hit distinctly harder than normal, a hefty swing of his arm with a nicely timed zip of his wrist to finish off.

‘Keep still,’ he advised the shaking and writhing girl. ‘No writhing or jerking about. And perhaps not quite so much noise. Show these good people how you’ve learnt to take it.’

When Harold had finished the couple went on their way, the man with a last wistful, somewhat greedy look at Julie’s bare bottom which was now decorated with six bright red stripes. (‘No more; mustn’t overdo it,’ Harold had said after the sixth.) ‘Take that early retirement!’ he called cheerily after the departing stranger. To Julie, not so loudly, he said, ‘Don’t put your things on. Not yet. No hurry. Let’s take a wander… over there…’

Julie looked at him. Her bottom was killing her but in spite of that she could detect that particular tone of voice… and see that particular look in his eye. ‘No!’ she gasped. ‘No… not here…’

But Harold Pinkford clearly had that certain feeling. The stimulus of wielding the cane across Julie’s bare bottom, plus also perhaps the subliminal scents of the great outdoors. Whatever it was he was raring to go, his libido soaring. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘A quiet little corner… a nice grassy spot…’

There was not a lot of point arguing. ‘We might be seen,’ wailed desperate Julie and presumably even Mr Pinkford would not wish to be seen by passing strangers doing what he clearly proposed to do. But this thought wasn’t going to stop him, not feeling the way he did. He found a secluded grassy glade in some trees where he was quite sure no one was going to wander by. Julie was told to lie down…

----//----

‘Did you have a nice walk?’ Sylvia asked. Harold said it had been most enjoyable. So enjoyable that he was going to do it more often. He certainly looked well after his outing, his face glowing from the healthful exercise. Julie’s face was flushed as well. I wonder if her bottom matches it? wondered Sylvia.

A little while later, after his lunch and a post-prandial nap, Harold was taking more exercise. In Julie’s room, with her over his lap. Just a spanking, though who knows, he might well feel like the cane or something else afterwards. Having a girl on the National Domestic Service was a responsible business. You had to keep at it.

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