Seaside Girl

From Uniform Girls 19

‘That haircut’ His mother’s voice low, disapproving. ‘Really!’

He was sitting with his back to the door of the dining room and didn’t turn to look but it had to be her. The tall girl with the cropped blonde hair. A couple of years older than himself perhaps? Nineteen? All right then, three. He saw her again on the beach. Yesterday. That pale blue one-piece swimsuit. Her shape in it — and the parts that weren’t in it — had made his mouth go dry. Not big boobs but her bottom… he had almost had a heart attack when, 20 yards away, she had bent over like that. The stunning long legs kept quite straight at the knees. The tremendous reach of the backs of her thighs. And at the top… with that old man of course. Or oldish. Fifty? Her guardian, his mother said.

He kept his head down, as if his soup was of surpassing interest, but saw nonetheless it was the girl. And him. Mr Guildford his name was. Was that her name? Her feet as she passed in open-toed sandals, toe nails a shocking red. Above a section of the long smooth legs, then a grey skirt snapping with her springy step. A step behind his sandals and fawn slacks. Holiday gear, Little Biggley-on-Sea.

Today had been raining so no more heady sightings on the beach. His parents had decided on a car tour and he had been dragged off, though he had wanted to stay, hanging around. Hopeful — of what? Where had she been on this rainy day. And him? Her guardian.

He glanced up. They were at their table now, number 12. She was facing him. Briefly his eye caught hers. He resumed his study of the soup. What was he going to say, if he found her alone, without that Mr Guildford? What could he say that wouldn’t have him red-faced, sweating? Thinking of her again on the beach. The pale blue skin-tight material which had slid in between the cheeks of her bottom. And just below that…

‘Simon. Are you dreaming? We’re finished here.’ His father. Shit. He ladled up spoonfuls. He saw her again on the beach, this time a secluded area and no one else. Except himself. Unseen behind rocks perhaps. She had the grey skirt on and that white blouse. She was lying back on her towel, the skirt pulled up, the stunning legs spread carelessly apart. No knickers. A sudden burst of coughing. Choking. ‘Simon.’ His mother. ‘Don’t gulp it.’

They were already here when he and his parents had arrived, three days ago. He had seen her that first morning at breakfast, table 12, but not to get a proper look at her of course. Her thighs. Her bottom. She was pretty too, full mouth and blue eyes and that very short blonde hair that his mother disapproved of but he thought looked really good. She didn’t have a boyfriend at least. No blokes around. Just this Mr Guildford. What did guardian mean anyway? What did a guardian do?

----//----

It was a couple of hours later that he saw them. Mr Guildford and the girl. In the garden. It was large and overgrown and he had been exploring now the rain had stopped. You could get in under these big shrubs, like a dark, damp cave, and look out through the leaves at this secluded corner. And there they were. Looking at some flowers or something, with their backs to him. This Mr Guildford was just doing it. Giving her a feel. Stroking the girl’s bottom. Stroking and squeezing it through that grey skirt as they stood there. You could see his hand right round the cheek, his fingers stuck right in there. She wasn’t doing anything, not protesting. Letting him do it. He watched, feeling a bit sick. But he had got a stiff erection too. It went on. They weren’t moving, and Mr Guildford just went on doing it. Then at last they moved off, round the corner. Mr Guildford with his hand to himself now, at last.

That wasn’t all though. Something else even more heart-grabbing. Half an hour later. Suddenly it was all happening at the tail end of this rainy Tuesday. Still in a state of shock over that earlier business, Mr Guildford feeling her bum like that, suddenly: ‘Hello. Table 6.’

The girl. Coming up behind him as he stood in another quiet corner of the garden, wondering if perhaps he would go inside.

He was struck dumb — as he had known he would be if ever she spoke to him. There was no Mr Guildford, she was all alone. His thoughts leapt to her bottom — and Mr Guildford’s hand playing with it. She was smiling. ‘You’re table 6, by the door. Look, could you help me with something?’

Her name was Laura. It was some suitcases she wanted help with, moving them into an empty room. He could have helped her with suitcases — or anything — all day, all night. Fantastic. He was with her. Talking, in a more or less normal way. In spite of the proximity of her bewitching body under that blouse and skirt. Absolutely fantastic. But now… there was that other dimension. Mr Guildford’s hand.

‘You’re… his ward or something?’ he asked, hesitatingly probing. ‘I mean he’s your guardian, isn’t he?’

A tinkling laugh. ‘Yes. I suppose so.’

What did that mean? Was she an orphan? He didn’t like to ask that. And what about what Mr Guildford had been doing? He certainly couldn’t ask that.

What he could ask, just, with a tremendous effort, was what was she doing tomorrow. Perhaps they could go for a walk? She made a face. ‘That would be nice. But I don’t think so. We… we’ll be very busy. Mr Guildford. And there’s Mr Purley coming.’

Mr Purley?

That hesitation again. ‘He’s my… uh… tutor.’

Tutor?

The blue eyes gave him a cool look. ‘You ask an awful lot of questions, Simon. For a young boy.’ He went red. ‘I’m 19,’ he mumbled, adding a year. ‘I wasn’t being nosey. It’s just…’

A sweet smile. ‘Maybe we can go out. Later. I’ll see. I think we’re here for two more weeks. But it’s very difficult…’

Well it was something. A really major something. He had spoken to her, knew her name. Laura, a super name. Had helped her with the cases. And she had said she might go out. It was fantastic really. Only… the other things. A tutor? And of course most of all Mr Guildford feeling her bum up like that.

He saw her the next morning at breakfast but not to speak to. A smile though. She was with Mr Guildford again and had on a really super outfit. A sailor top, white with a navy collar and tight, white, really short shorts. Fabulous. You could really see the shape of her bum in the shorts and he saw a couple of men guests having a good look as she walked across the room. Dirty old bastards. His mother made a sniffing sound. How fantastic to go for a walk with her in those shorts.

It was a good day, the weather at least. Sun. Perhaps he would see her on the beach. But she wasn’t there, or Mr Guildford. Bloody Hell. There was a couple of other girls with their families but by now he could think only of Laura. He didn’t have another thought in his head. Where were they? Gone for a drive, a picnic? Somewhere nice and quiet. Where dirty old Mr Guildford had his gropey hands all over her bum in those snug shorts? The thought made him feel sick.

Late morning, about 11, bored with the beach, he said he was going for a walk. ‘Don’t get lost, dear.’ His mother, looking up from her book. She must be crazy, how could you get lost in this little dump. He walked back along the front, eyes eager for a sighting of the white sailor suit but without any luck. Back towards the hotel. It seemed pretty deserted. But Mr Guildford’s car, a large Daimler, was in the car park. He must be rich. Maybe that was why he had a tutor for his ward. If she was his ward. ‘Sort of,’ Laura had said.

In the empty-seeming hotel he went upstairs. Along the corridor to the rear where that room was, where they’d taken the suitcases last night. He’d have a look in there, at the cases. One of them had been a big trunk, not really heavy, it was probably empty, but awkward to manoeuvre. The door to the room was locked though.

He tried the door next to it and this opened. A sort of junk room, all old stuff piled high. And there was a small window connecting the two rooms, maybe this room had been built on afterwards. So you could see into the room where they’d put the cases. They weren’t how they’d been left. They had been against the wall. Now that big trunk was out in the centre of the bare floorboards. And in front of it was placed a little wooden stool.

It seemed odd. Then he heard sounds from outside, in the corridor. Someone there. Someone was opening the door next door. As he looked, Mr Guildford came in. Followed by Laura, in the sailor suit.

He ducked his head down, his heart all at once crashing in his chest. It was just like being in those shrubs yesterday. As he thought this and cautiously raised his head to look again though through the window — with the chairs and stuff piled up he couldn’t easily be seen — there was Mr Guildford doing exactly the same as yesterday. Laura’s bum. She was standing facing the opposite wall, arms straight at her sides, like a schoolgirl standing in the corner for some misdemeanour. But you didn’t get this at school. Or presumably not. Mr Guildford there with his hand at her bum. In the tight little shorts. Squeezing and jiggling it.

Jesus Christ. Like yesterday the front of Simon’s trousers was within seconds bulging. A quivering erection. Bloody Christ. Mr Guildford seemed to be saying something as he played with Laura’s bum but you couldn’t hear. He went on with his groping for a while and then let go. He went out, Laura still standing there against the wall. The key turning in the lock, you could hear that. She was locked in.

She turned, her back against the wall. Mr Guildford had perhaps told her not to move from there. Just standing, a resigned sort of look on her face. He could move, show his face, she would see him. But he didn’t. Something else was going to happen, he could sense it. He was right.

Sounds again in the corridor. The key in the lock again. Mr Guildford come back? No. A man he hadn’t seen before, younger, dark hair. It must be this tutor, Mr Purley. For some reason he had on a short white coat. Like a doctor or dentist. And in his hand… he had a cane.

Maybe it was the association: Mr Guildford seemingly at Laura’s bum all the time. This man, Mr Purley, was going to cane Laura. On her bottom. The thought just came looming into his head. The devastating thought. He was going to put that cane across Laura’s bottom. He might even…

She was coming round. This side of the trunk to kneel on the wooden stool. Arms folded behind her back. Then bending right down over the trunk, her bottom up over it, legs stretched out. Jesus bloody Christ. That bastard was going to cane her. Laura’s bottom thrust up, stretching those tight little shorts almost to bursting. Then she got up. What…?

He was making her take her shorts down. A mixture of revulsion and intense excitement gripping Simon. This disgusting bastard making Laura take her shorts down — but at the same time it meant that he, Simon, would see. The shorts split open at the front. She was facing this way now, her back to Mr Purley. Brief little white knickers underneath. You had been able to see the hemlines of them outlined when she walked across the dining room this morning — and those other dirty bastards looking had no doubt seen as well. But they hadn’t seen this. She was taking the knickers down. Her pussy. He could see it. Dark hair. Was that cropped blonde head bleached then?

The shorts and knicks were down, to her knees. Jesus Christ! She was coming round. The footstool was on this side. Kneeling on it again. Bending, like before. Oh Jesus. He could see her cunt. Clearly. Between those full, ripe, pale cheeks. Clearly see the actual slit, nestling in that dark hair. He had never seen one before, not really. Christ. And it wasn’t just a cunt, it was Laura’s one. Fantastic Laura. That made him feel sick. Part of him didn’t want to look, though the rest of him certainly did. Worst of all of course this bastard Purley could see it. But… Oh Jesus…

Concentrating on what Laura was showing he had for the moment forgotten about what Mr Purley held in his hand. It had suddenly come slicing down across Laura’s exposed rump. The sharp, jolting impact made him almost cry out. Laura’s feet jerked up. Her head came back. A muffled yell. That bloody bastard! It was a really killing hit. Twin red stripes were coming up across her poor bum. But she wasn’t trying to get up. Her legs were coming out straight again, her head bending down. Accepting what was happening.

The cane swung up and cracked sharply down a second time. Laura’s body jolting and jerking the same as before… and then getting ready to take the next one.

He watched as the cane rose and fell. Six or eight times, he didn’t count — couldn’t in fact. It wasn’t believable. What had she done, to get this? This tutor. With that white coat on. What was he teaching her anyway?

The caning finally finished. Laura’s poor bottom with now bright red striped criss-crossing across it. She was breathing heavily, but not actually crying. Pulling up her knickers and shorts. Mr Purley said something and sort of grinned. He went out, with his cane. But not Laura. Alone now. Rubbing her bottom gingerly. Then going to sit on the trunk. Sitting on that poor beaten bottom. Jesus Christ. You couldn’t believe any of this. In this little room at the back of the hotel. Respectable Graceways Residential Hotel with outside the sun shining and everyone on the beach, his mother and father in their deckchairs. No you couldn’t believe it. And he himself had actually helped carry that trunk in there, so that Laura could take her shorts and knickers down and bend over it. And show her cunt to Mr Purley. And get that vicious caning. No. If he ever told anyone that…

As he looked, the door to the room opened once more. Mr Guildford this time. Locking the door behind him, as Mr Purley had done. Laura standing up. Mr Guildford clearly knew about the caning, he was asking her about it. Laura shaking her head at something he said, making a wry face. Then Mr Guildford was telling her to take her shorts down. Another wry look but she was doing it. The same as with Mr Purley and the caning; meekly doing what she was told. But Mr Guildford was telling her to take her shorts right off. And her knickers.

Bloody Christ!

Sitting on the trunk he was scrutinising her red-striped bottom. Laura bending over slightly, so that her bum was thrust out at him. His hand running over it, over where Mr Purley’s cane had come slicing down. Simon’s breath hissed out. Mr Guildford’s hand was not now on the caned bottom. It was between Laura’s legs. Rubbing her pussy. Laura’s mouth open. He saw her pink tongue. Mr Guildford with a sort of smug look, while his hand worked away…

He got up. Let go. Something said. Laura was getting down over the trunk again. Not questioning, just doing it. Bending face down over it, like before. But now there were no lowered shorts and knickers to keep her legs together and she had them spread. He could see… Christ! all of it. But it wasn’t just what he could see between the parted legs. Mr Guildford. His hands were at his trousers. He was opening them.

Suddenly, a devastating bolt from the blue, it dawned on Simon what Mr Guildford was going to do. To Laura. He was going to fuck her.

----//----

‘Simon! Wherever have you been? Lunchtime. All the afternoon. We were thinking of going to the police.’ His mother. Jesus Christ, the police.

‘I was just… looking around.’ ‘Well it’s not good enough.’ His father. ‘Not good enough at all.’

And a lot more. He wasn’t listening. He still couldn’t think of anything else. Mr Purley’s cane but most of all that afterwards. Mr Guildford. Doing her. Like that, over the trunk. Laura. The word in great capital letters in his head. The act he had witnessed. FUCK.

He had crept out afterwards, after they had finally gone. After Mr Guildford had finished. Crept out along the corridor and out of the hotel with now some of the guests wandering back in for lunch. He didn’t want any lunch, it would make him sick. He had wandered off, he wasn’t sure where. All the afternoon. At last realising he had to go back.

‘Of course you’re going in for dinner, Simon. Especially if you say you haven’t had any lunch. What’s the matter with you?’

He had to. Sitting there. Wanting to sink down into the bowels of the earth as they came by. Just the two. Laura and Mr Guildford. Where was Mr Purley? At a different hotel? Laura smiling across at him. He felt sick. Not the sailor suit now; a pink and blue dress, a flowery pattern, with a blue belt tight round the slim waist. Oh Christ. Seeing her again. Over that trunk. Mr Purley. Mr Guildford.

He was standing in that same corner of the garden half an hour after dinner, wondering what to do, go for a walk perhaps. Certainly not expecting, or really wanting, to see her. But she appeared, as she had yesterday. Smiling, a little flirtatiously. ‘Hello Simon. What have you been doing today?’

It just came out, without thinking. If he had thought he probably couldn’t have said it. ‘I saw you.’

The flirtatious smile still half there but with now a querying look.

‘In that room. With Mr Guildford. And that other one.’

She knew what he meant. Her face hardening, lips tight. ‘You little… you couldn’t.’

He told her. He was in the next room. Her face dull red. ‘You couldn’t.’ Hissed out. ‘The door… was locked.’

‘No,’ he told her.

She turned away, then back. ‘Look. Don’t you dare tell anyone. You… snoopy boy.’

He felt suddenly stronger. She was scared. ‘Why shouldn’t I tell. I’ll tell who I like.’

Her voice softening, but a little panicky. ‘No. Simon…’

She was scared all right. He saw her again. Being caned. Being screwed. Letting them do it. Bitch. His hand came out and round. It did what Mr Guildford’s hand did. Felt her bum. She pulled away.

‘What’s up?’ Making his voice hard. ‘That’s nothing, a little feel. Come on, you don’t want me to tell.’

He grabbed her arm again. Arms round her. A bit light-headed; was he really doing this? Her scent, and the heady soft yet firm feel of her. His hand was moulding her bum through the thin dress. Then grabbing it up, getting his hand up underneath. His stiff dick throbbing against her front.

She groaned. ‘Don’t. Simon. Someone…’ Weakly trying to get away. He felt quite sick with desire, arousal. But someone might come. Mr Guildford looking for her. He let go. ‘OK. Tomorrow.’ His voice gasping out. ‘We’ll go somewhere.’

‘I… I don’t know…’

‘If you don’t…’

----//----

He would do what they did. Mr Guildford and that other one. Why not? The thought of caning her… and of course the other. She had finally said she would be free tomorrow afternoon, Mr Guildford had to go off somewhere and the other one, Purley, was going too. So OK. Maybe out somewhere or here in the hotel, in that room or even right here in his own room. Yes. Jesus Christ. He would make her get that cane…

Simon, in bed, looked up at the ceiling. What were they doing right now? Laura and Mr Guildford. Or that Purley. Screwing her? Caning her? In Mr Guildford’s room, or hers? He rolled over, feeling sick desire, his cock stiff, bursting. Well he would get his tomorrow. That lovely bum. That other, between her legs. He was going to get his share too.