Join the Dots…

From Blushes Supplement 18

‘Would you like some coffee?’ Mr Brown asked. ‘It’s Brazil of course so no pollutants or anything. A pure beverage.’

Mr Brown was probably not his real name but he was a Third Deputy so very senior. Senior people in particular in the Organisation had to be careful with names. The authorities were very wary, clearly scared of a group dedicated to purity in food and the environment. Well naturally, when so many big pockets were lined with the profits of contamination and pollution.

Jane shook her head of bouncy brown curls. She was just Jane, a rank-and-filer, no one needed to know her surname anyway. Just a pretty girl convinced that the Organisation’s aims were right. A pretty and shapely girl of 19. That was why she was here: this little cottage out in a secluded part of Sussex.

‘Are you sure? I’m having some. That drive down was exhausting. Fumes of course. The roads are thick with fumes.’ Mr Brown, fiftyish, had a slightly ascetic look but otherwise seemed healthy enough in spite of pollution being everywhere. ‘If you won’t have any, my dear, I suppose you can get undressed. I have to… ah… you know…’

Jane flushed. He had to examine her. She knew that. She stopped a little shiver. She was going to meet the Leader. And so naturally…

‘Here,’ Mr Brown said. ‘Put this on. Until we’re ready. We’ll do it in that other room.’

Jane’s tongue moistened soft, nervous lips. As she took the white towelling dressing gown he held out. She had to get undressed and put it on. There were little darts of apprehension now, although it was silly, there was nothing to be afraid of. It was a great privilege. And she had, after only a moment’s hesitation, agreed when it had been suggested. Coming down, in the car with Mr Brown, Jane hadn’t felt anything, not felt scared. But she hadn’t been thinking about it, had pushed it out of her mind. She couldn’t do that now, not now she was here, and very shortly — what, an hour? — he would be here. The Leader.

Going into the other little room, unconsciously trying not to make a sound. It was empty of course, no one else here. Not until he arrived. Would he be alone? There was a table with a green top — leather, or vinyl. An armchair and a wooden chair. That was it. Then she saw, on a hook on the wall. A cane. A sudden shocking vision in her head. No! It wouldn’t be anything like that. It was nothing to do with her, that cane. Something the owners of the cottage had left, whoever they were. Forget that cane, the other was going to be bad enough. Taking a deep breath. She was trembling. She should have had that coffee. Or a stiff drink. No, not that. It would be full of pollution. Jane hadn’t had alcohol since becoming a member of the Organisation. Though some wines, organically produced, were acceptable.

Undoing the button of her jeans. Tight denim peeling open to show pale pink knickers. Sandals off and then the jeans. Down the pale thighs and off. To leave just the brief knickers. A sudden strong desire to keep them on. They were of course a protection, however flimsy, against what was to come. What she had, after that first initial shock of realising what was meant, said Yes to. Without really thinking. Though naturally she had thought afterwards, but telling herself it was an honour as her Instructor had said. It is an honour, she told herself again. A mark that she had been accepted — and an acknowledgement that she was a very attractive young recruit. A lovely figure. A pure young maiden. The Organisation wanted pure young women. Girls who could keep themselves free of the modern world’s all-pervading pollution. They would be needed for the future.

She slipped off her blouse. A glance at the door where Mr Brown was presumably making his coffee. Just her pink bra and knickers now, and Jane’s splendid young body, firmly rounded curves, clean-fleshed limbs. An offering for the Leader. Another glance and she quickly unfastened her bra strap. Pink-nippled breasts tumbling free. Then her knickers. Get the dressing gown on, the warm material comfortingly around her nude form. That felt better. Tying the belt tight. But there was the awareness of her nudity underneath. Her nude body for the Leader — and before that Mr Brown. His examination. What exactly? He wasn’t a doctor. But the Organisation was strongly against the established medical profession, it was no more than an instrument of a government intent on polluting its people and their environment. Doctors only wanted to give people pills, tranquillisers. Drugging them against the truth.

Jane stepped over to the window, her bare buttocks with now an unconstrained sway in the belted dressing gown. Spring woods were bursting into bud. But how long before the government had them cut down to grow polluted food? Or merely poisoned them with nuclear radiation. Only the Organisation could stop it. Their Leader. And so…

Suddenly Mr Brown was there behind her. Jane caught her breath as his hands held her shoulders. His voice in her ear: ‘Undressed, are we, Jane?’ She answered a breathy ‘Yes’.

His hand came down behind her, to her bottom. She shivered as the hand felt the nude cheeks under the towelling. ‘Mmmm. Good.’ Then both hands round her waist. To the knot of the belt. Unfastening. Pulling the gown open. Baring her boobs, and everything else down the front. His hands taking hold of her ripe breasts, cupping soft, resilient flesh. Jane bit her lip, suppressing a moan. Mr Brown’s fingers and thumbs at her nipples, sending hot sensations through her. She held onto the windowsill.

He let go. ‘Right. Shall we have a look? Take the gown off.’

A hot impulse to run, out of the door, out into the Spring woods. Or say ‘Look, I don’t really want to… I’ve changed my mind.’ But you couldn’t do either of those things. You were in the Organisation, with all that meant. And when, soon, it was all halted, what the government was doing… Mr Brown’s hands were sliding the gown off her shoulders, taking it right off. She was nude. Shivering. His hand suddenly on the warm flesh of Jane’s bare bottom. Squeezing a cheek, fingers deep in between.

‘Lovely,’ he said. ‘A lovely girl. The Leader will be very, very pleased.’ Jane didn’t speak. What was there to say. ‘So we’ll have a look, shall we? It’s only a formality but it has to be done. The Leader cannot take any risk. All right?’ She nodded, eyes wide.

‘Good. Up on the table then.’

Jane hadn’t considered that. It hadn’t occurred to her. She hadn’t really thought what the examination would be. If you did think about it, it was logical. Lying on the table. But it was difficult to be logical. Mr Brown helping her up. One hand intimately high up on Jane’s inner thigh. But there was no point worrying about that. Not when shortly…

Flat on her back with her legs wide apart. The table top cold but not after a few seconds as anyway Jane’s thoughts were only on her widespread legs. And what was displayed between them. She stared up at the ceiling, her body tense, waiting. Mr Brown’s face loomed into her view. An ordinary face except perhaps for those eyes. Clear and blue and intense. Something else. Mr Brown’s hand, with a key.

He smiled down at her. ‘The bedroom key.’

The key disappeared from view. So did Mr Brown’s face as Jane continued to focus on the ceiling. Her breath abruptly hissing out. Mr Brown was beginning. Doing his checks. These special checks because of the Leader although all girls in the Organisation had to be pure, no outside boyfriends. Because if you were seeing someone outside how could you be completely pure? Some girls did have sex with men in the Organisation: Group Leaders, Instructors. But not Jane. Had she been kept off-limits, an especially pretty girl being kept for the Leader? Mr Brown was still doing those things. Things to make you sweat, to want desperately to close those obediently opened thighs…

After an age it seemed, he told her to turn over, onto her front. Spread out as before. Legs stretched out to the corners of the table, arms reaching over the edge. Mr Brown’s hands beginning again. Doing those awful, cringe-making things. Think of something else, she told herself. But if you thought of something else it was inevitably what was coming next. Very shortly now. The Leader. The bedroom.

Mr Brown finally finished. Helping her down off the table. There was no problem, he said. Jane, struggling into the gown again, could still feel his hands. His fingers. Inside her. Everything excellent, Mr Brown said. She was a very lovely girl. Jane looked away, out of the window. Not long now. When she turned back Mr Brown was holding that cane.

‘Have you ever had it?’ he asked.

Jane’s mouth opening. Mr Brown said, ‘The Leader sometimes likes to use it.’

That vision flaring back into her mind. That awful memory. The course she had been on soon after joining the Organisation, and the girl who had admitted she had been seeing a boy. A boy of course who was not in the Organisation, where all the males seemed to be older. The girl was told she had to accept punishment, as an example to the others. In front of the other three girls in the group she had been forced to take down her jeans and knickers and had been bent over a table. One Instructor had held her arms while the other one…

The girl had made dreadful gasping, grunting sounds. Each time that cane came whistling down across the flinching buttocks.

Jane’s pulse like a runaway horse. No! She shook her head. ‘Please… I can’t take that…’

Mr Brown smiled — but not his eyes which were hard, like gimlets. ‘Of course you can, Jane. Any girl can. And the pain is good. Pain is purity. In the future when we are in control the cane will be used much more frequently.’ His arm came round her. ‘And it is the Leader. It is a great honour to get it from the Leader, Jane.’

Up in the bedroom of the little cottage surrounded by the Spring woods which though they might be polluted were nonetheless bursting forth from tight green buds to the sound of bright birdsong. In the cottage bedroom were different sounds. From the girl laid over the bed, her arms stretched out above her head, so that though her nude form might squirm and jerk and writhe she had to remain in place. So that the flaring buttocks could not escape the crisp cuts of the rattan cane sliced down by the man. The sound of the cane and the sounds from the girl. Gasps and snuffling yelps. Cries of sharp pain. Cries as Mr Brown would say of purity. Pain is purity. Cries of the pollution-free future.