Join the Dots

From Blushes Supplement 19

She heard the car crunch in the driveway and from the bedroom window peeked out and saw it. Made a face. She knew that car all right: an old black Rover. Inside were dark red leather seats. She could smell those seats. The back seat. And the car’s owner, he had a certain smell too: tweed trousers and tobacco. Bloody hell. She knew he was due to come this afternoon, Mr Batford had told her, but there was always the possibility that something might have happened so that he couldn’t. But it hadn’t. His bloody old car now in the driveway. She turned away from the window as she saw the door open.

Bloody, bloody hell.

Going to look in the mirror. She had better be looking spick and span because Mr Grangely would pick on anything. Any little thing. Patting her hair. Examining her face, the full mouth with a light touch of pink lipstick that Mr Batford liked. ‘A pretty girl,’ Mr Grangely would say. ‘Pretty but very naughty, eh Amanda?’ And his fingers would be pinching her bottom but she had to stand quite still or it would be something worse. Bloody hell.

Her uniform. White blouse and little black silk skirt with white ankle socks and high heels. Everything looking OK? She smoothed down the blouse front. Her unsupported boobs thrusting against the thin material. She made a face again. Mr Grangely didn’t just pinch her bottom, he liked to pinch her tits as well. Her nipples. She shivered. Bloody Mr Grangely down there now with Mr Batford. At any moment there would be the shout: ‘Amanda!’ And then she must rush down the stairs double quick. If she took more than a few seconds that would be a good enough excuse…

Mr Batford wasn’t so bad. Strict but not so bad. Not a vicious bugger like Mr Grangely. He liked a little feel, a grope. But he didn’t pinch in that awful way. And he didn’t use the…

‘Amanda!’

Oh shit. Mr Batford. Get moving. Almost careening over at the door and then headlong down the stairs. Where were they? Oh, must be the garden. Yes. Coming to an unsteady halt. Mustn’t be seen to be running. Be poised. ‘Ladylike, Amanda. That’s what you’re supposed to be learning, among other things.’ Her legs trembling. She patted her hair again. Checked her blouse. Oh Christ. Opening the door onto the patio. Yes there they were. At the garden table. Walk smartly but demurely forward. Heels clopping on the stone flags.

Mr Grangely’s bald head gleaming in the sun. His glasses glinting as he looked up. ‘Ah. The pretty young lady appears at last. How are you, Amanda?’

Nervous words tumbling out. Remembering the days with Mr Grangely. That little attic room. Remembering also that car. The back seat with that smell of leather. ‘It’s what you’re here for, Amanda. To teach you proper behaviour. And discipline. You’ve got to be taught the error of your ways.’

Mr Grangely now turning to Mr Batford. ‘How’s she been, Henry? Any slight sign of improvement in the delinquent young creature?’

Mr Grangely had lent her to Mr Batford. Amanda had been sent to Mr Grangely as an alternative to going to court and, so her employer Mr Culter had said, ‘Probably a spell inside.’ Amanda didn’t really think she would get that simply for an error in the till accounts at Mr Culter’s shop where she worked. But you didn’t like to take the risk. And then Mr Grangely was mentioned. Mr Culter’s friend. Mr Batford said, ‘Oh, perhaps a little, James. Just a fraction. Eh, Amanda?’

‘Well don’t stand there a mile away, girl.’ Mr Grangely’s finger beckoning. ‘Is that good manners? Come here.’ The finger indicated a spot at his side. Oh Bloody Christ. Stepping forward., Eyes fixing on his fingers. ‘That’s better.’ Right on cue the fingers had slid behind and in under the hem of the little skirt. Fingers that were spiders that would creep up. And then become the big claw of a crab…

‘Had to smack her bum, Henry? I’m sure you’ve had to smack her bum.’ Amanda bit her lip. The fingers were up there. At the tight-stretched seat of her knickers. Mr Batford had smacked her bottom. But there were worse things than having your bottom smacked. At least Mr Batford didn’t use a ca…

She gave a stifled squeal as finger and thumb closed abruptly on a segment of her bottom. One of Mr Grangely’s specials: the fiery pain pulsating out through her. Mr Grangely’s pinches could leave deep red marks on you.

A second pinch, not quite as bad, as Mr Batford replied. ‘Well yes, a couple of times.’ The hand pinched the soft back of her thigh and then came away. Mr Batford told her to go in and bring out the drinks; that meant at least a brief respite. But when Amanda came out again she immediately sensed that they had been talking. Mr Grangely no doubt. Something horrible. He grinned up at her as she placed the tray on the table.

‘We think you should do a little test, Amanda. To see how you’re progressing. To see if all the effort Mr Batford is putting in on your behalf is paying off. Mmmm?’

It had to be something diabolical. If Mr Grangely had thought of it. Mr Batford wasn’t saying anything, just smiling. He wouldn’t think of awful things himself but he also wouldn’t disagree if Mr Grangely thought of one.

‘Slip your blouse and skirt off, Amanda dear.’

Yes. Something awful. Something that would be really nasty even if it wasn’t really painful. It might of course be both. But you didn’t argue with Mr Grangely. Oh now, a girl learnt that soon enough. Obediently unzipping; unbuttoning. She only had the little knickers on underneath. Her pert boobs bobbing out as the blouse was slipped off. The tight white knickers moulding her firm flanks. Nude otherwise apart from the high heels and ankle socks. Forcing herself to stand straight. Forcing herself not to wonder what was coming next. She had to step forward, close to Mr Grangely again. His hand running over the trembling bare boobs, ‘She’s not seeing any young men I hope, Henry? That would never do.’ Mr Batford said mildly, ‘Oh no. Nothing of that. We keep you in, don’t we, Manda?’

Mr Grangely’s fingers squeezing a nipple. ‘I certainly hope so,’ Young men are definitely out when a girl’s undergoing correction.’ The fingers pinched. Amanda yelped. ‘Now then, young lady. We’re going to have a little test as I say. A test of a girl’s endurance. Because the test is going to last quite a long time. All right?’

What test? Amanda could think of so-called ‘tests’ that Mr Grangely had done before. In that little attic room at his house. In the leather-smelling back seat of his car when they had driven out to some quiet spot in the country. They were not nice tests, any of them. What was she going to have to do now, in just her knickers and shoes and socks?

‘That wall,’ Mr Grangely said. He was pointing to the house. ‘The brick part, the chimney. Go and stand there, up against it. Facing us. And then raise your arms.’

----//----

The sun was down but a garden lamp sent bright white light across at an oblique angle. Like pale moonlight. To where Amanda still stood, arms still stretched high.

She gave a little whimper but there was no one to hear, except perhaps some small rustling night creature. No one until Mr Grangely came out again. To do some more…