Lessons for Alison

From Blushes Supplement 29

The sun had been shining brightly when she set out but now half of the sky had clouded over. Glancing up she thought it might rain. The forecast had been for rain later but with the bright blue sky it hadn’t seemed possible. Fortunately, to be on the safe side, she had brought her plastic mac; it was in the basket of her bike together with her books. And anyway it wasn’t far to Mr Janford’s. Mr Janford was her tutor. She pushed harder on the pedals: this slight hill marked approximately the mid-way point from her house to his place. It was cooler now, the sky darker. It was going to rain. She had on a thin, sleeveless top and full skirt. Pedalling had made the skirt slide high up on her bare thighs. Just as she got to Mr Janford’s it started: large splats of rain on her bare forearms and her thighs, wetting her thick, shoulder-length honey-blonde hair.

Gasping, she fumbled with the gate, then half-ran along the already wet flagstones of the path. She had almost got soaked. She parked her bike in the porch and took out her books. She turned to the door. Hesitated. As always she felt that shivery hope that perhaps Mr Janford might not be in. It had happened a couple of weeks ago: she had turned up on time but he hadn’t been here. She had waited perhaps ten minutes and then shot off, afraid that at any moment she would see his car coming along the lane and she would be called back. But it hadn’t appeared and the sensation of having missed a session had been absolutely blissful though tinged with the thought that she should have waited longer and Mr Janford might well take that view too. As it turned out he did, and at the next session he made sure she regretted her impatient departure, so it hadn’t finally been blissful at all. So if he wasn’t in now she would certainly have to wait and make sure it wasn’t merely a minor delay.

But Mr Janford anyway was in. He came almost immediately when she finally rang the bell. Smiling. ‘Alison! Come in. Are you soaked?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I just missed it.’ Through the window the rain was now pelting down. Mr Janford had taken her books and now, in close, was feeling if she was wet. His hands rubbing over Alison’s firm tits.

‘You are wet. You’d better get those things off. We don’t want you catching a cold.’

Alison shivered, wanting to push the gropy hands away but knowing she had better not. She wasn’t wet, there had only been the few spots that had caught her. She shook her head, but she realised it had given Mr Janford the excuse. ‘I’m really not wet,’ she repeated. Knowing it would not be much use.

Mr Janford liked to get her clothes off. If he could think of any excuse. Even if it wasn’t very much of an excuse. Last time, on Tuesday, when the weather had stayed hot and sunny they had worked outside and Mr Janford had got her to take her clothes off to get the sun. Everything off, nude, and lying on the blanket on the lawn. With naturally Mr Janford’s hands at her all the time. Fondling her boobs, her thighs. Fingering her blonde-haired pussy. Stroking her bottom when she was over on her front. It got her aroused of course, she couldn’t help it, and naturally she couldn’t concentrate her mind on the work they were supposed to be doing. And that meant…

‘Take your things off.’ Mr Janford’s voice was categorical as he at last let go of her. ‘I’ll go and put the coffee on. While I’m doing that get everything off.’

The first time she had come it hadn’t been everything off. Perhaps there hadn’t been a ready excuse. Alison’s knickers had come off, though. There had been an excuse for that. Mr Janford wanted to cane her. Her bare bottom. She hadn’t believed it, simply hadn’t believed it. But that was what he had said, and he meant it, it wasn’t even a joke. ‘We can only get results if you are properly committed, Alison. The very fact that you need tutoring indicates that you have not been properly committed in the past. So come on.’

She had had to do it, impossible as it seemed. Take off her knickers and then bend over the arm of his easy chair in the sitting room. Her skirt still on but Mr Janford pulled it up round her waist. And then the appalling shock of the cane. And it was appalling, that dreadful cane for the first time. (Though it was perhaps equally on subsequent occasions.)

She had told her mother. ‘He caned me!’ The words actually spoken seeming impossible, as indeed the reality of the event an hour earlier still seemed impossible. But her mother had not reacted with the expected shock and horror, or rush to the phone to demand an explanation, threaten legal action, etc. Just. ‘Oh dear, darling. But I’m sure Mr Janford knows what he’s doing.’

It was Alison’s mother who had arranged the tutoring sessions, after Alison’s first-year college results. Mr Janford was a writer, or supposed to be. At any rate he had free time for tutoring twice a week.

After that first time — and that first shocking caning — she didn’t want to go any more. Perhaps understandably. Her mother said not to be silly, of course she wanted to go. Did she want to be thrown out of college? Alison, close to tears, said, ‘What if he does it again?’ Her mother wasn’t concerned about that. ‘Just do as he tells you, dear, perhaps he won’t need to do it then. Try to work hard. Make up for last year. You know what your father and I think about that.’

Last year! Alison’s first year at college. She couldn’t bear to think about it. So it seemed there was no choice. Three weeks now. And of course Mr Janford did do it again. That fiendish cane. Not to mention the other things. What would her mother say if she told her she had to take all her clothes off and lie on a blanket in the sun and let Mr Janford play with her pussy? But perhaps her mother would think anything was all right as long as Alison passed the repeat exam. Maybe that was Mr Janford’s bargain — he could do what he liked as long as Alison got through.

Now, with the rain still pelting down outside, Alison had reluctantly removed her skirt and top. Bra and knickers still on. But she knew he would want them off as well, even though there was no possibility of them being wet. And what then? He had an essay from last time. Mr Janford would have marked it by now. And he would probably say…

Mr Janford came in. Carrying the coffee. ‘You’re not undressed, Alison. I did tell you…’

There was no point arguing, not with Mr Janford. That was one of the first things she had learnt. He put the coffee down as Alison slipped off bra and then knickers. His eyes on her like laser beams. She was nude now, apart from the ankle socks and sandals, standing with her arms unhappily at her sides. A pretty, 18-year-old blonde with a stunning figure of rounded feminine flesh. The nipples of her high, full boobs were half erect. Alison fervently wished they weren’t like that, sticking out. Because Mr Janford believed — or claimed to believe — it meant she was turned on, or ready to be turned on. The trouble was that now he knew about last year. About Simon. Some time after Alison’s first visit her mother had told him. All about Simon.

Mr Janford did what she had anticipated: slid his hand over Alison’s boobs with their semi-erect nipples. ‘They’re getting hard,’ he murmured. She shivered as his fingers took hold of one sensitive nipple, squeezing it. Both nipples, naturally, got even more erect. It didn’t mean anything, she couldn’t help it. It certainly didn’t mean she was turned on. Mr Janford’s hand was at the other one now… and his other hand came down… to the junction of her thighs. The blonde-haired mound. Her pussy. His hand cupping it.

Alison’s tongue came out to wet her lips. She felt hot all over. Mr Janford’s fingers were pushing in between her legs. ‘Getting juicy, are we, young lady?’

Alison vigorously shook her head. Feeling slightly desperate. She was scarcely in the house and Mr Janford was already… doing this. She took a deep breath to try to calm herself. ‘Ca… can we have the coffee…’

Mr Janford ignored this. ‘Open your legs,’ he said softly. Oh Christ. She had been trying to keep them closed against the pressure of his hand. Though two fingers were already pushed into that warm, moist tunnel. Biting her lip she relaxed her legs. The hand pushed fully in. She could feel she was wet.

‘You’re wet,’ the soft voice announced.

She couldn’t help it, not when he did this sort of thing. She was shaking.

‘All wet and sexy, Alison. It’s that Simon still, isn’t it? You’ve been thinking about him all night I expect. Eh? Aching for it all night.’

Alison was shaking her head. She hadn’t been thinking about Simon. It was Mr Janford: she couldn’t help getting wet, and responding, when he did this sort of thing. But it was true, she was more responsive after Simon and with now her mother forbidding her to see him. It left her frustrated and vulnerable and Mr Janford could take advantage of that.

‘Yes, Alison. You spend all your time thinking about that young man. Thinking about sex. So that you don’t concentrate on your work. Therefore we’d better give you something to drive those thoughts out of your head, hadn’t we?’

‘No!’ she squeaked. Alison knew what he meant. She made a whinnying sound. Mr Janford’s thumb was inside her, in the slippery wetness. He was going to cane her — for getting in this state when of course he was the one who had done it. ‘No… please…’

Mr Janford had let go of her and was going over to the cupboard. Where he kept his cane. ‘No…!’ she yelped again, hugging her arms round herself. She felt all hot and cold at the same time, from what Mr Janford had done plus also the thought of the cane. Alison knew there was no point saying No though.

He was coming back. The cane in his hand. ‘Don’t be silly, Alison. You know you need it. To make you stop thinking about that thing between those pretty legs. Stop you thinking about that boy.’

‘I’m not…’ But she did think about Simon of course. Why had her mother told Mr Janford? She could have just said she had failed her exams, not told him all the rest. Simon. But her mother had told Mr Janford everything. Which meant Alison was at his mercy. He could do those things and then he could…

Protesting still she was being walked over to the couch. ‘On your back, Alison dear.’ Oh Jesus! On her back on the couch with her legs lifted up over her. The worst position Mr Janford used for caning — although they were all dreadful. But this one… showing everything…

‘Hold your legs please.’

Seconds later the cane sliced down. Crack…

Alison gave a frantic yelp. It was always dreadful. The cutting, biting pain. At least that pain stopped you being concerned about what you were showing, upside down like this. Because all you could think of was that pain. The dreadful pain and knowing that at any second…

CRACCKKK!… The next one…

A second howl. Mr Janford spaced them out, so that you had time to really feel one before the next came down. It allowed the pain to well up, gave it time to develop. And then the next one… CRACKKK! came splatting in on the now red-hot flesh. Alison hanging onto her legs for dear life. The shooting pain was making her feel sick. She yelled out again… as the cane came in for another one. How many…? He usually gave her six. But sometimes…

----//----

‘Is it brightening perhaps?’ Mr Janford was looking out of the window. It seemed to be still raining although not with the force of earlier. He turned back to Alison who was sitting on the couch, still nude. After her caning they had done some work and also Mr Janford had given Alison back her essay which he said was ‘Not bad.’ Presumably ‘not bad’ meant not warranting a caning; but then Mr Janford had been able to find that other excuse — or make it up. So he didn’t need to say the essay was inadequate.

He sat down beside her. One arm came round the slim nude shoulders. His other hand slid across to stroke the quivering cones of Alison’s bare boobs.

‘I think we might have a break, Alison dear. As it happens I’ve got a little job I’d like doing outside.’

The goldfish pond in the middle of the lawn. Mr Janford wanted some of the weed cleaning out. Would Alison like to do that for him? he asked, continuing to play with Alison’s boobs which inevitably were getting stiff-nippled again. Happy to jump at any chance to get away from Mr Janford’s insistent hands, Alison said yes she would. It would also mean she could get her clothes back on, they were certainly dry by now. And perhaps then it would be time to go, another awful tutoring session would be over. If it was still raining outside she could put her mac on.

But what Mr Janford wanted was Alison to put her mac on with nothing underneath. He said he wanted to be quite sure her things were dry. And also she would look really nice in just the mac. Because it was a fully transparent one, or translucent. Pale green, with a hood. ‘Yes just the mac,’ Mr Janford said. ‘With those blue wellies of mine. That’ll be absolutely marvellous. I’ll take a few pictures of you.’

He had already taken some shots of Alison in the nude. On the lawn lying on that blanket. Alison had tried to protest but like most protests with Mr Janford it didn’t get her anywhere. As now protesting about wearing only the mac got Alison nothing except a sharp smack on her bare bottom. ‘Put it on, Alison.’

The mac and Mr Janford’s pair of wellies. ‘Absolutely marvellous!’ he enthused. ‘Very sexy looking, Alison. I could probably get a very good price for shots of you like this from one of those magazines. Would you like that, a picture of you on the cover perhaps.’

Mr Janford was joking. Presumably. The plastic mac with nothing else underneath felt horrible: sticking and clinging to Alison’s bare flesh. Mr Janford pulled her close against him.

‘But then you are a very sexy girl, aren’t you, Alison? That is the root cause of all your problems. Too hot between these pretty legs. All that awful business last year. Has he tried to get in touch with you? That Simon?’

Alison said a sharp and nervous ‘No!’ But she had had a couple of phone calls from Simon. She had told him she wasn’t allowed to see him any more — and she herself accepted that it had been disastrous in terms of her work. Simon wanted a meeting. She had told him it wasn’t possible, they had to forget it. But at the same time she had a dreadful urge to see him again. Alison made a whimpering sound. One of Mr Janford’s hands had come up under the mac… to take hold of her pussy.

‘Open your legs,’ he murmured. ‘Let me see…’

Whimpering still Alison did it, moving the wellies six inches apart. The hand slid in between her legs. The fingers playing with her. Almost immediately she was wet. ‘You see,’ he said. ‘You’re hot again. Thinking about him I expect.’

Alison gasped, ‘No! I’m not…’ But maybe she was over-sexed she sometimes thought. Mr Janford only had to do this and her whole body was like a jelly. It would be the same if she saw Simon again. She would go all weak at the knees and all her resolutions would be nowhere.

Mr Janford got his pictures. Outside at the fishpond, the rain now virtually stopped but Alison with the hood of the mac up over her head because that was how Mr Janford wanted her for his pictures. His camera going click… click… as she fished bits of weed out of the pond with a net on the end of a bamboo cane.

Back inside Mr Janford said he thought he had got some excellent shots. ‘Perhaps I will send them in to a magazine,’ he said. Alison was told to take the mac and wellies off. Standing nude again. Mr Janford sliding his hands over her.

‘Still feeling sexy, Alison dear? Thinking hot thoughts about that boy?’ His fingers were at her pussy again. ‘What I should have done was put you in the pond: that would have cooled you off. Wouldn’t it?’

What he did do in fact was take Alison over his lap and smack her bottom. ‘This is what over-heated girls need, Alison.’ His hand cracking hard down on her ripe bare flesh. ‘This is what they need. This and the cane.’

----//----

The next day Alison got another phone call from Simon. In spite of her having insisted he wasn’t to call. He just had to see her, he said. ‘Don’t call me,’ Alison wailed. ‘What if my mother answered,’ although her mother was usually out in the afternoons. Simon said he was going to keep on calling until she agreed to see him. Alison made a despairing sound. In fact a succession of despairing sounds. Simon insisted he would keep on calling, he would call when her mother was there.

‘OK,’ she finally agreed, in desperation. ‘I’ll see you. But just once. For ten minutes. Yes… tomorrow afternoon…’

A town 20 miles away where there would be no danger of being seen by her mother or Mr Janford or anyone else who knew her. It would be completely safe, if a little scary. And it would have been safe… except that Mr Janford had persuaded Alison’s mother to put a recorder on the phone. So that instead of being secret all the details of the meeting were known.

It wasn’t only a ten minute meeting of course. The ten minutes in the cafe stretched to 30 — by which time Simon had persuaded Alison to go to a hotel. ‘We’ll just talk,’ he assured her. Alison knew they wouldn’t just talk, and they didn’t. An hour in the hotel room. An hour when nothing else mattered except being fucked out of her mind. At the end of it tip-toeing back down the stairs of the hotel with her heart in her mouth. But there was no need to be scared, no one could possibly know. And then in reception… there was Mr Janford. Waiting for her. He had followed Alison and Simon from the cafe.

----//----

Mr Janford told Alison’s mother he thought he knew the answer. Alison needed a closer watch kept on her. And as it happened he was planning to go to his cottage in Dorset for a few weeks. He could take Alison with him. He would be able to keep a close eye on her all the time — also keep her at her work all the time. Alison’s mother said, ‘Oh I couldn’t possibly impose on you like that.’ Mr Janford answered that it was no imposition at all. It would be a pleasure. And we can be quite sure he was speaking the truth.

He caned Alison as soon as they arrived at the secluded cottage deep in the heart of the Dorset countryside. ‘We want to start things off right, don’t we, you naughty sexy thing?’ Mr Janford’s hand slid up Alison’s skirt to briefly grope her pussy through her knickers. They were in the cosy little sitting room which contained an armchair and a red velvet couch and a leather-topped desk. ‘I am going to start off how I intend to go on,’ he told her. ‘A more liberal use of the cane. Clearly you were not getting enough of it before.’

Removing his hand from Alison’s pussy Mr Janford told her to get her skirt off and take down her knickers and then bend over the desk.

With her knickers down round her knees Alison was shortly lowering herself over the desk top. Visiting Mr Janford twice a week had been dreadful but this — actually staying with him — was clearly going to be a hundred times worse. Her frantic fingers tightened round the far edge of the desk. A whimpering sound gasped out as Mr Janford’s hand slid over her silky bare bottom. The hand pushed in between her legs. Mr Janford’s gloating voice: ‘Naughty sexy girls need ultra-strict discipline, Alison. Isn’t that right?’ His fingers were at her pussy again. Slipping in between the moist outer lips. One finger sliding up into her. ‘Isn’t that right, Alison dear?’

There was no answer, apart from yelping gasps. The fingers worked on Alison. Getting her hot; getting her going. Then when he judged she was nicely on the boil… the hand came away. Alison knew what was coming now. She cried out… in anticipation…

CRACK!!!

‘Like that, do we?’

The ripe buttocks were thrusting and surging. Bucking like a wild horse.

‘Keep the position, young lady.’

CRACCK!!… Alison screamed out again…

Mr Janford gave her six. Each one seemingly worse than the last. Alison was sobbing by the time he had finished. It felt like the worse caning he had ever given her — though perhaps it wasn’t actually any worse than some of the others, it was the thought of being here all the time, Mr Janford perhaps caning her all the time. Five or six times a day perhaps. Or even more?

To add credence to this possibility he did it again after they’d had some tea. Alison had to get the tea things ready, in just her knickers and blouse, and then Mr Janford did it again. This time on the couch, in that awful position, upside down on her back with her legs up over her, her knickers pulled down to her knees again. Trying to get herself in a mental state to take another six… or perhaps even more… but Mr Janford only gave her two and then he was pulling Alison to her feet.

‘Are you enjoying it, my dear? Do you like getting it all the time?’ His voice was teasing. Mr Janford could afford to talk in a teasing voice, he was doing the caning, not getting it. Alison shook her head, close to tears again.

He pulled her in close, his hand at Alison’s burning bottom. ‘All right. Go upstairs then. You can have an early night. Get undressed and put your pyjamas on. OK?’

He had stopped the caning. For the moment. Alison said a stuttery ‘Yes.’ Then Mr Janford had changed his mind. ‘No. Something else. I’d like something else. Come on.’

What did that mean? She climbed the narrow stairs, Mr Janford close behind, playing at her bottom, and into the little room he had said would be hers. From his own room Mr Janford brought in one of his shirts. ‘Not your pyjamas. Put this on. I’d like you in this shirt. Put it on and get into bed.’

Alison did it. Got undressed and put on the pink shirt which was too big for her, being Mr Janford’s. She climbed into the bed. Her head was spinning but her thoughts were still on the cane. Mr Janford was going to come in and cane her again, she was sure of it. He hadn’t finished with her. He was going to come in and make her get out of bed and…

Mr Janford shortly did come in… but he didn’t have his cane. He was smiling. He sat down on the bed. ‘Like some more cane, pretty Alison?’ His voice was teasing again. Alison blurted. ‘No! No, please…’

Mr Janford’s hand came up and stroked her face. ‘No? But you need it, Alison dear. Don’t you think?’ His hand was stroking. ‘Or perhaps we can discuss it. Talk about it. Would that be a good idea? We can discuss it in your nice cosy bed. Yes?’

She didn’t answer. Mr Janford was bending down… to unlace his shoes. Taking them off. Taking his trousers off. Alison looked and looked away. His underpants. Another glance and she felt a hot shiver. Then he was climbing in with her. Like Alison Mr Janford now had on only one of his shirts.

‘Now then, pretty Alison, we’ll talk about it, shall we?’ His voice was soft. Seductive. ‘And perhaps we’ll talk about that Simon as well. What you were doing in that hotel room. Mmmm?’

Mr Janford had taken Alison’s hand and placed it… she gasped… he was very erect. Very big. Bigger… than Simon. His hand had closed her hand round it… though it was too big for her to get her fingers right round. Her heart was thudding, her breathing gaspy, just like when she was getting the cane. Mr Janford’s caressing voice. ‘Perhaps you can show me, Alison dear. What you were doing… with your Simon…’