A Warm Glow

From Blushes 15

Everyone — or almost everyone — called her Didi, though it wasn’t her proper name. Sometimes when she was excited she would stutter it. Sometimes when she was being spanked, that is, and it was awful being spanked. Most awful, too, when her tight blue knicks were carefully rolled down for it and she was aware of the naughty exposure of her pert, smooth cheeks and the cleft between them which she would tighten defensively as a leathery palm rose and fell, stinging, stinging, burning.

Sometimes now, Didi had to take her own knickers off, and she could never decide whether to show her bottom first or her… or her… or her pussy as it was called. So sometimes she stood sideways and pushed them down, but then that showed her puff and her bottom, too, so it was difficult.

Today she had to go and help old Mr Jenkins, though she hadn’t wanted to, but her stepmother had said he was a nice man and couldn’t manage on his own now that his daughters had gone to live in a flat of their own. Personally, Didi thought Mr Jenkins was a naughty man, not a nice man, for when he came to visit their house he would sometimes feel around her bottom and several times he had slipped his hand up the back of her skirt to feel the tight roundness that stretched her blue knickers so tightly.

Sometimes it annoyed Didi, but at others it made her feel a bit breathless and sicky in her tummy, especially when Mr Jenkins not only touched her bottom but let his fingers trail around to the crotch of her knicks. True, they didn’t linger there. It was only a sort of brushing touch, but it made her jerk, though she was always being told she mustn’t jerk and that if she were exercised more then the jerking would go.

Didi always supposed that being exercised meant being spanked. So often she would slip into bed with her derriere all hot and sparky, and then she would move it tentatively on the cool sheet, wondering why it felt bigger when it was hot.

Today Didi had been told that she could go straight from school and then come home to supper afterwards, but her feet slouched as she approached Mr Jenkins house. It wasn’t fair, she told herself, but if she didn’t obey then she might get sent to a finishing school like her friend, Kathy. When she had asked Kathy what a finishing school was, Kathy had sniffed and said, ‘Oh, it was only for a week,’ which didn’t answer the question at all. — ‘Yes, I know, but what was it for?’ Didi had asked. And though they had been on their own, Kathy had looked this way and that before replying.

‘Oh well, you know — they finish you off,’ she had said to the great mystery of Didi who guessed that Kathy wasn’t going to tell her any more, so she asked her older sister, Jane, who had gone to live in a flat like Mr Jenkins’ daughters. Didi sometimes wondered if Jane had done it because she was fed up with having her rear cheeks warmed up, too. But Jane was just as cagy as Kathy had been. ‘If you haven’t learned about being finished off, you will soon,’ was practically all she had said.

But Didi wasn’t thinking so much about that then. She was wondering what Mr Jenkins wanted her to help him do. Maybe he wanted her to make some cakes for him, she thought, because those she made in her cookery class were jolly good and Mr Jenkins had had one of them when he last visited. Anyway, it was only for an hour or so, Didi told herself, and she really didn’t ought to be mean about helping people.

‘You just do what he wants, Didi,’ she had been told at breakfast, so when she got to the gate she self-consciously drew up her white knee-length socks nice and tight because she was already beginning to learn that appearances were everything. Glancing down at her blouse, she noticed that one of the buttons had popped. It often did nowadays. But her tie hid it, she convinced herself and so she walked up to the front door and knocked, but as she did so the door swung open and a voice called from somewhere below, ‘That you, Didi?’

It was Mr Jenkins all right; she knew that voice. And so Didi answered back as cheerfully as she could, ‘Yes, it’s me,’ and when she did he told her to come down. — ‘It’s the door on your right,’ he called, and Didi opened it and descended wonderingly down a narrow staircase that she didn’t like very much, and as she did so she saw Mr Jenkins waiting for her and looking right up. That made Didi blush a bit because her pleated skirt wasn’t that long and she knew he would be able to see right up under it, which Mr Jenkins indeed could. For several seconds he obtained a blissful view of two already slightly-swelling thighs together with the front vee of her knickers where the material puckered right under her mount, its creases imitating the forms of Nature beneath.

‘What are you doing?’ Didi asked a bit nervously as she finally descended, leaving her skirt swaying tauntingly. There was a fearful red glow from the furnace in the cellar and bits of coal were everywhere so that she had to tread carefully.

‘It’s the central heating, Didi. Have to stoke it up. Be a good girl and help, eh? Central heating’s good for you, eh? Especially for a girl,’ he added mysteriously. — ‘Oh, yes, but… but my blouse will get mucky,’ Didi said uncertainly, adding quickly and politely, ‘Well, I mean it will get…’

‘Dirty — yes. That’s true, Didi — that’s true,’ he said as she adopted a slightly nervous stance, her tie swinging a little to show (just as she didn’t want it to) the gap where her blouse had ‘lost’ a button so that just a teeny-weeny bit of her pale, firm young titties showed. But she couldn’t button up now, she thought. It would make him look more. But then she heard what he was saying next: ‘You’d best take it off, Didi. And your skirt, I think. It gets hot down here, you know.’

Didi gulped and bit her lip. It was true she had to push her knickers down for a spanking, but she had never taken her school blouse off. Not yet, at least. And besides, she didn’t wear bras. They weren’t necessary, she was always told. Her nipples always showed through the cotton, peaking the material to points, and even more so when her botty was being stung.

She stared into the glow of the furnace but she couldn’t look at it for long. It looked sort of menacing, she thought. And so did Mr Jenkins, a little bit. Or well — not menacing but sort of interested, though she was getting used to looks like that. And he was saying — though she couldn’t think how he could know — that she had been told to do what he wanted, hadn’t she?

The furnace brought glints into Didi’s dark hair as she began to loosen her tie. She supposed he was right, after all. She thought he would turn away as she undressed, but he didn’t. The eyes that usually watched the slow unpeeling by herself of her knickers had now become different ones that watched the emergent revelation of her tits. They were gelatinous, firm, and already a little bouncy, Mr Jenkins saw with satisfaction. Her brown nipples were distinctive bobbles of brown that in their growing would swell until they looked like very small acorns.

Rubbing his hands briefly together, he stepped forward and took the body-warm blouse and hanging tie from her limp fingers, suppressing a desire to say, ‘They’re splendid, Didi,’ as he turned away momentarily to hang them over the back of a chair. There was a slight hissing sound as he did so and a smile flicked across his lips before he turned back to her just in time to see the descent of her skirt — and even better — the coy raising of first one leg and then the other as she stepped out of it.

‘You can — er — help me to stoke, Didi, right?,’ he asked thickly, wondering what such a nubile young beauty herself thought when she saw her mirror image. Her tits were perfectly round. Another few years and they would be full melons. Right now they could almost be fully cupped in both hands, especially if one were immediately behind her and…

‘Yes, Mr Jenkins,’ Didi said dutifully. The burning coals cast a red-golden glow over her lithe figure as she moved and bent to pick up a shovel, both bum-cheeks showing pertly and clearly through the stretched blue of knicks. It was hard work, though, even after five minutes, as Didi endeavoured to display by uttering a plaintive sigh. She hoped it would persuade him to tell her to stop already, but instead Mr Jenkins was staring at her, up and down, and shaking his head.

‘You do need more exercising, Didi, don’t you? Have you had any exercising,’ he asked as Didi shook her head self-consciously, though not in reply to his question. — ‘Oh, yes, Mr Jenkins, in the gym…’ she began but was halted by another shake of his head. She didn’t like it when they shook their heads. It usually meant being taken upstairs, but now she was down in an awfully dark cellar and so it was different, anyway, she persuaded herself, though not for long.

‘Didi, come here,’ Mr Jenkins said rather sternly. A little mutinously then she stepped towards him, wonderment written into her expression. — ‘I mean real exercising — the sort a girl of your age needs. You do it sometimes, don’t you, eh?’ — ‘Ah, but I… Oh, Mr Jenkins, ouch!’ came her explosive cry as in one wall-whirling moment Didi found herself bent over in a posture she knew well enough with his hand firmly on the nape of her neck so that she felt — as ever — like a stricken rabbit.

‘Exercising is the teaching of obedience, Didi. Unquestioning obedience, you understand? There is another way of saying it — which is that a girl is put to her trials, as I believe you have not been yet, or not completely so. A beginner, aren’t you — eh?’

‘M… Mr Jenkins — oh — please let me get up and I will shovel hard, I will!’

‘With your knickers on? What will be said if I send you back with smudged knickers? Take them off, Didi, and try again. Immediately, please, and then we’ll see how you perform. I don’t want to have to say that you didn’t try, do I?’

It was like a dream, Didi thought, some twenty seconds later as, naked, she bent to pick up the shovel again. Such an innocent act, Mr Jenkins pondered, for she could have squatted to pick it up, but instead she had bent, presenting her tight peach to him in full, and with that delightful hint of fuzz and fig-like conformation beneath which promised more than Didi was thinking of right then, But there were ways of changing a girl’s way of thinking, and this it seemed was his given task.

Didi pouted when Mr Jenkins didn’t help her very much. He was more interested in the way she was doing it, so it seemed, and when she dropped the shovel with the most awful clang, the expected tut-tutting came to her burning ears, her tits swinging rosily in the reflecting light.

‘You have to learn to bend, Didi —bend,’ she heard, and then those awful words again, ‘Come here, Didi.’

She ought to be used to them by now, she told herself, but she never was. They were the most ominous words she knew — sometimes, and mainly to her dismay, just a teeny-weeny bit exciting, too, but mostly ominous. And Mr Jenkins was holding a cane, and Didi had never had the cane before — not even at school.

‘If you bend properly, Didi, as you’ve so often been told to do, it won’t be so hard,’ she heard him say, and her feet slurred again, her thighs mutinous as she approached him shyly, awkwardly, her pubic crown fully to his view, though immediately-speaking he didn’t seem too interested in her nest so much as her bottom which he very, very slowly brought her to present to him, saying gently, ‘Just push it up and out, Didi — up and out.’

‘But, please Mr Jenkins, I didn’t mean to drop the… Wheee!’ came Didi’s high-pitched squeal as a thin streak of white lightning coursed across her chubby half-moons, making her arms strain and her head shoot up in reflex. The stinging, the stinging — it was awful! — ‘Oh, woh-woh! No, please, Mr Jenkins, no!’

‘You said No, Didi. That isn’t a word I want you to get over-friendly with on such disciplinary occasions as this. Had you been disciplined fully I might not have been called upon to see to you, but alas…’ another shrill shriek came as Didi received the second swishing bite of the cane, making her eyes screw up, her head swinging from one side to the other.

‘Nor do we announce to the world that we are being exercised, do we? A little hush is required, Didi. Control yourself, girl, and push it out to me.’

‘I cah-ha-an’t!’ Didi sobbed, uttering then an immediate and soulful Yow! on receiving a third, coursing sting which made her bottom feel as if it had been thrust into a bed of nettles.

‘Can’t? But you are here to learn, Didi. Were they too quick for you? The first three have to be punitory, my dear, in order to instil certain rules into you, I will tell you what they are. No — no — stay over! The first is that you offer, Didi, and such you do by removing everything except, if need be, your shoes and socks — or stockings, of course, if it happens at weekends. The second is that you do not say No. And the third. You know what the third is?’

‘T… t… to be qu… quiet, yes!’ Didi sobbed, though she didn’t know how she was ever going to do it. More boldly than she ever dreamed she could, she wriggled her bottom in order to try to shake off the awful, searching flames.

‘Good! Excellent, in fact! Then we shall begin properly. You need have no fear that a due caning will advance beyond a sixer if you are an obedient, quiet and er — receptive girl. Well, Didi, I am going to give you your next three, you know. Will you be good. Huh? Eh?’

‘Yes, yes, Mr Jenkins, yes,’ snuffled Didi, putting on the most appealing and pleading sound she could, though it wouldn’t do her any good, she told herself soulfully. Fearful that her caning just might ‘advance beyond a sixer’ — a thought too awful to bear — Didi bravely orbed her stung bottom up and even allowed him to nudge her legs apart. She even dug her heels into the grimy floor, though she knew how rude she must look from his viewpoint behind her.

Then he waited, and the waiting was awful too. — ‘You see how quiet it can be, Didi?’ she heard after a full minute — and then the sound that was emitted from her throat was like the half-strangled cry of a cat in the night, but somehow Didi managed it, and he didn’t admonish her. ‘That was all right, Didi — just like that,’ he said, though she didn’t know whether he was referring to the noise she had made or the cane. What she did know was that her bottom was seeming to swell out again and it was burning…

The boiler roared pleasantly enough so far as Mr Jenkins was concerned as he mentally counted to ten. If she were wearing black stockings, they would glint and shimmer beautifully in this strange, emergent light, he thought. Maybe in a few more weeks when her training was complete…

‘Yee-eeek!’ came the next high-pitched squeal from Didi, but again it was strangled at birth, and no admonishment came from him. The next testing time would come in about five minutes or — no — half an hour if he really took his time. Her gulping sobs didn’t interest him. They would die away soon enough. And anyway, this was the last one. For today at least. Tomorrow would tell its own tale. He wouldn’t, alas, have charge of her tomorrow.

‘Didi, it’s the last one. Or at least, I hope it is. Are you ready for it?’ he asked in as neutral tone as he could put on. ‘Are you, Didi? Ready for it?’ he repeated. Some girls caught the nuance of such words; Others didn’t. But they all said Yes. Except Didi, perhaps. Didi said, ‘Nnnnng!’ but it was a yes, anyway, he decided, and flexed the whippy cane.

Right across her bottom again — or under the bulb, just under? It was always a moot point. One could learn a lot about a girl from this — if one were quick. With Didi it was probably going to have to be quick.

Mr Jenkins left hand moved to his trouser zip as the thought crossed his mind. It was hard work to get it right down at the moment, but he managed. Even so, it might be as well to remind Didi of her own duty in this respect. It was something that she was going to have to remember and — dammit — it was only one word.

‘You did say yes, Didi?’ he asked, his entire vision seeming to be filled by the waiting apple of her hot bottom.

Didi sucked in her breath. It was only one more, he had said — just one more. Oh please let it be just one more! ‘Y… yes,’ she stammered, sniffing and snivelling, but it seemed to her that such sounds didn’t appeal to Mr Jenkins’ conscience. Rather did they appeal to him (though she did not know it) in a quite different way. A girl’s sobbing lips were more easily brought to one’s own than mute and compressed ones.

‘Now-wow!’

It was Didi’s last cry: of that sort at least as the ‘senior’ stroke took her full across her pert half-moons, blazing such an even greater scorching into her fiercely-wriggling bum that the sudden clattering-down of the cane and the swift hugging of Mr Jenkins bared thighs against the backs of her own were an equally sudden, deep comfort rather than anything else…

At least, though, Mr Jenkins did see to getting a taxi for her afterwards — a full half an hour afterwards — and even paid the man in advance, and Didi sat on the back seat so that the taxi-driver wouldn’t wonder why she was still wriggling.

By the time she got indoors, though, Didi’s bottom was just throbbing and her knickers felt as if they were going to burst. Fumbling for her front door key, she entered the hall, hearing an expected voice call, ‘Didi?’

Yes, he did, she thought, but she wasn’t going to tell her stepmother that. She might put out a hint that he had caned her, though…