Just the Ticket

The first of two parts from Blushes 24

No wonder BR always seems to be running at a loss, thought Linda Marshall. There must be thousands like me — all fare dodging. She’d been doing it for months, because it was so simple when you got off at the station, like hers, where there was no ticket collector. All you needed to do was buy one return ticket a week and go on using it.

Oh yes, so simple. A sweet smile at the collector on the gate at the terminal and he would only give your half-hidden ticket the merest glance. They were so thick, or inefficient, they deserved to lose money, she said to herself. Whereas she was saving herself over £25 a week. There’s private enterprise for you! Linda smiled. Even Mrs Thatcher might approve.

Linda glanced at her watch. The train was late leaving. And how empty the carriage was. Then she remembered she had made some excuse and left the office early — so as to have plenty of time to get ready to go out with Bob. It was only mid-afternoon. That would account for it. Then she heard the guard’s whistle blowing and, with a jerk, they were in motion. Typical of BR, she thought. Still blowing whistles as if it were still the 19th century. Waving green flags, too. Absurd. Linda settled down with a magazine; a 30-minute non-stop run lay ahead.

She hadn’t heard him come into the carriage. In fact, Linda hadn’t realised even that there was a communicating door at each end of it. In fact, was there? It didn’t look like it. Perhaps he’d been in the carriage all the time. Lurking on the platform. Rather frightening that. Now he seemed to have materialised out of thin air, seating himself casually beside her. He took off his hat and Linda saw that he was balding and middle-aged; rather unpleasant-looking. She edged as close to the side of the carriage as she could. Was she going to have to put up with his presence for the next 25 minutes or more?

‘There’s plenty of room elsewhere in this carriage,’ she said sharply. Her own voice gave her a little more self-confidence. She saw the man looking around.

‘So there is,’ he replied, mildly. ‘Best to travel out of the rush hour, isn’t it? We encourage that.’

‘We?’ Linda found herself a little annoyed that she was getting into conversation with this stranger. It wasn’t wise to encourage him.

‘We in BR,’ he said. Linda felt her nerves give a little tingle.

‘So you’re in BR, are you? What? A driver or something? A guard?’

The bald man shook his head. ‘No.’ There was a hint of a smile. ‘I’m a ticket collector.’

Linda’s nerves tingled even more. She felt a tiny prickling of sweat under her armpits. Hell’s bells, could it be true? Still, he must be off duty. He wasn’t wearing any uniform. She made the point. ‘Why aren’t you in uniform then?’ she enquired.

‘Not all ticket collectors wear uniform. There are special ones. Rather on the lines of a secret service, you might say.’

‘Secret service! That’s ridiculous. You’re just making it up.’

‘Not at all,’ came the easy reply. ‘There is a special section on the look-out for persistent fare-dodgers.’ He paused significantly and gave her a grave gaze. ‘Like yourself,’ he added.

Linda felt herself going hot and cold all over. Damn it; they’d rumbled her. Perhaps they weren’t so stupid after all. On the other hand, he could well be bluffing. ‘I…I don’t know what you mean?’ she said, almost violently.

‘Oh yes you do. Miss. You’ve been travelling this line for months on fudged up tickets. Just show me the one you’ve got now.’

Linda, of course, couldn’t do that. She had a sudden idea. ‘Show…show me your authority,’ she demanded.

Calmly, the man put his hand inside his coat and took out a green identity card, carrying his photograph. On it was the BR insignia and some gobbledygook about the bearer being a ‘Special Investigator’, authorised to inspect travellers’ tickets and make a citizen’s arrest where necessary. That bit made Linda freeze inside. Under the photograph was a name — George Denham — and his signature was scrawled on the dotted line at the base of the card.

‘Reckon you’re a certainty for a £400 fine,’ said George Denham easily.

Linda almost panicked. She couldn’t possibly pay that. What on earth was she going to do? George regarded her happily. It was as easy as shucking peas, he reflected. So many of these youngsters were dodging all the time. All he had said was pure guesswork, as usual. Yet 75% of the time it proved right. He could almost feel her sweating with guilt.

‘Let’s have a look at your ticket, my dear,’ said George.

‘I…I’ve lost it…’ stammered Linda.

‘That’s what they all say.’ Unhurriedly, George picked up the girl’s handbag and took out a leather purse. With a cry, Linda tried to snatch it back. ‘Hey you can’t do that!’

But George had already done it. The grubby pink ticket was in his fingers. Four days out of date. He tut-tutted. ‘Dearie me,’ he said. ‘It’s as we suspected all along. And you’ve been doing it for months. We know that.’ George was getting more confident all the time. He took out a small black notebook and a ball-point pen. ‘I’ll just take a few particulars, if you don’t mind.’

Linda’s brain glowed hot. She felt trapped. Well, she was trapped. No way out of this one. And it wasn’t just the fine. It would be in all the local papers. Oh the disgrace of it! Her Dad was on the Parish Council. He’d never forgive her. And she might well lose her job. In fact, she was more or less certain to lose her job since she worked in the offices of the Church Commissioners.

‘C-can’t you… can’t you l-let me off… just this once,’ she said, turning pleading eyes on the man. ‘I’ll never do it again, I swear.’

‘Name?’ asked George. Linda gave it to him haltingly. ‘Address?’ Linda gave him that too. ‘Quite a posh district that,’ said George. ‘Should have thought you could have paid your fare.’

Linda could, of course. It had just been nice not to — and get away with it. Until now. Oh whatever was she going to do? She watched as the notebook was put away. ‘I’ll have to report this to your ticket office,’ said George. ‘Then we can go down to the Station.’

‘But… we’ll be at the station,’ said Linda, puzzled.

‘I meant the Police Station,’ said George flatly. Linda got that freezing sensation again.

‘Oooh… do we have to?’

‘I’m afraid so, Linda,’ said George. She was rather startled by this familiar form of address.

‘C-couldn’t we go to another one? I m-mean not my l-local one?’

George shook his head sorrowfully. ‘It wouldn’t make any difference,’ he said. ‘It will all come out in the end.’ He’s right, thought Linda almost desperately. There was a long silence. ‘There just might be a way out,’ said George at last.

‘Yes?’ It was almost a shriek… and Linda clutched George’s arm. ‘Tell me… tell me…’

‘You might not like it,’ stated George solemnly. ‘Rather old-fashioned.’

‘Tell me… I’ll d-do anything. Well… almost…’

‘I said it was old-fashioned,’ George went on. ‘It’s how they handled youngsters when I was a boy. For this sort of thing. Easiest way out really. No disgrace for the family.’

‘Tell me!’ It was almost another shriek and Linda’s nails were clawing.

‘They gave youngsters like you a damn good spanking. Often down at the Station, too. Then the whole thing was forgotten.’

Linda found herself sitting very still, wondering if she could believe her ears. A spanking? It was an absurd idea. Especially for one of her age. She was 18 now. And especially from a man. ‘N-no… no… I couldn’t,’ she said.

George shrugged. ‘Suit yourself,’ he said. Then he leant back in the seat. ‘I see that you not only don’t pay your fares but have the cheek to travel First Class as well.’ Linda had forgotten about that. George looked at his watch. ‘Only another twenty minutes to go,’ he said.

Shivering deep inside, Linda sat there mute and miserable. A way out had been offered her. But how could she possibly take it? But then, what alternative was there?

They thundered through Surbiton. Only fifteen minutes to go now. She kept thinking of how her mother and father would react. And of losing her job. Esher passed. Then Hersham. Linda found her fists clenched.

‘Alright… I’ll do it… I’ll let you,’ she blurted out in a sudden rush.

‘Sure?’ enquired George, looking a shade smug.

‘Y-yes… yes… I suppose so…’

‘Sensible girl,’ said George. ‘No one will ever know. Just you and me.’ He moved along the seat a little. Over my knees then.’

‘M-must I?’

George looked just a shade angry. ‘Look, Linda, either you do it my way or not at all. Understand?’

Linda looked at this stranger. How could she put herself across his knees? He was a horrible old man. The whole thing was disgusting. Yet she had to do it. It was better than the alternative. Walton-on-Thames flashed by. Only ten minutes to go. She had to do it. As he had said, no one else would ever know. But, oh the awful shame of it! ‘A-alright then…’

She stood up, turned to face the window, shut her eyes, then placed herself gingerly over the waiting knees. Her stomach was like one big knot; she felt rather sick. Then, to her utter horror, she felt her skirt being lifted.

‘No…no…ooo! Not that!’ But she couldn’t stop him. He was holding her down. He had already done it. Oh the horrible beast! Oh how awful!

George licked his lips. Didn’t often see those these days, he thought, as he saw the white suspender belt supporting stockings. Much more attractive than those tights. She was kicking now and yelling. But it didn’t matter. No one would hear over the sound of the rushing train. That’s why trains were so good for this sort of thing. Almost casually, George pulled down the little white briefs. Oh very nice... very! The kicking and the struggling and the yelling now increased considerably. That didn’t matter either. Made it all the more enjoyable. How that naked young bottom was bouncing and quivering! Quite, quite delightful.

‘You thoroughly deserve this, young miss,’ said George, voice a trifle thick. He found his heart beating faster; felt the familiar surge of lust. There was nothing... but nothing… quite so good as smacking a young woman’s bottom. But nothing! Especially at his age.

George began to slap the soft, jouncing flesh.

Left… right… left… right. How quickly those white buttock cheeks changed to pink.

Left… right… left… right. She was squirming frantically now, kicking even more. That only made it all the more exciting.

‘Stop… it!’ she was shrieking.

Needless to say, George took no heed. If anything, he began to slap harder. Oh what a delight it was to do! So utterly satisfying.

Smacking… smacking… and smacking. Now he had ceased to slap each cheek in turn and was concentrating on the centre of that squirming young bottom. Soon it had changed from pink to red and great, heaving sobs were coming from her as well as yells. George went on smacking to his heart’s content. Then she went suddenly quiet, head slumping. Had she fainted? George looked up. They had just passed through Weybridge. Better pack it in now. Give her time to compose herself. He released the girl’s waist.

‘OK Linda, that’s it,’ he said. The girl slid off his lap and, sobbing again, quickly pulled up her knickers. The skirt fell down. George saw a look of such venom in those eyes it was almost like a slap in the face. ‘All will now be forgotten,’ he said.

‘You… you’re a filthy old man,’ sobbed Linda.

‘No need to get stroppy,’ said George sharply. He didn’t want her getting hysterical.

‘That… that… was a-assault… do you h-hear? I…I’ll have the law on you.’

‘Very foolish if you did,’ said George, as calmly as he could. ‘After what you’ve gone through. You don’t want to be prosecuted, do you? And you would be.’

Linda bit her lips in fury. She knew this beastly old pervert was right. What would be the point of telling? Now? Simply an act of stupidity. ‘One day… one… day I’ll get my own back,’ she gasped out.

With old-world courtesy, George handed the girl a large pocket handkerchief.

‘Come along, Linda,’ he said in avuncular fashion. ‘Just wipe your eyes. It’s all over now.’

The eyes were wiped. ‘I h-hate you…’ Linda moaned.

‘I expect you do,’ replied George complacently. ‘But later on you’ll thank me.’ She gave him another of those venomous looks. ‘Oh yes… you will. Think of all the disgrace I’ve saved you.’

She threw the handkerchief back at him and pouted. ‘Never!’ she spat out.

‘Why don’t you sit down,’ said George as they passed through Byfleet. He smiled, thinking of that delightful red bottom. My, my how he’d made it bounce and wriggle! She’d be sore for quite a while yet.

‘I’d rather stand…’

‘Mmm… yes… understandable, I suppose.’ He saw her flush with rage. Or was it sheer embarrassment. No young lady of her age liked having her backside bared, that was for sure!

They began to slow down as they approached Woking. Linda picked up her handbag. She began to powder her blotched cheeks. Her sobs were easing. I…I… get out here…’ she said. Almost as if she were asking his permission.

‘I know that, of course,’ nodded George. He smiled again. ‘Make sure you get a ticket in future, young lady.’

‘Oooohhhh!’ a foot stamped in rage.

‘Wouldn’t want that to happen all over again, would you?’ George was more than smiling. He was grinning. Once again he’d pulled it off! The train shuddered to a halt.

‘This is Woking,’ announced a mechanical voice. After a little struggle, Linda got the door open. She jumped down and slammed it behind her. He watched her run off unsteadily down the platform. Then George closed his eyes. He’d get out at Basingstoke then go back to the terminus. He dozed peacefully, pretty pictures of that bare, bouncing bottom flashing repeatedly in his mind’s eye.

‘Ticket please,’ said a sudden loud voice. George started up, fumbling in his pockets.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Seem to have mislaid it.’

A sceptical looking ticket collector gave him a hard look. ‘Where you going?’

‘Basingstoke,’ answered George.

‘From?’

‘Waterloo.’

‘That’ll cost you £2 extra,’ said the Collector. ‘For travelling without a ticket.’

George suppressed a smile. Only £2 extra he thought. It had indeed been well worthwhile!

George and Linda meet again in A Petty Matter.