Alison Trilogy — Mr Mascoll’s Playsuit, Adventuring, The Swimming Lesson (AI enhanced)

An enhanced version of this delightful trilogy of stories from Uniform Girls 13 following the delicious Alison as she is dressed up and played with, first by Mr Mascoll (Flights of Fancy) and then the Rev. Smithers, leader of the Adventurers.

For those waiting for the concluding part of Culver's new story, it will be appearing here later today.

Mr Mascoll’s Playsuit

A girl in a garden. A very pretty garden and a very pretty girl. A pretty English garden on a warm and drowsy summer afternoon. The pretty girl is English too.

The garden is large, spacious, kept private from prying eyes by a wealth of shrouding evergreen trees and shrubs. Within this protective greenery is an immaculate expanse of close-trimmed lawn with at either side arbours and pergolas of climbing red and pink roses. Beyond is a large ornamental pond in which golden-orange fish glide between pink water lilies. The water has attracted bright blue dragonflies which flit above its surface, now and then alighting on lily pads. The water has also attracted the pretty girl.

She is seated in a deckchair on the paved front area watching the fish and dragonflies. She is tall and shapely and ash blonde in addition to being pretty. Long slim youthful limbs lightly tanned, coltish. The bare legs are spread unselfconsciously for there is no one else here to see. No one in the garden, no one in the house. Not yet anyway. She is wearing a playsuit.

Or at least that is what Mr Purley called it. When he produced it yesterday. With perhaps a slightly apologetic smile on his face. ‘It’s a playsuit.’

Alison had taken it from him without speaking. Frowning she had examined it, frowning even more as she studied its various features. A querying look at Mr Purley. ‘Look…’

Mr Purley had grinned. ‘It’s a playsuit,’ he repeated. ‘It’s just how I want it — or at least I think it is.’ He grinned again. ‘A playsuit for playing games. I mean it all depends what games you want to play, doesn’t it?’

Alison had said ‘Cripes!’ and then, ‘I don’t know. I mean…’

She got a playful slap on her bottom. ‘Don’t be silly. It’s only a playsuit. He’s coming tomorrow. And he’ll want to see what it’s like on. You can be here tomorrow? In the afternoon.’

Yes she could, it was the school holidays, though she tried to get out of it, Mr Purley had insisted. Tomorrow was today. That is why Alison is now sitting here by Mr Purley’s pond, waiting. Mr Purley is out, had to go out for some reason or other. Maybe gone out so that Mr Mascoll can be all by himself to examine his playsuit. Considering this Alison makes a face. Mr Mascoll is a funny character all right, what with his playsuits and all that. But still he is well-off, like Mr Purley is well-off. And generous — if you are co-operative, that is. And a girl who likes to make an odd pound or two on the q.t. has to think of these facts. Even if it does mean funny playsuits.

This one is the funniest yet. If funny is the right word. Mr Mascoll must be really racking his brains thinking up something like this. There are the zips for one thing. The top of the suit has two zips and so does the bottom. The top zips go right over Alison’s boobs. So that if the zippers are unzipped your nipples come out. Not only come out but are in danger of getting painfully caught in the sharp teeth. Alison knows this because yesterday when she put it on Mr Purley opened the zips to demonstrate. One of her nipples got sort of caught and it was like the sharp teeth of some wild animal (a ferret?) had got her there. Mr Purley of course had been very sympathetic, rubbing it better with his fingers.

And then there are the zippers in the bottom part. At the sides, on your hips. These ones open completely, Mr Purley showed her that as well. So that the bottom part of the suit can be taken off without taking it down over your legs.

There is something else too to Mr Mascoll’s special suit. The rings. Rings attached to the belt which is separate; rings also attached to the shoulders of the top. And there are those ankle things that you put on over your socks, they have rings as well.

The whole thing, put together, gives food for a lot of thought. Alison is thinking, frowning a bit, as she watches the fish and dragonflies. As she has been thinking ever since yesterday afternoon when she was round here, in the house, and shown Mr Mascoll’s funny suit. Very soon old Mr Mascoll will be here to try out his suit. And then she will know.

The fact is that if she wasn’t so keen to get a bit of extra pocket money she wouldn’t be in this position. Mr Purley and Mr Mascoll. And funny suits. It is her own fault. That thought doesn’t make her feel any better, though.

----//----

‘Hello, sweet child.’

Oh God. Yes, Mr Mascoll. He had let himself in because he had a key from Mr Purley. Then come silently across the lawn. Oh Cripes! Alison wasn’t at all sure she wanted the money but it was too late to think that.

‘Ah. Oh yes. Stand up please, Alison.’

She struggled to her feet, her face now flushing. Mr Mascoll was all eyes naturally. Peering closely, seeing his brilliant brain-child for the first time. He moved round behind. ‘Mmmmm. Oh yes.’ His hand suddenly at Alison’s bottom through the quite tight material of the suit. Groping a bit.

‘What d’you think, Alison?’

Alison didn’t know what she thought except that she’d rather not be here in this playsuit with Mr Mascoll. She shrugged.

‘Well I think that person has done a very good job. Really quite excellent. It is exactly as I envisaged. Or so it seems. Of course we’ll have to, er, try it out, won’t we? To see that, er…  Shall we go in?’

No Alison would rather not go in but of course he wasn’t actually asking her. No, she’d much rather… But Mr Mascoll had hold of her arm and was firmly turning her. Marching her off.

In through the French windows that Mr Mascoll had come out of. Inside in Mr Purley’s posh house it was cooler, nice after the hot sun outside. Except that it wasn’t nice, not when you thought what… Alison shivered. In the drawing room Mr Mascoll turned her to face him. He was smiling, a smile of keen anticipation.

His fingers reached out for a zipper. The left top one. Alison squeaked an involuntary ‘Hey!’

‘What?’ queried Mr Mascoll, fingers closing on Alison’s left boob.

She forced herself to stand still and not squirm away. She could recall all too vividly what had happened yesterday — her nipple somehow getting caught. It had really hurt. But on the other hand you could hardly expect Mr Mascoll not to want to undo the zips. He would be paying for the suit. And he was also paying Alison.

‘N… nothing. It’s just… uh, please be careful.’

‘I am always careful,’ Mr Mascoll smirked. Alison held her breath. It was OK. The zipper was open. Her nipple with all the tension or excitement or whatever was sort of half stiffened up. Pushing plumply out between the two rows of horrid scary metal teeth.

‘Pretty good, eh?’ Mr Mascoll’s finger and thumb took hold of the nipple. Squeezing. Alison gave a little squeak. Her nipples were very sensitive and she couldn’t help them responding to this sort of thing.

‘You see,’ said Mr Mascoll. ‘With these handy zippers a girl can open up and let some fresh air in. That’s very healthy for a young person.’

He slid down the other zip, over Alison’s right boob. Both nipples now sticking out, like two plump pink soldiers. Mr Mascoll took hold of both, rubbing and rolling them. Alison made an ‘Eeekkk!’ sound.

‘Yes this is very good. Now we need to look at the rest, don’t we? The shorts and that. And I rather think, er, upstairs for that, eh?’

This statement did not come as a surprise, Alison had expected it. She didn’t want to go upstairs with Mr Mascoll, especially not with these funny shorts on but you couldn’t argue with him. Not when you accepted money. Because if your mother found out, or the Headmistress…

She went up. With Mr Mascoll naturally close behind her rhythmically flexing rear divisions. Into the little bedroom.

The two top zippers were still undone. Mr Mascoll gave Alison’s pouting nipples another tweak. Then he turned her round, back towards him, and took her hands and put them together behind her back. Next to where that black ring was on the belt. He gave a little laugh.

Then he moved her wrists round the front again and up, next to the rings on the shoulders of the playsuit top. Another little laugh. From Mr Mascoll. Certainly not from Alison who didn’t find Mr Mascoll’s playsuit funny at all. She just wished she wasn’t here having to play funny games that weren’t at all funny in playsuits that weren’t funny either. What time was it anyway? She had better be back home in time for tea. Alison glanced unhappily towards the bed.

Mr Mascoll said, ‘Yes it does seem to be an excellent piece of work. So let’s have you on the bed, shall we. And, er, see the rest.’

Alison had been expecting that and she did not at all fancy the prospect.

‘No, not on the bed,’ she protested. But Mr Mascoll was not going to take any notice of that, not when keen exciting pleasure was involved. He said ‘Yes,’  quite a lot more sharply and pinched Alison’s bottom and firmly pushed her in that direction. She made a wailing sound but didn’t really fight it.

On the bed. And then spread her arms and legs out. Alison’s feet with those funny ankle things on pointed towards the bottom corner posts of the double bed and her hands up pointed towards the top posts. Spread-eagled. Mr Mascoll sat on the side looking down. He looked very excited too, sort of breathy.

‘Stay in that position, Alison. As if you really are…’

His hand was at her shorts of course. At one of the side zips. One of the zips that would come completely open allowing the two halves to separate. This was what Mr Mascoll did. Of course. And then did it to the other side. Alison knew he was going to do it, that was what the shorts were designed for, but even so…

‘No!’ she squealed. Her spread legs automatically came together.

‘Don’t!’ Mr Mascoll with the look of a boy whose toy wasn’t working properly. ‘Don’t do that, Alison. You must keep still and in position. How can I…? Or do you want me to…?’

No she didn’t. He couldn’t anyway, not here. Mr Purley wouldn’t let him. She knew that. Alison knew he was going to want to do it but that would be when he had tested the suit and paid for it and then got Alison round at his house. But he couldn’t do it here, not in Mr Purley’s house. Theoretically she would have the choice of not agreeing to it, round at Mr Mascoll’s house. But she knew she would even though it would be hateful and scary. He would persuade her. And also Alison was greedy for extra secret pocket money.

She was back in position, making herself hold that spread-eagled pose. Mr Mascoll had the playsuit shorts off now, with both zippers open just pulling the shorts off between her legs.

‘Don’t…’ she wailed.

Mr Mascoll smirked. ‘Don’t be silly. You know you like it. All girls do.’

Alison didn’t. She didn’t like Mr Mascoll or Mr Purley doing it. But after a bit she couldn’t help responding.

‘Keep your legs open,’ urged Mr Mascoll’s breathy voice. ‘Self control, Alison.’

Afterwards he spanked her. Made her lift her legs up in the air and hold them there and then smacked Alison’s bare bum. Mr Mascoll’s hard hand splatting down onto the upturned cheeks. Right after that other it hurt even more than normal because she was all hot and bothered.

And after that Mr Mascoll said tomorrow afternoon at his house. Alison wanted to say no but she couldn’t. She had tried saying no to things before but Mr Mascoll had threatened to tell — her mother or the school — about some of the things she had done. And also of course there was what they called the financial inducement.

It was not a nice prospect. Alison lay awake in bed that night thinking about it. Mr Mascoll and his funny playsuit and the funny games he was going to want to play. She tried to forget it, trying to concentrate instead on Mr Purley’s gliding golden-orange fish. The pink water lilies. Those darting, hovering bright blue dragonflies, but besides the prospect of Mr Mascoll there was also that other ‘not to be spoken of’ business of Uncle George and the rather peculiar ‘Girl Guide’ outfit run by his friend, the Reverend Smithers. Alison would much rather not be a member of the ‘Adventurers’, but she was more or less committed to going off on one of the Rev. Smithers’ weekends; she went to sleep thinking of those embarrassing bottomless shorts they all had to wear. Wasn’t it funny, how all the people who wanted to dress her up in funny ‘uniforms’ only seemed to want to do it so that they could have the fun of undressing her again.

Adventuring

‘All right?’ queried Rev Smithers from the other room. Desperately keen though he was to see the new shorts on Alison he had let her go through into the little parlour to put them on. That way he would get the mouth-watering picture complete, all at once. He was in a state of some excitement.

‘No!’ replied Alison in an unhappy voice. ‘No, it’s not. They’re…’

‘What’s wrong then?’ The Rev Smithers had forgotten that he had omitted to say anything about the nature of the alterations he had had done. Alison was looking askance over her shoulder in the full-length mirror. The fact was of course that Rev Smithers’ special shorts for his new Young Adventurers had no bottoms in them. His sister, Millicent, after initially refusing, had finally agreed to do as he requested, cutting and sewing hems where he had chalked.

‘Someone’s done something. You can see all of my bum,’ wailed Alison making a face.

Tristram Smithers entered, all of a quiver. ‘Let me see, Alison dear. Turn round. Let me see…’

Alison, red-faced, turned. Oh yes! What a rapturous sight! He clearly was in the wrong profession as a man of the cloth, he should have been a designer of clothes for teenage females. Alison’s bottom was indeed bare, or effectively so, for there remained at the rear not much more than the waistband and the central seam of the blue denim shorts. She had no knickers on, on Rev Smithers instruction, and so the pretty cheeks were quite bare.

A rapturous sight indeed. With the bottomless shorts Alison, pretty, tallish and blonde, had on a pink T-shirt, white knee socks and sandals. A sight almost to drive a man out of his mind. Closing quickly Tristram Smithers had clasped a bottom-cheek. Alison gave a little squeak. Not that she was unused to Rev Smithers’ hand on her bum but, well, these shorts…

He turned her and pulled her close. One hand round her waist and the other naturally at the scrumptious rear. Lightly jiggling the slimmish cheeks. ‘They’re the Young Adventurers action shorts,’ he told her.

‘Action shorts!’ queried an incredulous Alison, turning her face so that she was not smothered by Rev Smithers’ tweed jacket. He said Yes. For when they were out in the country. Camping and on adventure hikes. The shorts were designed to allow complete freedom of movement.

‘But we can’t… What will people say? If my mum sees them…’

‘Your mother is not going to see them,’ Tristram Smithers replied firmly. ‘On no account.’ There was no doubt that Mrs Twilling would not approve and would certainly want to know what was going on. As indeed would other members of the public at large if they set eyes on Tristram’ Smithers’ brainchild. ‘The shorts are naturally secret. They’re one of the secret things about the Young Adventurers.’

Alison grunted. Rev Smithers’ hand was going mad with her exposed bottom. Rev Smithers had a real thing about girls’ bottoms so perhaps it shouldn’t be too surprising that he had got these funny shorts for the Young Adventurers. Obviously they wouldn’t have been allowed in the Guides so Rev Smithers decided to form this new outfit. It was to be just her and Cynthia and Jane at first but the other two hadn’t got their shorts yet. They were in for a surprise.

‘Another thing of course about the shorts,’ said Rev Smithers who was getting quite excited, ‘is that they will be very good for disciplining. Naturally we’ll have to have discipline, that’s what makes things work. And with these shorts I shall be able to discipline you girls straight away.’

By discipline Rev Smithers meant smacking bottoms, or using his strap across their bums. He could hit you pretty hard with his hand when he had you over his lap. His strap of course was a whole lot worse.

‘Let’s try it,’ said the Rev Smithers, perhaps inevitably. ‘A spot of disciplining.’

‘No!’ piped Alison, ‘I’ve not done anything.’

Rev Smithers said that actually saying No could be construed as a breach of discipline but he wasn’t going to count it. But he would give her a spanking and count it against the next time she needed one. Alison wasn’t at all happy with that either but it was clear Rev Smithers was pretty excited, what with the new shorts and everything. She could feel he was excited all right, pressed tight up against him as she was. And if Rev Smithers didn’t have a spanking… he might easily think of something else.

So very shortly Alison was over Tristram Smithers’ lap, her face down close to the carpet and her bottom in the bottomless shorts high up and offering a splendid target. The practised hand began splatting down. ‘Ouch!’s and ‘Ooof!’s. It was not Tristram Smithers’ policy to go easy on a girl’s bum once he had it over his lap. Alison writhed and jerked in truly heart-pounding fashion. Writhing and jerking, it must be said, directly over Tristram Smithers’ throbbing member.

Yes the Young Adventurers shorts were given a very satisfactory introduction. Very soon mixed in with Rev Smithers’ grunts of effort there were gasps of supreme pleasure. After that he decided to take Alison’s shorts off and give her another going over without them, just to compare the two.

Yes all in all a most satisfactory introduction.

----//----

The Young Adventurers had their first adventure camp the next weekend. It was the school holidays so they could set out on the Friday morning, the three of them with Rev Smithers in his ancient car. They all had their action shorts now and not only that, there were special swimsuits as well. One-piece stretch suits which Tristram Smithers had dealt with in the same way as the shorts — or rather persuaded Millicent to deal with — that is the bottoms had been cut out.

They set off, all highly excited, for their secret destination. Naturally they didn’t have the Young Adventurers shorts or swimsuits on when they left home, but skirts and knickers. As it would turn out this first expedition was going to be even more momentous and exciting than any of them anticipated.

Tristram Smithers had got permission for camping from a gentleman he vaguely knew, a friend of a friend, who had quite a bit of land in Somerset. Major Folkestone his name was and they went in to briefly meet him when they arrived after a three hour drive. Major Folkestone was an older man with a reddish face and white hair and rather stary blue eyes. The stary blue eyes had stared in particular at the three pretty girls as he said they were welcome to camp wherever they liked. Jane said afterwards, ‘I had a funny feeling about him when he looked at us like that.’ But of course it was easy to say that afterwards.

They went off a good distance from Major Folkestone’s house, along a trail through the woods to what seemed like a nice secluded corner. Then they put up their tents; two tents, one for two girls and one for Rev Smithers and the other one. They also right away on Rev Smithers’ instruction put on their Young Adventurers action shorts. Jane also said afterwards, ‘I didn’t like putting the shorts on. I could feel eyes watching me from the bushes.’ But that again was afterwards and they had all felt a little bit like that. And in any case at that point Major Folkestone hadn’t been watching, it had been later.

It was later in the afternoon. After they’d been for a hike through the woods and come back and built the table. From lengths of wood tied together with rope. A rustic table with a flat board on top that they’d brought with them. The table was to be used for meals etc but also Rev Smithers could see another use for it. Discipline.

For Rev Smithers’ thoughts, as he trekked through the woods with the girls in their action shorts, had been turning more and more to the subject of discipline. With three jiggling bare bottoms for his eyes to feast on, three perfect young pairs of bottom-cheeks, this was not really surprising.

‘We all need a little warming up before we go any further,’ he pronounced. ‘To keep us alert and, er, disciplined.’

By ‘we’ and ‘us’ Tristram Smithers naturally meant the three girls and the thought had suddenly come that their rustic table could add a new dimension in that direction.

‘Up on the table, Alison,’ he said when they had finished constructing it. (It was almost always Alison first.) ‘Lie on your back and lift your legs up. Hold the backs of your knees.’

At first Alison said she wasn’t going to, it would be just too awful in that position, but Rev Smithers barked sharply, ‘Discipline Alison! The Young Adventurers must have discipline.’

After a good deal of whining and protesting she finally agreed — but only if the other two weren’t watching. Rev Smithers agreed they could go and wait in the tent. Alison reluctantly got up on her back and lifted her legs in the air. It was a marvellous position to have a girl in, as Tristram Smithers had pictured it, Alison’s mouth-watering bottom up-ended and bare apart from the thin denim seam splitting the taut-stretched cheeks. With mounting excitement he began to strap her. At this point of course, as it turned out, Major Folkestone was watching.

And he was watching as Rev Smithers then in turn strapped the other two girls, Cynthia for a little variety being made to lie on the table on her front with her head and shoulders hanging down near the ground. Yes it was wildly exciting and Rev Smithers strapped them all with great gusto causing the woods to echo with girlish yelps and squeals.

It was when he had just about finished with Jane that Major Folkestone stepped out from where he had been watching. Jane was still on the table, on her back like Alison, her legs held high, her bottom bright red. Tristram Smithers’ thoughts, inflamed by his heady pleasures, had run on to other pleasures. Alison who was to be in his tent tonight would definitely need another Sex Education lesson. Then there in front of him was the mind-boggling form of Major Folkestone.

Consternation? Shock? Terror even? There seemed to be no word strong enough to describe the effect of Major Folkestone’s appearance. The girls let out yelps of fright. It was as if a ghost had appeared. But Major Folkestone was no ghost.

He drew Rev Smithers aside. The three girls stood in shock as the two men conversed in lowered tones. They knew of course that the Young Adventurers had to be kept secret. Or at least the action shorts did and so no doubt must those strappings and the manner in which Rev Smithers had delivered them. If such matters got into the papers, say…

But as it turned out Major Folkestone was not proposing exposure. Or at least only as a last resort. Only if… well, if there was no co-operation.

Co-operation? Yes. Major Folkestone seemed friendly. A broad smile as he turned to the girls after the quiet little chat with Rev Smithers. He would like them to take tea with him. One at a time, it seemed. Was that all? Well…

Jane, he decided, would be first. Today. Alison and Cynthia tomorrow. Jane gave Rev Smithers a darting glance. Should she change out of her action shorts? Major Folkestone smiled again. Oh no. Not at all. Smiling he took Jane off. To have tea.

Tea? Well tea and the rest. Jane reappeared more than an hour later. Not a very happy look on her face. And when the other two girls greeted her she began blinking. Tears. When she turned you could see why. Where earlier there had been a rosy glow on her bottom from Rev Smithers’ strap there were now dark red and purple stripes. Criss-crossing angrily over those taut slim cheeks.

Stripes from a vicious caning. Alison and Cynthia who had to go tomorrow gasped with horror. Tristram Smithers bit his lip.

 

The Swimming Lesson

That business on their first camp with Major Folkestone was truly awful, that man was a real sadist. None of the three girls had ever been caned before and the ferocious, biting pain was something else, your bottom feeling like it was actually on fire and your brain seeming to want to explode out of your head.

Jane who’d got it first, on that Friday evening, was really in a state. ‘I can’t sit down,’ she wailed. But as it was almost 8 o’clock by the time she got back from Major Folkestone’s, Rev Smithers said that anyway they might as well turn in and have an early night. The fact was that Tristram Smithers, although expressing sympathy for Jane and the state of her bottom, was also very much aroused by it. For this reason he had quickly decided to switch plans and have Jane in his tent that night rather than Alison. ‘So I can see she’s all right,’ as he explained.

Rev Smithers had brought some cold cream with him and also of course he had his Vaseline. The cold cream did help but after he’d put that on Jane would much rather Rev Smithers had left it alone. However he could not bring himself to do this, the sight of those criss-crossing purpling stripes was so stimulating that his hands simply could not keep away. ‘Massaging’ was what he said he was doing.

Jane by this time had taken off her action shorts and also the rest of her things and put on her pyjama top but not the pyjama trousers and on Rev Smithers advice was lying on top of her sleeping bag on her front. Jane could well have done without the massaging which was painful and brought forth various yelps and squeals. The massaging went on for quite a while and then Rev Smithers, even more aroused by now, decided that it would be a good idea if Jane had a Sex Education lesson.

Jane also didn’t feel much like a Sex Education lesson but there wasn’t much she could do about that either. Like the other two, Jane was in general prepared to accept that Sex Education lessons were a very good thing at that age, preparing you for life and all that, but sometimes you felt more like having one than at others.

The next day of course the other two, Cynthia and Alison, had to go over to Major Folkestone’s. Cynthia in the morning and Alison in the afternoon, for refreshments supposedly but in reality it was to get a caning just like Jane. Both pleaded desperately with Rev Smithers, saying why didn’t they just leave and go and find another campsite somewhere else? But Rev Smithers said that wasn’t on because if Major Folkestone didn’t get proper satisfaction from each of them he might go to the papers or something and then they’d all be in big trouble. By ‘proper satisfaction’ Rev Smithers meant of course giving them each one of those awful canings.

So there was nothing for it. They went. And each in turn came back in tears and with her bottom in very much the same state as Jane’s had been. (Jane’s stripes were at last beginning to fade a bit by this time.)

So that was their first Young Adventurers camp — a bit more than they had bargained for, or indeed what Tristram Smithers had bargained for. He told Cynthia and Alison, whose bottoms were still showing cane marks on Sunday afternoon when it was time to go home, to be sure and not let their mothers see. As for those new Young Adventurers swimsuits, they only put them on in the tents. Rev Smithers had been planning for the girls to go for a swim in them in the nearby stream but he said that Major Folkestone might possibly be lurking about in the bushes watching and if he saw he might want them to go to his house again for more refreshments. Naturally the girls were horror-struck at the thought of that.

Therefore the Young Adventurers swimsuits, with their bottomless bottoms remained untested as far as actual swimming was concerned. Tristram Smithers pondered this. He was keen for the girls to get in some swimming practice in the bottomless swimsuits. He also pondered the suits themselves. They were first rate, the brainchild no doubt of a great inventive mind. But… could they possibly be improved?

Alison. As always it was Alison first. Sweet, sweet-fleshed Alison, always his favourite. The other two were favourites as well but Alison was Number One. So Alison it was who was instructed to come round to Rev Smithers’ place three days after the camping trip, right after lunch. What was up, so to speak? Rev Smithers was clearly excited, more so than usual. And Alison was being told to go into the little parlour to put that swimsuit on. It was just like when he produced the action shorts for the first time — but Alison had put the swimsuit on before. She knew what it was like, it had virtually no bottom, at the back it went between the cheeks of your bottom rather than covering them. Well, that was Rev Smithers. But…

Looking at the suit which he had handed her, Alison suddenly noticed something. Something small and hard. And then another something. She held the suit up, examining it. Poppers. For some reason they were sewn onto the shoulder straps, both at front and back. And then… And then she saw that between the legs of the suit, the crotch, there were poppers too. And here the swimsuit could be opened, it was just the poppers holding it together. That was different from at the shoulders where they were only half poppers.

Alison felt a little tingle. The swimsuit would now open between her legs. Why was that? ‘Are you ready?’ called out Rev Smithers from the other room.

‘N… No…’ Alison stepped into the suit, pulling it up over her slim nude form, pulling the narrow shoulder straps up over her shoulders. At the back the stretch material automatically slid in between the bare cheeks of her bottom. That felt funny and not very nice, just like the action shorts, being all exposed like that. But mostly it was those funny poppers she was thinking about. Why…?

Rev Smithers was suddenly in the room, eyes gleaming. ‘What d’you think, Alison?’

Alison didn’t know what she thought. He was grabbing her, pulling her close, his hand at her bare bottom. Then in front. She squeaked as the hand went in between her slim thighs. And then… Alison squeaked again, more urgently.

‘You see,’ Tristram Smithers’ voice husky with excitement. ‘Quite an idea, eh?’

His fingers had undone the two poppers between Alison’s legs. The two parts of the tight suit had sprung apart so that there was nothing there but Rev Smithers’ hand. ‘Ooohhh!’

‘Quick release,’ breathed Rev Smithers, his fingers busy. ‘Another little idea I had.’

Some time later Alison managed to get away from him and do the poppers up again. Then, more than a little hot and bothered, she was preceding him out along the corridor and upstairs. To the bathroom. Rev Smithers was going to give her a swimming lesson. In the bathroom? She was still having trouble thinking straight what with the suit with the poppers and also what Rev Smithers had been doing with the poppers undone. He had begun filling the bath with water. Alison shook her head. ‘I can’t swim in there.’

Rev Smithers turned, smiling. Pulled her close again, grabbing once more at her bare bottom. ‘No, you’re not going to swim in the bath, Alison dear, it’s just to get you wet first. I’m going to have you on the stools for your lesson.’

There were two high stools by the side that she hadn’t taken any notice of. Could you have swimming lessons on stools? But then Alison was being bundled into the bath, into the warm water. Rev Smithers pushing her down on her back. She squealed as his hands slid over her, like slippery wet sea creatures. Another sharper squeal as one sea creature went between her legs and unpopped the pops. The sea creature had stiffly probing parts. ‘Ooohhh!’

Rev Smithers, bending over, sleeves rolled up, was grinning. ‘Just checking. You know.’

And then, bath water cascading off her, Alison was being hauled out. She grabbed for the opened crotch of her suit, desperate to pop it together again. What had Rev Smithers said? Up on…?

The two stools were close together, almost touching. Alison was being helped forward, and up. On her front across the two stools, head and arms and legs free. ‘Breast-stroke.’ Rev Smithers’ voice with that edge of hot excitement again. ‘Let’s see the breast-stroke first.’

Alison did it, a breast-stroking action. Arms and legs apart. It was the legs that counted. Her thighs. Rev Smithers’ hand. ‘OK, I’ve got you.’ A gasped girlish squeal. The hand was between her legs. Holding.

‘Keep swimming. Let me see your action.’

She squealed again. The poppers were once more open, the two parts of the suit split apart, the front part to dangle down against the stool. Another, more frantic squeal. Rev Smithers’ hand was still there. How could you possibly do a proper swimming action when his hand…

After what seemed like a very long time Alison was being helped down. Automatically she grabbed for the two opened parts of her suit again, but… the rear half, the bit that went between the cheeks of her bottom, seemed to have disappeared. What the…? She turned, twisting. And then in the mirror she saw. What that other popper up on the shoulder strap was for. The back of her suit was fastened up high, clear of her bottom and waist.

As Alison stood bemused Rev Smithers came close. To take hold of the loose front part of her suit. That was pulled high too, to be fastened with that front popper. She was not quite bare below. Alison’s mind was still taking all this in as Rev Smithers led her forward again. To the stool. Just the one stool now, the other had been pushed away. She was bent over it. Not in a swimming position but with her head down, and told to grip the lower rung.

Alison twisted her head. And saw that Rev Smithers now had a cane in his hand. Just like that dreadful Major Folkestone.

‘Hey! No!’ She began to get up but was stopped.

‘Don’t move, Alison. Keep down. I’m just going to… that swimming was not all that good. And also… er, you are in need of something anyway.’

‘No!’ she yelped again. ‘Not the cane!’

But Tristram Smithers had to. It was that Major Folkestone of course. He had been so turned on by those stripes the other man had put across the girls’ bottoms that he just had to do it himself. He had got the cane yesterday, a specialist shop up in London.

‘Keep still, Alison. It won’t hurt.’

That of course could not be true. It was bound to hurt, especially with Alison’s bottom still slippery wet from the bath. Tristram Smithers knew that and he also knew he had to hit pretty hard to produce one of those heady stripes.

CRACCKKKK!

‘Aaaiiieeee!’

Rev Smithers’ bathroom and indeed the whole house was split by an ear-piercing shriek. It was just as well his housekeeper was out. She had heard shrieks before, naturally, but not quite like this one.

‘Get back into position.’

Because with the force of the stroke squarely across her dimpled rear, and the searing pain, Alison had sort of fallen sideways. Rev Smithers pushed her back. She was still howling. The bright red double line was coming up very nice! That Folkestone character had given them six. Tristram Smithers had to do at least that, he just had to.

CRAACCKKKK!

‘Aaaiiieeehhh!’

This time the frantic Alison came right off the stool, to finish up on the floor. Rev Smithers, red-faced, hauled her back.

And on that rather abrupt note sadly we shall have to take our leave of young Alison.