Room 2D

Another AI enhanced repost of a favourite story. Here is Mr Slippy & Mr Whippy from Blushes 15 with a girl who is becoming an AI favourite having already featured in upgrades to Spectators’ Gallery and The Hiker’s Friend / Guiding Light . ‘It’s so good of you to come and pick her up, Mr Marley. I so hate to send her on the train alone because one  does  hear such awful things nowadays, and really I hadn’t time to drive her over myself. My plane’s at three and really…’ Sylvia Harmsworth’s explanations tailed off as she ushered her visitor in. She was in her thirties, 38 to be exact, though she wouldn’t thank you for reminding her of this. Still attractive, if a trifle full-blown, but with that slightly desperate look in the big brown eyes at times, which said: Every day I am a day older and I don’t know  what  to do about it. The daughter’s equally big brown eyes would not, of course, be saying that for ...

From Blushes 12. Continuing the stories of Kingsmead school, following  Two Stripes Rule . Most of the girls — 110 out of 150 — were boarders at Kingsmead, daughters of essentially middle-class and some of what I’d term the landed-gentry class: the county-set, as they might be called, who thought they were a cut above the other girls in status. I was privileged — I choose the word carefully — to be able to attend to the disciplinary needs of one of these rich young ladies when she stepped over the boundaries of common-sense. Privileged, because she was probably the most physically attractive young lady at the school: short, fashionable blonde hair framed a face of elfin pertness, high cheekbones, a fresh complexion with a light dusting of freckles, and a mouth boasting a set of perfect teeth and lips to tempt a priest. This was Melissa Hammond, a seventeen-year-old whose high spirits were tempered only by her capacity for ...

A story with a French connection to mark Bastille Day. From Blushes 11 In the middle of the school gymnasium stands a vaulting horse. A girl — blonde, well-built, in her late teens — is bent over it by touching her toes, gym knickers lowered to mid-thigh, her bottom bare. To the girl’s left stands a senior mistress holding a 3ft 4in punishment cane. Behind the girl, standing near the gym wall with a view of both cane and target are two other people: a form mistress, and myself, Pierre Deauville, a teacher from France on exchange for the summer term. Fiction? No, for I was really there, one hot summer’s day at an exclusive girls school in Berkshire, England on 29 th  June 1984. An invited guest to witness, and, dare I say it, to enjoy  le vice Anglais  corporal punishment administered to young female bottoms. Two days before term started, I arrived at Kingsmead School from Paris to meet the headmistress and settle...