Room 2D

Great story, from the elusive Blushes 78, either by R.T. Mason or someone copying his style. Looking out of her bedroom window Amanda could see at the end of the garden the two workmen. They were putting in a drain or something. Yes it was a new drain, she remembered her mother saying. It was a warm afternoon, September, the end of summer, and they both had their shirts off. One older, her father’s age perhaps, with a beer belly, but the other one was different: mid-twenties, trim and muscular. He was the one Amanda’s eyes were fixed on: the muscles in that back, those shoulders. A body like that could make a girl feel slightly breathless. When you were seventeen, and it was a hot, sultry afternoon and you were supposed to be working. Writing that essay. Amanda reluctantly turned away from the window. She had to concentrate her mind on the essay. Her full lips mouthed an expletive. She sat down at her desk, trying to think about the essay. But there were all the other thoughts cr

Short but sweet, from Blushes 7 Fifty times:  I must treat my teachers with respect . Chalk scratching on matt black paint on a blackboard fixed to the front wall of an empty classroom; empty, that is, but for the writer and the begowned figures of he who has inflicted this imposition upon the unfortunate at the blackboard. Treat-my-teachers . The girl’s fingers are dusted with chalk and there are specks of white down the front of her grey cardigan. Her blouse, longer than the cardigan, edges it with white, both garments rucked up to waist level.  With-respect . Plumped out navy knickers below the white-bordering blouse are streaked with chalk dust across the fullness of both cheeks, the scrabbling, groping traces of fingers palely evidenced on the dark blue knap. ‘Come —’ Firm-cheeked bottom bobbing snugly inside the knickers, slow and hesitant steps and a scuff of polished black shoes against dark-stained floorboards. ‘H

From Blushes 17 featuring lovely Trudi Baxter. Also published as Can’t Take It in Uniform Girls 53. ‘The  cane ,’ queried Melissa, eyes wide. ‘Of course,’ said this girl Diane. ‘ C A N E  on your  B U M . That’s the first thing to learn about this place. At  any excuse , or of course  no excuse at all , it’s the cane on your bum. That’s the favourite form of enjoyment for Mr Hearne and those others. I mean caning a girl’s bottom’s got to beat watching Coronation Street, hasn’t it?’ Melissa’s big brown eyes registered disbelief. ‘It’s true,’ agreed the other girl, Lucinda. ‘And don’t think you can write home to your parents and they’ll go into a state of shock. Mr Hearne  tells  them. But usually of course your parents don’t tell  you  — so that when he first tells you to take your knickers down it  does  come as a nasty shock.’ Melissa blinked. All this was not easy to believe. They were in Melissa’ room which she had five m