Room 2D

From Uniform Girls 31 ‘Things are different in the private sector, Nurse. In addition to the salary of course. We like to think we can show much more concern for the wishes of the patient. Not like the National Health. With us the wishes of the patient are all important.’ That had been Mrs Keenlan yesterday. Mrs Keenlan was Matron. And now Mr Page was saying very much the same thing. Stressing it. Angela says, ‘Yes, Mr Page. Yes I understand.’ She is in his study. In his house, a quite grand affair standing in its own substantial grounds out in the country. Presumably this house is a sign that running a private nursing agency is not a bad thing financially. Mr Page is the Director. Of the Paramount Nursing Agency. Angela has just arrived, ten minutes ago, in her little Mini. ‘Every new girl has an interview with Mr Page,’ Mrs Keenlan has said. ‘He likes to see you at his place. Tomorrow at 5 o’clock.’ So here she is. ...

From Uniform Girls 5 Another new-comer to Higgins’ cane; an innocent who thinks that girls never get their knickers taken down by Headmasters, or Wardens, and that a spanking over three pairs of pants is nothing to worry about. Just how wrong can a girl be. It had been a good idea to take the quiet route, thought Hermione Flynn as the expensive car sped through the Berkshire countryside. Apart from the purr of the BMW’s engine, the only sound was the evening chirruping of the starlings and thrushes. Occasionally Mrs Flynn would throw out some comment about the flora and fauna gliding past, but there was no reply from the back seat. Nor could there be. Geraldine had lost her voice. She had shouted herself hoarse at the hockey international — it had been so exciting, especially when England had rallied at the end and just taken the lead in the final seconds. Geraldine had waved her union jack for all she was worth, yelling in a va...

Story from Uniform Girls 3 (and 39) Bathed and perfumed, Vanessa studied herself carefully in her bedroom mirror, turning this way and that self-critically, but unable to suppress a smile at what her reflection showed. It was four years since she had last worn her Sixth-Form outfit, and her further development since then was shown by the way her bottom more proudly filled out the short, dark-blue pleated skirt which she had managed with just a little difficulty to clip around her waist. Her old striped tie had been a bit scruffy and she had had to wash and iron it the day before. It looked all right now, lying in the valley between her firm tits whose peaks thrust through the cotton of her blouse. And that, too, was tight, but she had expected it to be. A few twisty movements and a couple of buttons at least would soon burst. Like they had been made to four summers ago, but that was a blush-making thought, causing her bottom t...