'A girl from the new estate over by Burnham, Mr Wiggins. Kind of girl
who'd get herself into trouble if she were allowed to run amok in her
own environment.' The man from the charitable institution justified
the board's request that the said girl, Lola Patricia Oldwood, might
be allowed to take up residence with Mr Wiggins, playing it by the
book even though he knew perfectly well what the form actually was.
'Hmm - I see. Well now, if the board think I might be able to
assist-' Howard Wiggins, donator of substantial sums of money to the
charity which his visitor represented, was not aware that word had
filtered so far down the pecking order with regard to what role he
really played in the 'rehabilitation' of these young girls. He,
therefore, was playing it by the book too.
'No room, you see Mr Wiggins - no room at the inn. It would be a
matter of sending her off to an approved school or some such place if
the organisation found that it couldn't help out.'
'Dear, dear - can't have impressionable young things being sent
off to places like that, my dear chap. No, no - I feel obliged to
help.'
'Thank you, Mr Wiggins. We'd hoped you would be able to-'
'Not at all, not at all. Urn - I believe you said she was the kind
of girl who might get herself into trouble?'
'Well yes, Mr Wiggins. Sad, really - pretty girl like that,
running wild.'
'Running wild, you say?'
'Oh yes - bound to get into some scrape or other, that sort.'
'Indeed yes. And especially the attractive ones, you know. Ah -
you did say "pretty", I believe?'
'Oh yes - very pretty, and bright too. But no moral values, Mr
Wiggins - well, that's if I don't judge her too hastily.'
'I see - hmm - well now, when did you say you'd like me to have
her-?'
The man from the organisation had thanked him several more times
then left. Howard had gone upstairs and pottered around happily,
making sure that the room he always put these girls in was ready for
use, sorting out sheets and pillow cases and cute little nighties,
humming quietly to himself as he did so.
So she'd been "running around", had she? "Liable to
get herself into trouble." He could just imagine it - head boy
at her school luring her into the bike sheds, hand inside her blouse,
up her skirt, a finger slipped under snug knicker elastic - a girl
could be led on by lads like that. Better by far if she were taken in
hand, before something happened that she might regret. True, she was
old enough, just about - but that could be a very arbitrary line to
draw, the "age of consent".
Plenty of girls were just not sufficiently emotionally mature to
understand their own feelings, far less those of others who might
want to take advantage of them. No - better by far if she were shown
the error of her ways. He would make sure that she was.'
Lola - or "Lolly", as Mr Wiggins preferred to call her -
had settled in quickly - within a fortnight the domestic pattern of
her life had been firmly established, and she was learning that Mr
Wiggins was someone to whom she could confide those intimate little
things - indeed had to confide them - that a girl might ordinarily
not want to tell a soul. Mind you, when it suited him, even Mr
Wiggins could cock a deaf ear.
'Hmm? What was that, my pet?'
'I'm - I'm - oogh-'
'Oh, are you! Well now, you know you're not supposed to do that,
my dear, don't you! That really will be very, very naughty of you -
very naughty indeed!'
'B-but I can't help it, Mr Wig - ooogh!'
'Tut-tut! You're not to do it, Lolly - do you understand?'
'Y-yes, but - nnnmgh!''I shall have to punish you if you defy me,
you know. I shall have to spank your little bottom -'
'Oooo - please! Please - I can't h-help - ooooooh!'
Poor Lolly. She really couldn't help it, and that was the truth.
It had always been like that, not being able to help it when boys had
been too adventurous, not being able to say no. It was as if her body
had grown up before the rest of her was ready, and all the trouble
she had got herself into had stemmed one way or another from that
same imbalance of maturity.
Not that she'd ever been silly enough actually to let anyone do it
- not actually do it to her - not quite, anyway, but she'd been on
the brink more than once. More than twice, as a matter of fact. No,
she really couldn't help it, and it wasn't fair of Mr Wiggins to say
that she would have to be spanked for it when it was him who was
making her - making her - 'Ooogh-Mr -Mr Wig-oooh!'
'Hmm? What was that, Lolly?' Lolly's slight weight across Mr
Wiggins legs grew less as her hips lifted up with the tautening of
her legs, and then she took her feet off the floor and her head came
up and her warm young body rocked to and fro across his lap. She
whimpered incomprehensible little protests - none of them meant, no
doubt, because that was just Lolly's way of doing it - whispering
little pleas but worming backwards with her hips to keep the feeling
coming and coming.
'I'm c-coming-!'
'Naughty girl.' said Howard mildly, the encouragement of his
intrusive fingertip doing nothing to aid the girl in her extremity.
'I really do believe I shall have to spank you after all.'
Lolly's knickers were already halfway down her thighs - her
spanking began even as she was still making a sweet little exhibition
of herself across Howard's lap, and only gradually did her breathless
gasps and cries change from those of a girl who was doing something
rather rude to the cries of a girl who wished after all that she
hadn't done it!
The awakening of
innocence Part 2
The gardener had been sent to fetch Lolly from the swimming pool -
she was to come straight to the conservatory, where Mr Wiggins and
his guest were concluding the transfer of a property which Mr Wiggins
no longer had a use for. Mr Sinclair, the man from the organisation,
had been responsible for Lolly's presentation to his old friend as a
gesture of appreciation for a recent donation.
He had known, of course, precisely what the girl would be in for
as 'Wiggy's' house guest; as much as anything he had come down today
to take a look at Lolly in her new surroundings, and hoped for some
interesting divertissement whilst he was there.
Lolly appeared on the path leading past the fish-pond, the sun
bright or her hair and the dappling shadows of trees on her body; and
where the shadows dappled, save for a pale blue triangle of extremely
limited dimensions, she was quite naked.
She came warily into the conservatory, risking only the tiniest
smile of greeting to Mr Sinclair, to whom she hadn't yet been
properly introduced. Her body was wet from the pool, and the
point-down triangle of shiny blue was pulled damply snug around the
plump little pout of her pubes, soft labial cleft shadowed in the
thin, clinging satin.
'This is Lolly,' said Mr Wiggins, and his visitor stood up briefly
to shake her hand - a formality which seemed somewhat out of place in
the circumstances.
'How do you do, sir?' said Lolly, her voice small and respectful,
and Mr Sinclair said he did very well, thank you, except he said it
without once taking his eyes from her small, round tits with their
chilled nipples standing out pert and hard, which made Lolly blush
rather prettily.
Sitting down, and in the absence of any further comment from his
host, Mr Sinclair found himself asking the obvious question, and he
asked it not of the girl but of Mr Wiggins. 'Does she always swim
without the - er top of her costume?'
'Yes.' said Mr Wiggins, as though it would be odd if she didn't.
'And I think Lolly knows why, don't you, my pet?'
'Un - yes sir.' said Lolly, blushing even more.
'I dare say she'd tell you, if you asked.' said Mr Wiggins in tone
of mock confidentiality, and Mr Sinclair did indeed ask. Lolly's
tongue peeped out for a moment as though she were concentrating.
'Er - well sir - it - it's because girls of my age, sir-'
'Especially the pretty ones, commented Mr .Wiggins helpfully.
'Er - yes, sir - especially if they're pretty - um -'
'You're rather pretty, actually,' said Mr Sinclair, sounding quite
sincere about the compliment.
'Um - th-thank you, sir-' mumbled Lolly, embarrassed about where
his eyes had got to whilst he'd said it: 'Er - well, they - they -'
She seemed to have trouble finding a way to phrase it. Mr Wiggins
helped her out.
'They get rather grown-up ideas, Mr Sinclair. That's what Lolly's
trying to say. They think that men take a certain kind of interest in
them, you see - isn't that so, Lolly?'
'Yes, sir.' said Lolly, her blushes warmer still.
'Yes - a "sexual" interest, Mr Sinclair' The visitor
raised his eyebrows, perhaps to express his complete lack of surprise
at such a revelation, but Mr Wiggins continued; 'Some of them become
quite obsessive about such notions, you know.'
'Really?' said the guest his eyes on the bareness of Lolly's hips
where the slender, bow-tied cord of her little pants ran across the
gently tanned skin.
'Oh indeed, yes!' said Mr Wiggins. 'I shouldn't be at all
surprised if Lolly herself is thinking some such thing at this very
moment, Mr Sinclair.'
Lolly's eyes grew wider and her tongue peeped out again as she
licked nervously at her lip. A drip ran down the upper slope of one
of her breasts and fell from the very tip of the stiff little nipple.
'Quite likely she is indulging that predisposition to
self-awareness which young girls are so often prone to - let us call
it "vanity", Mr Sinclair - and is imagining that you and I
are eyeing that little place of hers, which she has so coyly tucked
away in that top-pocket handkerchief, with lewd thoughts in our
minds.' He glanced up at Lolly. 'Isn't that so, my dear?'
The girl, who knew - or thought she knew - that that was exactly
what the pair of them were doing, shook her head just the littlest
bit, not wanting to disagree with Mr Wiggins yet not wanting to admit
to doubting their integrity either.
Embarrassed, she kept her eyes lowered so as not to have to look
directly at either of them, and couldn't help noticing that there was
that same prominence along the crease line of Mr Wiggins' trousers
where they pulled across the top of his leg that sometimes appeared
there when she was about to be divested of her knickers, or pajama
bottoms - or swimming costume, perhaps.
She crossed her fingers and whispered under her breath the fervent
hope that Mr Sinclair would be staying until well after bedtime -
although Mr Wiggins was getting on in years, the spirit, when it did
move him, could be vigorous indeed, and she wasn't always put
bottom-uppermost across the end of her just to have her bum smacked.
Having to pretend, too, that it was a game called 'Bunny Rabbits and
Burrows' that they were playing was almost the most embarrassing
thing of all!
'- which is why, you see, I have her walking around the place like
that. It's so that she's made to realise that her rude imaginings
that every man who sees her is interested only in what's inside her
knickers - are a product simply of her own over-active femininity. Do
you follow me, Mr Sinclair?'
'Er - well yes, I think I do.' The man's expression belied his
answer - plainly he did not follow Mr Wiggins' tortuous logic. He
sensed, however, that this was really only a game, and one that he
might just as well play along with. 'So what you're saying, in a
nutshell, is that if a girl - Lolly, for example - is made to
recognise that it is actually all in her own mind which, you say, can
be achieved by, er - having her be in the company of those whom she
suspects of harboring, er, "sexual" thoughts while she
herself is un-clothed-'
'Precisely, Mr Sinclair.' nodded Mr
Wiggins.
'Er - well then -' Mr Sinclair faltered, having lost the
exceedingly tenuous thread of this pompous claptrap. His eyes
wandered, as though for inspiration, to Lolly's damp young body, and
in particular to the succulent plumpness pouting against the wet "top
pocket handkerchief" tied so insecurely around the girl's hips.
'Um -' Little bows on either side, and no more than a tug at the cord
needed to have her - 'Er -' Inspiration did indeed come to his
rescue.
'Well then, why is she wearing that rather provocative little
costume, Mr Wiggins?'
Mr Wiggins looked enquiringly at Lolly's anxious face.
'Yes, Lolly dear - why are you wearing that, er, undoubtedly
seductive pair of - pants, I suppose you'd have to call them? Hmm?'
Lolly shuffled her bare feet uneasily and stumbled around for an
answer.
'Well - you - you said you were expecting a visitor, Mr ..
Wiggins, sir, an' - and, well, I know I'm not allowed to wear
anything - er - up here -' Her hands gestured nervously in the
direction of her breasts, '- but, well, I thought it might be a bit
rude of me, sir, if I went around absolutely - um - er - while your
visitor was here.
Um – sir.'
'Do you see, Mr Sinclair? "Might be rather rude of me"?
D'you see how this little sexpot's mind dwells on these things?
Mr Wiggins turned his amused glance upon Lolly again. Now then,
Lolly my dear. I shall have to whip your naughty little bottom,
shan't I?"
Lolly shook her head dumbly, pleading with her wide eyes not to be
'whipped' - perhaps to be spanked, but not "whipped", and
Mr Wiggins smiled an avuncular smile and said:
'Yes, "whipped", Lolly - I shall deal with you before
bedtime.
Meanwhile -' He leaned forward and plucked at the loose end of the
bow at one of her hips. The knot fell undone, and the wet satin
slipped from her pubes, still tucked between her close-pressed thighs
but now lop-sided and concealing nothing.
Reluctantly obedient to Mr Wiggins obvious intention, Lolly's
fingers went to the bow at the other hip and pulled, and the damp
triangle, now upside-down, clung between her legs for a moment then
slid to the floor with a sodden 'plop'.
Lolly's little secret, which she had coyly tucked away inside that
silly costume in honour of Mr Sinclair's visit, was unveiled, with
the bloom of dampness upon it arid as smooth and pink as though it
had never been any other way.
Mr Sinclair coughed, as if embarrassed by his own fascination. Mr
Wiggins smiled almost proudly, and in the shrubbery outside there was
an interested rustle. Blushing a warm pink, Lolly somehow prevented
her hands from slipping across her tummy to hide the humiliating
nakedness of her pubes.
She closed her eyes so that she wouldn't have to meet their
mocking looks and made herself put her hands together behind her
back, the soft smoothness of her wet buttocks against the backs of
her fingers reminding her with a jolt of the "whipping" -
how she hated that over-sibilant "wh-" with which he
pronounced the word - that she had been promised for that evening.
The awakening of
innocence Part 3
The long summer evening was slipping steadily towards twilight,
and the high wall alongside the garden path which led to the
summer-house cast a cool shadow over the lawn beside the flag-stoned
walk. At the end of the pathway, raised on a small mound with half a
dozen steps leading up to its glazed door, the small octagonal
building stood aloof from the rest of the garden, one of its windows
still catching the warm ruby glow of the western sky where the sun
was dipping behind a low bank of purple cloud. Bird called in the
quietness, and distantly a dog barked, twice, and then no more.
The gardener's heavy shoes made little noise on the path, and then
none at all in the soft earth alongside the wall. They'd had her down
there long enough to have got well started, and wouldn't notice his
stealthy approach. There had been a series of plaintive little cries
earlier on - he'd have been punishing her no doubt - but the cries
had stopped, and there had been no sound from the summer-house for a
good five minutes.
Careful of his footing the gardener crept closer, until he could
see everything there was to see.
Inside the glass-sided gazebo
the air still held a reminder of the heat of the day, though it was
rapidly cooling now. In a few minutes there would be enough chill in
the air to prompt a little shiver, or to stiffen a girl's exposed
nipples.
Lolly had already been dressed for bed when Mr Wiggins had
chivvied her along the path from the house - fortunately for that
gentleman's local reputation there had been no possibility of a
neighbour overlooking Lolly's progress down the path, a pace and a
half ahead of her benefactor with the eager Mr Sinclair in close
attendance. In the summer-house now, the girl was still dressed for
bed - which left rather a lot of her not dressed at all!
On days when she had been 'naughty' Lolly wasn't allowed to
forget, even at bedtime, what a 'naughty' girl's bottom was really
for in Mr Wiggins' scheme of things. Pajama's were forbidden her -
instead she wore a nightie, which to the uninformed might not have
seemed much like a nightie at all.
Lolly's 'naughty girl' nighties were silken fripperies which, had
there been more of them, would probably have been very expensive but
their cost had been minimised by the simple expedient of, cutting
down on the quantity of material used.
The nightie which Lolly was wearing was red silk, with minutely
crafted white lace edging. There were little puff sleeves, stitched
into elastic at the tops of the arms, and a demure neck-line ran high
across her chest, lace edged front and back. Around her body a
silk-shrouded strip of elastic passed close up under each breast, and
to this elastic the main 'body' of the garment was sewn, keeping the
nightie close-fitting where it mattered. Below the line of that
elastic there was - nothing. Lolly's nightie, in fact, stopped just
below the level of the under-side of her tits.
There were no pants - it was not after all, supposed to be one of
those 'baby doll' outfits. It was for sleeping in, and not intended
to be suggestive.
The garment's designer had been aware, of course, of the
provocative appearance that impudent young nipples under
tightly-fitted silk would present, and he had solved the problem
discreetly by simply removing the material from places where it was
likely to give undue emphasis to the girl's body contours.
Lolly's tits' freedom from the restricting silk was, accordingly,
strictly in the interests of diminishing the otherwise rather
seductive look the nightie would have lent them; the designer was to
be applauded too for his good taste in allowing the girl's breasts
themselves to escape the confines of the garment instead of merely
leaving peep-holes for the nipples alone, which might have looked
merely vulgar.
The two men were presently engaged in some discussion pertaining
to the property transfer which Mr Sinclair had come down to finalise.
They were seated on wicker chairs, and each had a copy of the papers.
Whereas Mr Wiggins appeared not to be much interested in the
summer-house's one other occupant - he at least gave that impression
- Mr Sinclair could not have claimed the same degree of detachment.
Constantly his attention was distracted by little sounds which
slipped past Lolly's parted lips every few moments - quiet gasps,
panting's and breathings with an urgent quality which made them
impossible for him to ignore. Manfully he struggled to keep abreast
of the conversation, yet all the time he lagged further behind.
Lying on a window sill close by Mr Wiggins' chair was a slim
bundle of twigs, each long and straight, the whole bound together by
a length of garden twine at one end while at the other the twigs
fanned out a little, their ends partially stripped of their thin bark
in a haphazard, uneven way.
There were four or five twigs in the' switch, each chosen with
care by the gardener an hour before with an eye to their
straightness, their slenderness, and their potential for stinging the
buttocks to which they were to be applied. Brought down across the
palm of his work-hardened hand, the completed switch had imparted
enough of a smart to make him chary of doing the same thing again -
how much more of a sting would they lend to Lolly's tender little
bum!
On the floor of the summer-house, scattered widely across the
Italian marble tiles, were scores of bark flakes which had been
flicked off the twigs by the switch's application to the girl's naked
bum-cheeks. Several such flakes were presently sprinkled on the
calves of Lolly's legs, where she knelt on a wicker stool; indeed a
number of them still stuck to her punished buttocks and one had
lodged in-discreetly between the very cheeks themselves.
Evidence of the gardener's artistry in the making of switches for
naughty girls' bottoms was emblazoned around the chubby under-curves
of Lolly's saucy little bum.
Scores of short, thin, tapering marks, thickening towards the
right-hand flank of each cheek where the twigs' tips had stung
harder, streaked across the reddened skin in uni-directional swathes
whose tails were crimson and whose tips were tiny blisters of
reddish-mauve.
Where the sharp darts left by the whipping angled in toward the
conjunction of thighs, bottom-cleft and under-buttock creases, there,
perhaps, was evidence of Mr Wiggins' wish to ensure that Lolly's
bottom was most 'stimulated', most 'titillated', in those places
closest to that moist little runnel between her legs to which, if his
theories were to be believed, all the faults in Lolly's character
might be traced back.
The stool creaked as Lolly shifted her weight to ease the
discomfort in her knees, her thighs slipping apart as she re-adjusted
her balance on the narrow seat. Both Mr Sinclair and Lolly's
benefactor looked up at the sound; Lolly wished instantly that she
had simply kept still and suffered the hurt in her knees, because
with the same easy nonchalance which he affected whenever he was
actually quite determined about something, Mr Wiggins reached out to
the window sill and took up the switch, it's long twigs shivering as
for a moment he held it balanced in his hand before re-adjusting his
grip ready to use it.
'I'm not sure you're really trying, Lolly dear.' he said mildly.
'Oo - ooh - I am, sir - honestly -!' Her bottom tweaked nervously
as the twigs were slapped gently along a line of aim. 'Please sir - I
am!'
'Hands on your head please, Lolly.'
'Ooh-sir-!'
'On your head, my pet! Lolly's hands folded themselves reluctantly
across each other on her head and her whipped little bottom trembled
as she shifted her knees again. 'Come along now-' Lolly's back curved
inwards as she pushed her bottom gingerly out behind, the creases
under her buttocks melting into soft smoothness as the skin there
tautened.
Casually Mr Wiggins let the switch curve briskly around Lolly's
expectant bum - really no more than a swift flick from the wrist, yet
it made the girl yelp and wobble dangerously on her perch. Timorously
one hand, then the other, sneaked back towards her bottom, fingers
feeling for the fresh little marks amongst all the others.
'Hands out of the way, Lolly.' said Mr Wiggins coaxingly. Lolly's
timid hands went back to their assigned place on her head, and then
the switch caught her flinching bum again, the tips of the twigs
cunningly aimed so that one of them, longer than the others, flexed
neatly along the line of one buttock's underside crease and dipped
around the inner curve at the very top of the inside of her thigh.
Lolly's frantic little squeal confirmed the accurate placing of Mr
Wiggins' stroke! The girl dived her hands down between her legs and a
finger groped gingerly for the place where the very tip of the switch
had caught her, her bottom-cheeks flinching at the same time as they
were played with by the twigs again. She panted in fright, thinking
that he was about to give her another stroke, but he slapped her
bottom a few more times with the switch's tip then put it back on the
window sill.
'Now then - perhaps you'll try harder, my pet.' Said Mr Wiggins.
'It doesn't usually take you this long, does it?'
Lolly's buttocks softened as she realised that she wasn't going to
get another flick - at least not yet. Dutifully she tried again, the
one hand she didn't have to use for it wandering round to her bottom
and touching hesitantly at the sorest places as she shook her head in
answer to Mr Wiggins' embarrassing question. Mr Sinclair caught her
eye and she blushed more than ever, because now he had been let into
another little secret.
Up in her bedroom, with the bedside lamp glowing softly and Mr
Wiggins being patient with her, coaxing her and only smacking her
bottom if she was silly enough to let him think she was actually
enjoying it - well, it really wasn't so awful, even though she was
still a bit shy about letting him see her do it.
But here in the summer-house, with Mr Sinclair there too, and that
horrible twiggy thing - Lolly squeezed her eyes shut and tried to
make it happen, because the sooner she did the sooner she'd be
allowed to scamper away to her room, out of range of the switch.
Five minutes elapsed, and then ten had slipped by, and slowly the
men's conversation lapsed. Lolly's whispered admission, which Mr
Wiggins made her repeat, that she thought she was going to do it,
sir, in just a moment or two, had faded into breathlessness, her lips
apart, her face flushed, her eyes half-lidded - her hips beginning a
gentle, rhythmic, forward and back rocking which made her stool creak
in time with her movements. Mr Wiggins caught Mr Sinclair's eye and
put his finger to his lips, enjoining silence, and in that silence
Lolly trembled and panted to a muted, embarrassed little climax.
Lolly opened her eyes slowly, her cheeks pinkening as full
awareness returned and she found herself the focus of her two
witnesses’ attention. Mr Wiggins' hand reached unhurriedly for the
switch, and Lolly licked her lips nervously, mute pleading in her
eyes, but such demonstrations of a girl's wilfulness in ignoring the
morality that her benefactor had been pretending to teach her since
she had been with him could not, of course, go unpunished.
Reluctantly Lolly presented her whipped little bum as before, her
hands back on her head again, and she was given six hard, painful
strokes. She wept copiously for several minutes on end, allowed now
that the shipping was over to rub at her bottom and taking rueful
advantage of the indulgence. And then, with a condescending smile
from Mr Wiggins, she was dismissed.
The two men watched in silence as she went out of the summer-house
and up the path, her hot young bottom bobbing behind her.
THE END
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