by Tom Simple
Thinking about the episode again, she remembered that there had been another element present, a perplexing undertone which she could not understand at the time and which she had driven from her mind. Now it came back to her again: in some way, perhaps subconsciously, she had the impression that she had actually enjoyed the experience. How could this be? Surely people couldn’t get pleasure from pain, could they? But that, on reflection, was exactly what she had felt, although she hadn’t recognised it at the time: a completely unexpected feeling of sexual arousal, both as she herself was being spanked and from witnessing Jenny undergoing her punishment beside her. It was confusing, shameful even. No wonder she had driven it from her mind at the time. But now that she confronted it afresh, she couldn’t deny it.
She looked at the brush in her hand. She placed it on the bed. She piled her two pillows one on top of the other in the centre of the mattress. She unzipped her skirt, took it off, and folded it across the back of a chair. She slipped her panties down to her ankles and kicked them gently onto the chair’s seat. She pulled up her shirt, feeling the fresh air on her backside, just as she had in the headmaster’s study. She could already sense the tingle of arousal which had been so lacking a few minutes before.
She lay down with her hips on the pillows, her bottom raised. Clasping her hairbrush tightly, she reached around behind her and rubbed it gently across her cheeks, awakening a frisson of desire in her lower belly. She lifted the brush and whacked it down. It stung a little, nowhere near as much as Stinger had, but well enough for her purposes. She experimented with different holds and ways of delivering the smacks. Soon her bottom was turning pink and her breathing was becoming heavier and faster. She increased the rhythm and intensity of the blows and after a few minutes her bottom was throbbing in harmony with her heartbeat. She knew her orgasm was close, so she dropped the brush, pushed two fingers inside her, and groaned as a wave of fulfilment crashed over her.
Afterwards, she lay on her bed in a warm afterglow, trying to come to terms with the new facet that she had uncovered in her character. Gradually, she felt less ashamed about it: it was her private fantasy, after all; no-one else was getting hurt. She wondered whether others felt as she did; she supposed probably not. She wished she could discuss it with her closest friends, but she was afraid that they might be shocked.
When her mother came home, she asked Anna what she’d been doing.
“Oh, nothing much.”
Chapter 6
Sally + Linda = Mischief
The telephone rang. Linda picked it up.
“Yes?”
“What do you mean ‘Yes’?” said the voice at the other end.
“What did you want me to say, Sally? ‘No’?”
“I wanted you to say ‘Hi, this is Linda. I have some great ideas to amuse people who are bored to tears. If you are suffering from this condition, please sign up to my service.’”
Linda smiled. “So, you’re bored?”
“Terminally, and the holidays have only just begun. Shall we meet?”
“Good idea. Where and when? How about in the café at Paxman’s tomorrow morning, about 10.00?”
“Fine, I look forward to it. Come up with some ideas.”
Sally and Linda were, to the regular dismay of the staff, best friends at Bexhill. They had what their own friends would have called an ‘irrepressible sense of humour’, which translated to the school authorities as ‘they can’t keep out of trouble’. The sad fact was that the two girls’ seemed to attract tribulations like honey attracts bees and their pranks at school regularly landed them in the headmaster’s or deputy head’s office, usually with painful results – not that such minor inconveniences seemed to deter them for long from dreaming up another escapade. And in truth, the exasperated teachers secretly found the two girls antics quite funny and they were glad to have them in the school. That didn’t, however, mean that they extended a moratorium to Sally and Linda when a good thrashing was merited.
Sally lived in town, but Linda’s home was some ten miles outside, in the countryside. Fortunately, her village was served by a good bus route and so it was quite easy for them to meet. Thus, the following morning they greeted each other happily in the department store’s small café. They each bought coffee and a Danish pastry and took them to a corner table where they could talk without being overheard.
“So what have you been up to?” Linda asked.
“Oh, the usual stuff: a couple of rather dull parties. What’s wrong with all the boys? They’re so uninspiring – the only thing they’re interested in is sport.”
“And sex.”
“Well, they’re not getting any of that from me until they fix their spots and stop talking about football. How are you doing?”
“I’ve been out a few times with a new guy. He’s OK, actually.”
“Oh? Why haven’t you mentioned him before? What’s he like? Does he try to grope you in the cinema?”
Linda flicked a piece of pastry at her friend. “My relationship with Peter has nothing to do with you, nosey! If you weren’t such a wallflower, I’d introduce you.”
“You’d better not. If I fancy him, I’ll let him know that I don’t wear any knickers.”
“Don’t you? You’re lying – I bet you do!”
“I’ll just float the idea and let him find out for himself.”
“Well in that case, you’re not going to meet him. You can make do with your own friends, zits and all.”
The chatted happily until their coffees were finished.
“What shall we do now? Shall we look around? I want one of those new ‘fit-and-flare’ frocks,” said Sally.
They browsed contentedly for an hour. Suddenly, Sally said “Look! That’s the one, just perfect.” It was a floral A-line shirtdress, with a white belt. She swept it off the rail.
“Where’s the changing room?”
“Over there.”
“OK, you wait outside and then tell me your opinion.”
Sally disappeared into the cubicle and Linda could hear her slipping off her jeans and pulling on the dress. She opened the door and flounced out.
“Well, what do you think?” She twirled so that the full skirt rose and revealed her rather shapely legs.
“Faster,” said Linda. “I want to check whether you’re really wearing any panties.”
Sally stopped. “Does it suit me?”
“You look terrific in it. You’re definitely not going to meet Peter if you wear that.”
“Good. I can just about afford it.” She paused. She could see two other women approaching, carrying clothes which they obviously intended to try on. Sally winked at Linda, always a sign that some mischief was afoot, and disappeared back into the cubicle. Linda could hear her changing out of the dress and pulling on her jeans. Then there was silence. The two other women were waiting impatiently. A shop assistant came past and the one of the ladies asked whether there was a second changing room.
“No, there’s just the one,” then – raising her voice a little – she asked whether everything was all right in the cubicle.
“Almost done,” came Sally’s voice over the partition, followed by a loud ‘raspberry’. Linda flinched with embarrassment.
Another minute passed, during which the waiting ladies eyed Linda as though the wait was her fault. Inside the cubicle, Sally licked her forefinger again, pressed her lips against it and blew another raspberry.
Then, in a penetrating and crystal tone, Sally’s plaintive voice:
“Hey, there’s no paper in here!”
Linda choked, took one look at the aghast faces of the two ladies, and fled, convulsed with laughter. At that moment Sally opened the door, looked the ladies in the eyes, and said “No paper. Better bring you own” as she marched towards the check-out.
Linda was waiting for her at the top of the escalator.
“You’re awful! Those poor ladies – they’ll probably have coronaries!”
“It made you laugh,
anyway. Now it’s your turn.”
Linda eyed Sally. They’d been here too often before: one egging on the other. It usually ended in disaster.
“All right, let me think. Anyway, Mum wanted me to get some stuff from the supermarket, so let’s go there.”
They made their way to Tesco and Linda tossed a few items into a shopping cart. She became frustrated by a supercilious customer who insisted on blocking the aisle with her trolley as she slowly scanned each shelf, taking products down and checking their labels in great detail.
“Excuse me,” said Linda, “may we get past?”
The lady gave her a frosty glance. “You should learn patience. It’s a virtue, you know.” She returned to the label, making no attempt to move the well-laden cart. Linda looked at Sally, who shrugged and silently mouthed “Silly bitch”. The lady added the can she had been examining to her trolley and, making no attempt to allow the girls to pass, moved slowly on down the aisle. Linda looked at her closely. She had the arrogant, pompous look of a ‘pillar of the establishment’. She wore a heavy tweed two-piece suit and a hat with a feather. Her shoes were of the ‘sensible’ variety.
“Front pew,” Linda whispered to Sally. “Husband reads the lesson and invites the vicar back to the Hall for sherry afterwards. They last had sex on VE Day in 1945, and even then, she wasn’t very willing.” Sally smiled – Linda had captured the essence of the woman. They shuffled along in the wretched woman’s wake.
A moment later, Linda’s eyes lit up. “Aha!” she said, conspiratorially.
“What do you mean – ‘Aha’? Has her girdle snapped?”
“Patience,” Linda replied. “It’s a virtue.”
As they approached the end of the row of shelves, ‘Lady Muck’ was carefully comparing different brands of toothpaste. Linda quickly grabbed something off the opposite shelf and, to Sally’s astonishment, deftly inserted it in amongst the other items in the woman’s trolley. Sally raised a quizzical eyebrow when Linda caught her eye. Linda winked.
As they turned the corner at the end of the row, Linda managed to overtake and propelled their trolley quickly to the end of a counter, close to the check-out station.
“Wait,” she said to the perplexed Sally. “Waiting is also a virtue, probably.”
When she saw ‘Lady Muck’ approaching the cashier along the neighbouring line of shelves, she judged the moment carefully, then shoved her trolley quickly towards the till. The carts clashed.
“Look where you’re going, you stupid girl!”
“Oh, so sorry!” said Linda, “Please, madam, you go first.”
“Thank you,” said the tweedy figure frostily. “I should hope so, too. It’s rare to find good manners in the young these days.”
She started pulling items out of the cart and placing them on the counter. She eyed the two girls.
“You’re at the grammar school, are you?”
“No, ma’am, we’re at Bexhill Girls’ School, if you know it.”
“Of course I know it.” She was paying no attention to what she was unloading, simply placing things randomly on the counter for the sales girl to ring up on the till. “Might have known you were from a private school, you wouldn’t find those state school oiks showing any civility.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Linda was overdoing the unctuousness, but wanted to hold the silly woman’s attention. “Were you at Bexhill, by any chance?”
“Good Lord, no. I was at a proper school, but I shouldn’t think you’d ever have heard of it.”
She’d finished unloading her basket and the cashier was ringing up the items one by one. Linda held her breath.
“Excuse me, madam,” said the cashier, “did you realise there’s a ‘two-for-the-price-of-one’ offer on these today?”
“On what?” demanded the tweed two-piece.
“On these.” She held up a box of condoms. “You can get twelve for the same price as six.”
“What’s that you’re holding?”
“Durex – there’s a special on them this week.”
By now, both Linda and Sally were having the gravest difficulty keeping a straight face.
“Where did they come from?” There was now a tinge of angst to the imperious voice.
“Dunno, Birmingham maybe.”
“I meant, how did they get into my shopping? I most certainly didn’t put them there.”
“Look, madam, if you’re embarrassed, I can go and get the other pack myself.” Linda could have hugged the salesgirl.
“I don’t want any blasted contraceptives. Just throw them away, will you.”
“You sure, dear? They were in your basket.”
“Of course I’m sure, and don’t you dare call me ‘dear’”.
“Very well then, madam, but I’ll have to call the supervisor to credit you. I’ve already rung them up.”
“To hell with your supervisor, I’ll just pay for them. Now please get on with it.”
“Well, I can’t charge you if you’re not going to take them. It would confuse our stock-taking.”
“All right, all right. I’ll take them then. Just put them in with the other things, but please get on with it, girl.”
“So you’re sure you don’t want the other pack, even though it’s free?”
Linda and Sally wondered whether the girl was deliberately winding up ‘Lady Muck’, or whether she was just thick.
“Listen to what I say, girl!” roared Tweedy. “I don’t want those wretched things at all and I certainly don’t want two packets of them! Now will you just give me my bill?”
“I getting very confused, madam,” said poor Tracy, ringing a buzzer beside her seat. “First you said you didn’t want the condoms, then you said you’d take them, now you say you don’t want them after all. I’ll have to get the supervisor to sort this all out.”
“Cordelia!” a plumy voice boomed. A second tweed-clad figure marched out from between two rows of shelves. Linda instantly labelled her ‘Tweedle Dee’.
“Cordelia, dear! Didn’t expect to see you here – I thought Johnson did the shopping for you.”
“Oh, hello, Margaret. It’s Johnson’s day off, so I thought I’d pick up a few things myself. Didn’t expect to have to deal with a stupid girl like this.” She indicated Tracy, who looked up expectantly at Grace, the supervisor, now standing beside her.
“Yes, madam, how can I help you?” asked Grace, with as much sweetness as she could muster. Grace’s ethnic background was West Indian, so she treated Cordelia to a wide and gleaming smile.
“Just tell this wretched creature here to get on with my bill. I don’t have all day to waste.”
“So what appear to be de problem, Tracy?” Grace raised her eyebrows.
“Well, Mrs. Grace, this lady doesn’t seem to be able to decide whether she wants these condoms or not, and I’ve already rung them up. I think I may have confused her when I told her there’s a special offer on them.”
“Good heavens, Cordelia, I hope you’re not buying those for Veronica. She’s much too young!” Tweedle Dee butted in.
“I’m not buying them for Veronica,” boomed Cordelia. “Now can we just get on with it?”
“Oh, I see, I see,” said Tweedle Dee, looking sideways at Cordelia. “Well, if they’re offering a second pack, I’ll take it for Buffy – might get him interested again. Maybe Miles could give him a few tips.”
At that moment, an extraordinary figure joined the group. Linda hadn’t noticed that Sally was missing, but now what were unmistakeably Sally’s jean-clad legs arrived from between two aisles, surmounted by a bizarre costume. It consisted of a white, plastic dustbin-liner, the top of which had been knotted into what, if imagination was stretched to the limit, could conceivably have been interpreted as a representation of a condom. Two eye-holes had been hastily prodded into the plastic a few inches below the knot. The apparition held a clipboard, which, from her angle, Linda could see contained no paper and so presumably had just been seized in haste off one
of the shelves. The other hand held a pencil. The pencil had not been sharpened.
With an appalling simulation of a Birmingham accent, the vision spoke.
“’Scoose me, ma’am. We’re condoocting a survey amungst our laidy coostomers to ensure we provoide complete satisfaction. We’d mooch appreciate your ‘elp. Now, first question, could you tell me ‘ow often you and yer ‘oosband ‘ave sex?”
Cordelia turned puce. Linda quickly disappeared down an aisle, doubled over with laughter. Grace’s eyes grew to saucer-like proportions. Tracy’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly. Only Tweedle Dee found her voice.
“If she’s like Buffy, once a year. After the Hunt Ball.”
After that, things happened quickly.
Cordelia shouted “Blast the lot of you!” and tried to barge through the gate at the till. It wouldn’t budge.
“Open the damn thing!” she yelled. By now other customers were becoming attracted by the commotion. One of them, by chance, happened to be a casual correspondent for the local newspaper. He had voted Labour all his life and didn’t much like ‘toffs’, as he called them. He reached into his pocket for the notebook he always carried with him.
Tracy regarded the struggling, tweedy figure in front of her. She resisted the temptation to press the ‘OPEN’ button which would release the gate. She hadn’t really considered such matters before, but she was – quite independently of the journalist – reaching the conclusion that she didn’t much like toffs either.
“Don’t you want your things?” she asked. “Not even the Durex?”
“I don’t want anything from your bloody shop and I’m never coming here again. Now let me out!”
The crowd was greatly enjoying the spectacle.
“Say ‘please’”, said Tracy.
Cordelia was now apoplectic. “Just open this wretched gate, damn you!”
