Cover
Other Nexus Classics
Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
Copyright
This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
This book is a work of fiction.
In real life, make sure you practise safe sex.
First published in 1999 by Nexus
Thames Wharf Studios
Rainville Road
London W6 9HA
Copyright © Penny Birch 1999
This Nexus Classic edition 2002
The right of Penny Birch to be identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
www.nexus-books.co.uk
ISBN 0 352 33674 9
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
The application of his hand to my bottom had been firm, almost a smack, as if to chivvy me along, a bad girl who needed to be guided by having her bottom patted. I had been bad – he’d said so – and it seemed more than likely that he’d want to punish me with the spanking I so desperately wanted. Maybe he would even make me pee in front of him and then spank me as well, which would be lovely. In any case I was lost, willing to do just about anything for the chance of getting my bottom smacked.
Other Nexus Classics:
PENNY IN HARNESS
A TASTE OF AMBER
THE IMAGE
AGONY AUNT
THE INSTITUTE
DARK DESIRES
OBSESSION
HIS MISTRESS’S VOICE
BOUND TO SERVE
BOUND TO SUBMIT
SISTERHOOD OF THE INSTITUTE
SISTERS OF SEVERCY
THE PLEASURE PRINCIPLE
SERVING TIME
THE TRAINING GROUNDS
DIFFERENT STROKES
LINGERING LESSONS
EDEN UNVEILED
UNDERWORLD
PLEASURE ISLAND
LETTERS TO CHLOE
PARADISE BAY
EROTICON 1
EROTICON 2
EROTICON 3
EROTICON 4
Had anybody ever had the courage to tell me that I needed more discipline, I would simply have laughed. Then I would have told them that I have a successful career teaching and writing about wine, that my flat is my own property and that I am more than capable of looking after myself. I would then have pointed out that few twenty-four-year-old women can say as much and walked away with my nose in the air. If it had been a man I might even have taken the opportunity to use a few carefully selected and amusing put-downs that would have made him feel like a bully and a wimp at the same time.
Just recently my real feelings would have been different to say the least. Instead of being filled with righteous indignation I would have been deeply embarrassed, and not by what they had said, but by my own reaction to it. While they would probably have been thinking of discipline in the sense of organisation and efficiency, my thoughts would have been of something rather different as I walked away with my cheeks red with blushes. In my imagination their suggestion would have been that I needed to be taken across their lap with my arm twisted into the small of my back, my neat woollen skirt lifted up to my waist and my silk panties pulled down into a tangle around my thighs. Then I would have thought of how it would have felt to be spanked by them. Yes, spanked, with my bottom bare to humiliate me and make my pain worse; spanked while I kicked and blubbered and begged; spanked like the snotty, spoilt, impudent little brat that I am.
I am rather spoilt, being realistic about it. As the only child of comfortably wealthy parents I never really had to struggle. My school reports used to say things like ‘Natasha is a bright child but could try a great deal harder’. Then I’d come top in class and Dad would laugh and call me ‘smarty pants’, a reaction which always made me thoroughly pleased with myself. As I became more senior and more sure of myself, words like ‘disrespectful’, ‘indolent’ and even ‘conceited’ began to creep into the reports, but I still came top and Dad still laughed, so everything was all right. After a year off swanning around Europe on a decent allowance I went up to Bristol University to read English, then came home to tell my parents that I wanted to be a wine writer.
Dad was delighted. He bought me a flat in Primrose Hill and a nice car, and spoke to enough old friends to ensure that I got a foot in the door of my chosen career. After that it was a breeze. I’ve always had a thing about wine, and had spent most of my European tour visiting vineyards and flirting with the owners to get free samples.
I pitched my writing style to be fashionable and light-hearted yet backed by enough knowledge to give me authority. This worked, and after just over a year I added another string to my bow by taking on an evening job teaching wine appreciation in an adult-education establishment. This came through Charlotte Petersham, who had the attic flat in my house and taught all sorts of energetic, physical things at the same college.
It was this new aspect of my life which led to my fascination with being spanked. Not that anybody at the college wanted to spank me or anything, they were all thoroughly respectful and politically correct, but it was while buying samples for a class that I overheard a bit of conversation that pushed everything else out of my head. I was walking up Haverstock Hill and a couple were coming the other way. They were typical young professionals, smartly dressed, self-confident and relaxed. She was a little taller than me, say five foot seven, and had her dark hair cut short. I don’t remember him at all. As they approached I caught the words ‘You’re joking!’ and noticed a surprised, perhaps even worried look on her face. Being inquisitive I perked up my ears and heard him reply, and I remember the exact words: ‘I’m telling you, he spanked her. He sat on her back and told her she needed discipline. He took her jeans and knickers down and he spanked her bottom …’
That was it, nothing more, but it was enough. I had heard the delight in his voice as he described the incident. I had sensed the relish with which he said the word ‘bottom’, making it seem somehow incredibly rude. The thought absolutely overwhelmed me that some female friend of theirs, presumably as smart and modern as they themselves, had been sat on, had her bottom stripped and been smacked on it. From the way he had expressed himself it had even sounded as if he had seen it happen!
I had also seen the look on the girl’s face. She had been torn between disbelief and worry. Disbelief that such a dreadfully undignified thing could be done nowadays. Worry that the same thing might happen to her.
Worst of all, though, had been the way he had said ‘discipline’, as if smacking a woman’s bare bottom was a perfectly reasonable thing to do if she was naughty, made a mistake or got above herself. He had said ‘needed’ as well, as if to imply that it had actually been necessary to spank her; as if he was doing it for her own good; as if spanking her had been an irksome but unavoidable task.
I was trembling as I continued up the hill. The whole episode terrified me, and it was as if I could feel everything the poor victim had. First surprise as she was pushed down and sat on. Then there would have been fury as strong male hands fumbled at the button of her jeans. Then frustration as she fought to stop her jeans and panties coming down but was unable to do anything about it. Next there would be humiliation as her bottom was exposed, bare and pink in front of at least two men, maybe more and maybe other women. Then pain and worse humiliation as he set to work spanking her, stinging her flesh, making her bottom bounce and wobble, perhaps even making her cheeks open so that her anus and pussy showed. Finally he’d have left her lying sobbing on the carpet, feeling thoroughly sorry for herself with her bare, red bottom naked for everybody to see how she had been punished.
It had to have been a punishment – you don’t do that to someone just for fun. Maybe it had been his girlfriend and she had cheated on him or something. I didn’t know, but I did know that my pussy was hot and wet and that if I didn’t get home quickly there was going to be a highly embarrassing wet patch at the crotch of my tight white cotton trousers.
I hastily bought my bottles and started back, trying desperately to come to terms with my own feelings. I had been genuinely shocked by the thought of the girl getting a spanking, but it had turned me on more than anything else, ever. There had also been something else in the expression of the girl who had been listening to the story. Possibly it was just my overactive imagination, but I was sure that there had been something hopeful, almost hungry, about it. She had been worried that it might happen to her, but she had also wanted it to, and I was the same.
My fingers were trembling and there was a lump in my throat all the way home. On the one hand I could barely believe that I could enjoy the thought of being punished, let alone so badly humiliated. I mean me, Natasha Linnet, who always went on top and never, ever, let a man call the shots for her! On the other hand there was no denying my wet crotch and stiff nipples, nor the other feelings of a sexual arousal stronger than on some of the occasions when I’ve been to bed with a man.
It was no good; I was going to have to do it. Even though I hated myself for it, I was going to have to masturbate over the idea of the girl being spanked and I knew full well that when I came it would be myself who I was imagining with my panties down and bum red and sore. Well, not really hated myself, because I never do hate myself. I was certainly ashamed of myself though, but that just made it even more exciting.
So it was back to my flat, on to my bed, out with my mini-vibrator and down with my trousers. I got into a kneeling position because I wanted the feeling of having my bottom raised, and that was when my shame really hit me. I have a big mirror on the wall to one side of my bed, and as I looked back I found that I had a full view of myself from the rear.
There I was, kneeling with my bottom stuck up in the air and my tiny white silk panties stretched taut across my seat. My trousers were well down, exposing my thighs, while my blouse had ridden up enough to leave the undersides of my lacy bra-cups on show between my legs. I held the vibrator in one hand, leaving no doubt as to the dirty little game I was intent on. It was my bottom that really drew my attention. I am proud of my figure, but at that moment my bum looked really plump. Most of my cheeks were spilling out because the white trousers tended to make my panties pull up between them as I walked. My crotch was wet too, and with my thighs a little apart I could see the outline of my pussy lips through the damp silk, like a little peach, rounded and divided down the middle. My face was a picture too, with my brown curls in disarray, my mouth half-open and my round glasses adding a strange touch of innocence to the whole scene.
It really did look as if I was offering myself for spanking, crawling on the bed with my panty-clad bum pushed up in the hope that some bastard of a man would beat me on it. It felt so shameful to be doing it, but it was too delicious to stop. I pulled my bra up and watched my breasts fall out, then began to swing them so that my nipples brushed on the surface of my coverlet. They felt extra-sensitive, and just the sensation of rubbing them made me desperate for my orgasm. Looking in the mirror once more, I reached back and took hold of my panties by the elastic. With my eyes fixed on my bum I began to pull them down, imagining that it was a man exposing me for a spanking. I could really feel the humiliation of it as my bottom slowly came on show. I looked rude anyway, but my panties covered the naughtiest, and prettiest, details. Then the full, raised upper parts of my cheeks were showing, two humps of flesh parted in the middle. Then my full, pink moon and the tight, puckered spot of my bumhole with its little corona of pale-brown skin and a rose-pink centre. Finally the tuck of my nates and the pouted, furry bulge of my pussy, the lips swollen and parted and all the little, secret folds of pink flesh blatantly on display. I was so aroused that my vagina was a little open, as if she had just been full of cock, which I could imagine happening before my spanking. Best of all was the tiny, shiny bud of my clitoris, half-hidden by her hood of flesh – the target for my vibrator.
I settled my panties around my thighs so that I could feel the silk straining against my legs, then took my vibrator and applied it to my clit. I do like a nice cock, but I’ve yet to find one that can vibrate, although several men have let me bring myself off by rubbing their erections against my clit. What I wanted a man for now was to punish me. As the exquisite thrill of the vibrator ran through me I started to think of what it would be like. A modern man would really have to lose his temper to spank a girl, especially one like me. I would have to flirt and tease, refuse his advances, only to start flirting again and once more refuse him. Finally he would snap and haul me across his lap. I would kick and struggle desperately, but it would be no good. He would twist my arm hard into the small of my back to keep me in place and simply ignore my attempts to bite or scratch him. Down would come my trousers or up would come my skirt, exposing my fancy panties to him and any onlookers there might be. Not that I would even be allowed to retain that tiny scrap of modesty. He’d pull them down, agonisingly slowly, then off completely, and cock a leg between my thighs to hold me in place and incidentally expose my pussy and anus. I’d be able to feel the hard lump of his cock pushing against my tummy, and would know it was destined for my pussy when he’d finished chastising me. Then he’d start to spank me, his big, hard hand smacking down on my poor little bottom to make my cheeks bounce and redden. Soon I’d be crying, blubbering over his lap in a welter of pain and humiliation, a humiliation made worse by the sure knowledge that as he spanked me my pussy would be getting wetter and wetter, more and more ready for his cock.
I came, screaming out my pleasure with my eyes locked on my naked bottom and wishing it was red and throbbing with the pain of my imagined spanking. I saw my vagina tighten as my muscles spasmed, pulsing as if to squeeze on the cock that might have been inside me. My anus clenched to, bringing me the utterly filthy thought of having a cock up my bottom as I hit a second peak. The combined thought of being spanked and then sodomised took me to a third, and then I was slumping down on to my bed, happy but exhausted, only for a flush of pure shame to hit me even as I took the vibrator off my clitoris.
Prior to that episode I had never really thought about spanking at all. It was one of those things that simply didn’t happen to me, like being in debt or having to pay rent. Nor do I have any idea why it had such a powerful effect on me, because my parents never smacked me at all and my schools had all dropped corporal punishment years before I was a pupil. So much for Freudian psychology, because all it took was that one single hint and the desire became indelibly fixed in my mind.
I did feel thoroughly ashamed of myself after that first wonderful orgasm, but it had been possibly the best of my life and I know myself well enough to have no illusions about needing to do it again. Just about every time I felt the need of an orgasm I would pose my bottom for myself and use the vibrator to bring myself to a climax as exquisite as it would be shameful. For all that, fantasy is one thing, reality another, and the thought of actually surrendering myself to a spanking was completely horrifying. Yet with my eyes open to the possibility it was impossible not to think about it, and I started to wonder if any of the men I knew would like to do it to me. I quickly realised that the answer was probably yes, which in itself filled me with outrage.
Two possibilities seemed to exist, one of them actually quite titillating and one that absolutely scandalised me. The titillating one was the tutor on the advanced French course that I was taking, it being a tutor’s privilege to attend one other course for free. He was called Antoine Barras and was a dark, swarthy, rather serious man from the Catalan part of southern France. He was intensely masculine and I think every woman in the class fancied him, at least a little. I certainly did, and used to flirt and tease but without any real intention of taking things further. The thing was that I generally prefer men who’ll do as I like in bed – especially letting me go on top without making a fuss, and licking my pussy without automatically expecting their cocks sucked in return. I couldn’t see Antoine being anything like as pliable, as he was more than a little chauvinistic and rather old-fashioned. There was also something stern about him, which made me wonder if maybe, just maybe, he was the sort to lose his temper and spank my bottom for me if my behaviour became really unbearable.
Secondly there were my fellow wine-writers, and this was where the fantasy reached its true peak and also its most degrading depths. Several of them, mostly the older men, clearly fancied me and would often perform little courtesies, indulge in minor intimacies or make half-joking sexual suggestions. I tolerated this and even used to flirt a little, but that was all, and I kept them firmly at arm’s length. Among them were some pretty lecherous old goats, and I found it easy to imagine them thoroughly enjoying the idea of having me wriggling over their laps with my panties down and my bum bare for punishment. They were dirty old men, not like tramps or anything really disgusting, but at least in the sense that any older man who likes the idea of sex with a younger woman is a dirty old man, and I was sure that they were far more likely to enjoy the thought of spanking girls than were younger men.
It didn’t quite accord with my original fantasy of being spanked purely in order to chasten me, but it was as good and was what I mainly fantasised over when I masturbated. My feelings of shame were even stronger after coming over the thought of being put across some dirty old man’s knee, and I was sure I’d never submit to it in reality.
Possibly the worst of them was a big ginger-haired man with a bristly moustache called John Thurston. He always called me ‘my dear’ in the most condescending way, and twice he had patted my bottom when holding doors for me. More and more he would creep into my spanking fantasies, and the more he did the more ashamed of myself I would feel after I’d come. Despite the fact that my best orgasms always came over the dirtiest fantasies, I was determined that if I tried it for real the person who spanked me would be someone that I was not ashamed to be seen with, preferably Antoine.
I didn’t find the courage to do anything about Antoine, and I really couldn’t face the idea of trying to goad any of my colleagues. So for a month things stayed much the same, but halfway through May my spanking fantasies were given a new impetus. I was walking across Regent’s Park on my way home when I found myself headed for a group of rough-looking, leather-clad types. People like that fascinate me in a way, but they always make me feel nervous. They were on the bridge over the lake, which I always walked across. I am stubborn enough to feel silly if I change my route just because of some louts and so walked determinedly on.
They were mainly men and were laughing and drinking beer out of cans as I approached. They seemed to find the spectacle of people minding their own business in the park intensely funny, which annoyed me and made me feel even more nervous. I pressed on though, despite being sure that they would make some remark at my expense. Sure enough, the biggest of the men made a comment on the tightness of my vagina that sent the blood straight to my cheeks. Another agreed, stating that anyone dressed as I was had to be a virgin. I had just come from a tasting and was wearing a trim two-piece in fine, dull-red wool, a frilly blouse and sensible heels. I suppose I did look a bit prissy, especially with my glasses and my curls pinned back, but I still felt that their remark was really unfair and also uncalled for. Of course my resulting blushes made it worse and they started to catcall and jeer as I walked down the far side of the bridge.
At that point I saw a pair of policemen walking across the park in the distance and knew that I had a perfect opportunity to give the louts a piece of my mind and get away with it. Normally I wouldn’t dare cheek anyone so tough looking, never mind a whole bunch of them, but I was pretty cross and the police in the middle distance gave me the perfect chance to air my sarcasm. I turned back, several suitable comments already ripe in my head, only to see something that stopped me dead.
One of the girls was leaning on the railings with her back half turned to me. She was small and pretty, despite having several facial piercings and some really striking black and green make-up. She also had green and red hair and a red-leather dress that left most of her legs showing. I’d been thinking of making a remark about parrots, but as my eyes came to rest on her bare legs the words died in my throat. Her position and our relative elevations left me looking pretty well straight up her dress, and I could see that she had no panties on. That was shocking enough, but worse by far were the three broad red stripes that decorated her upper thighs and the tuck of her bottom. Somebody had taken a belt to her.
She was small but seriously tough looking, and I simply couldn’t imagine her accepting that sort of treatment unless she wanted it. Nor did she seem unhappy. Just the opposite – she was laughing and joking with the best of them. I decided against my tirade and hurried away to the sound of their laughter, although they didn’t realise why I was so flustered. The girl had been given what I so badly wanted, and presumably by the great hulking brute of a lad who she had been kissing when I first saw them. The idea of what it must have felt like to be belted by him had me in an absolute lather, and I knew that there was only one thing for it: back to the flat for another session with the vibrator.
I did it kneeling again, only this time nude. I imagined that they had stripped me, whipped me with their belts and made me kneel for sex with all of them. For the first time I imagined the girls joining in, punishing me with all the malicious delight that girls can take in being horrid to one another. The orgasm was exquisite, a mind-blowing experience that left me weak and shivering with reaction.
The fantasy became even stronger after that – a desperate need to be physically punished. My ideas of what I actually needed became clearer as well. A willing spanking across a boyfriend’s lap would have been no good at all. Fun perhaps, but not nearly shameful enough to really hit the spot. It was essential that the person who did it was unaware that I was enjoying it and thought that he was either genuinely punishing me or that he had tricked me into accepting something that gave him sexual pleasure but which I thought was a punishment.
If that all seems a little complicated and demanding, then that’s just the way I am. What’s more I tend to get my way and so seldom feel the need to tone down my desires. That was the other thing that I began to realise. I do nearly always get my own way. What I wanted was for someone to put me across their knee and give me a really good spanking, instead of allowing me to push them around.
That was something I could really see the big lad who had been with his friends in the park doing. He wouldn’t be impressed by my missish behaviour, nor spend his time crawling after me because I’m pretty. On the contrary, he seemed the type to put me firmly in my place, and if he could take his belt to his girlfriend’s bottom, then why not mine?
Of course, the last thing I wanted was to be under the thumb of someone like that all of the time, and if he didn’t give me my much-needed spanking then I could see myself getting fed up with him pretty fast. On the other hand he might just do it, and I needed that spanking so, so badly.
The idea of getting to know him and his girlfriend also appealed to another part of my nature. I know that it is quite common for girls from wealthy families to like rough men, and there had always been a streak of that in me. For all that they make me nervous, there’s a certain glamour to people like that. Twice before I’d had brief flings with similar men, but in neither case had it worked, and the reality of rough sex had proved to be a big letdown on the fantasy. Admittedly this had mainly been because I had still wanted to call the shots in bed, and perhaps things might have been better if they hadn’t let me.
I decided to try in any case, and was pretty confident that however much they despised me in twin-set and frills they would be interested if I presented an image they thought was sexy. Doing it would also mean leading a double life of sorts, which seemed a fun idea. I was also sure I could find them again, because I remembered seeing them before and was fairly certain that they were from the estates between the park and Hampstead Road.
So it was in a thoroughly happy mood that I visited Camden Market the following weekend. From what I had seen of them, leather was definitely the thing, along with lots of cheap jewellery, bizarre make-up, weird hair and plenty of leg and cleavage on show. There was no shortage of what I needed in the market, but I was keen for my look not to seem contrived or merely a fashion statement and so spent plenty of time choosing.
For a start their clothes were not entirely typical of current fashion and, for all I knew, might be associated with some particular type of pop music. Then there was the fact that the small girl had had no panties on under her skirt, which argued a sexual bravado that made me tingle just to think about. In my line of work I find I need to look both smart and conventional – a mini-skirt with no panties would have been totally out of the question.
The first thing I found was a really sweet leather skirt. It was bright purple, flared, and while it fitted me nicely around the waist it looked likely to leave a truly indecent amount of leg showing. I was so pleased with it I began to feel really bold and I decided that, whatever I did, my outfit would include only four items. My next purchase was a pair of wonderful boots. These were in black leather, had four-inch heels and came right up my knees, attaching with a series of large shiny buckles. That was two items and I was beginning to feel deliciously naughty, even to the extent that I considered getting a piercing. There were plenty of booths for this, which offered to pierce not just noses, tummy buttons and other slightly cheeky things, but nipples, tongues and even labia. I wasn’t at all sure if I could handle the idea of having a ring through my pussy lips, but it sat quite well with my spanking fantasy because it would have been so humiliating when it was discovered. A really stern person might even give me extra for it, or make me take it out in front of them; the thought had me blushing and hastily turning away from the stall.
I decided that I didn’t have the courage for a piercing, at least not that day. Feeling slightly cowardly, I continued my search for clothes. A black leather jacket with a nipped-in waist attracted me, and after a bit of thought over whether it was too fancy I bought it anyway. That left me with one item to buy, either top or bottom. Knowing that I was going to be either leaving my bottom bare under my skirt or my breasts bare under my jacket increased my feeling of naughtiness. I was thinking of buying a really fancy bra and going without panties when I found a stall that instantly changed my mind. They were selling knickers, quite big, rather like the ones I’d worn at school, only made of rubber. I was entranced, especially as with a skirt so short it was likely that someone might see – see that I was in a pair of rubber knickers.
There was a bright-red pair with a small frill around the leg holes which I simply couldn’t resist. I was blushing furiously as I bought them from the couple behind the stall, and the woman gave me a knowing look that sent my pulse fluttering. I had a knot in my stomach as I walked away, aimlessly at first because I was in such a state, then in search of a jewellery booth. There was an excellent one in a cluster of stalls by the road, run by a tall girl with long white hair. She was more than keen to help me choose and wanted to know about my birth sign and all sorts of other, apparently irrelevant details first. There were rings, bangles, chains, studs and all sorts of strange body jewellery, most of which I could imagine the girls I had seen wearing. I came away with a big bag full of the stuff and an uncertain feeling as to whether she regarded me as a great customer or a sucker.
I went back to the flat absolutely dying to try everything on and intent on taking a trial run to see what reaction I got from people. Unfortunately I had no sooner put the bags down and turned the kettle on than the bell rang. It was Charlotte, my upstairs neighbour and fellow adult – education teacher.
Charlotte and I had got on well from the first day I moved in. Her background was similar to mine, and within ten minutes of meeting we had been swapping school stories and giggling together as if we had known each other for years. She also looked up to me and valued my advice, which I liked. I freely admit to being vain, and I’ve always liked friends who see me as something special. Charlotte was like that, always wanting my opinion and never one hundred per cent sure of herself. She was taller than me, had a lithe, muscular body, short cropped blonde hair and big innocent eyes, all in all making her someone I was more than happy to be seen with.
About a month before, she had started going to a non-denominational church in a rather seedy part of town. Religion has never interested me at all, having had it firmly drummed out of me by two chapel attendances a day for my ten years at school. Charlotte seemed to find it comforting, which was fair enough, yet she was becoming almost obsessive about it and I was starting to feel concerned for her. The priest was apparently an angel in human form, and I was sure it was him rather than any deep belief that drew her. I had repeatedly declined her invitations to join her, hoping that my disapproval would change her mind, but, rather to my irritation, she only continued to grow more enthusiastic.
That was what she was after on this occasion, and it was the last thing I wanted to do. I couldn’t bear to be cross with her though, which would have been rather like smacking a kitten for wanting to come up on my lap and tearing my tights. In the end I promised to come the following week, not to a service, but to meet the priest who she assured me was so wonderful.
I waited until she had actually left the house before starting to change, unsure if I wanted her to know about my intended new image. Certainly I was much too shy about my desire to be spanked to confide in her, or anyone else for that matter. I love to appear confident and in control; in fact I am confident and in control – it’s just that wanting to be spanked for being a little brat doesn’t suit the way I like people to see me.
Dressing in front of the mirror was fun. I like the sight of my own body; I always have, otherwise I wouldn’t have put the mirror there in the first place. I’m not like some women either, always desperate to be taller, or slimmer, or have bigger breasts, or smaller breasts. I like being me, and if I occasionally wonder how it might feel to be really tall or perhaps have a slightly less cheeky bottom, then it’s not often. A mirror is also nice to masturbate in front of; I can watch the way my vulva swells and moistens and opens as I become more and more excited.
I was certainly getting that way as I began to dress in my new outfit. The rubber panties alone had me pushing my bottom out and looking over my shoulder to see how I looked from behind; I very nearly reached for the vibrator. The panties came right up to my waist and covered most of my bottom in a snug fit, leaving just two arcs of soft girly flesh peeping out from beneath the frills at either side. My pussy looked sweet too, with a little crease of rubber caught up between my lips.
It looked even better once my skirt was on, the high hem providing teasing glimpses of rubber panties if I bent forward even a little bit. The contrast between the red rubber and the deep-purple leather was shocking too, making me look a fine little tramp, which was exactly how I wanted it. The leather jacket added a slightly rough but definitely feminine look, especially with the waist belt pulled tight and the zip adjusted to leave a good slice of my cleavage showing. The shoes really added the final touch, the heels making the muscles of my calves, thighs and buttocks tense. Plenty of make-up in tones of black, red and yellow, the removal of my glasses and spraying my hair into tighter ringlets were the final touches, leaving me looking such a little slut in the mirror that I wanted to spank myself, never mind have anybody else do it.
The next step was having the courage to go out. I was sure I would get propositioned, but that happens to me all the time anyway and I’m quite capable of handling myself. On the other hand when men proposition me it tends to be ‘Would you care for dinner tonight, my dear?’ and not ‘How much for a blow-job, luv?’ In the end I decided to put my coat on over it all and drive round to the south of the park on the off chance that my quarry might be there.
I made it out of the house without being seen, drove around the outer circle once and then parked in a side street. I was more than a little nervous as I got out of the car, but quickly found that nobody paid any more attention to me than they normally do. Perhaps one or two of the stares I got from men were a bit more lecherous than usual, but not really all that much. Feeling bolder and more than a little mischievous, I walked over to the park. It was a glorious day and there were plenty of sunbathers on the grass, many wearing less than I was, if not in such dramatic style. It felt deliciously naughty just being so different, and it was quite hard to resist the urge to bend over and show everyone that I had rubber panties on. Even if it got me nowhere with my spanking fantasy it was a great experience. I had just decided to make a full tour of the park and maybe even find someone to flirt with when I found out that my luck was really in.
The big guy who I had seen on the bridge was there, just lying on the grass minding his own business with a collection of beer cans at his elbow. Well, sometimes things are hard and sometimes they’re easy. He was drunk and I was turned on; the idea of rejection never even entered my head as I strolled over in his direction. He noticed me and called me over, full of boldness and arrogance. I went, and five minutes later was sitting by his side drinking a fairly disgusting beer which nevertheless gave me a pleasant buzz of alcohol.
He was a big lad, well over six foot and broad shouldered, and would have appealed to me even if I hadn’t been angling for a spanking. He also couldn’t keep his eyes off my legs and breasts, and as I’d walked up to him while he was propped up on one arm I knew that he would already have had a good look at my rubber panties. So it wasn’t so much a question of whether we would have sex as of when and where.
Inevitably he was completely different from the way he had been with all his mates; men generally are. Nor did he recognise me from our brief encounter on the bridge. I think he’d have been amazed to learn that the eager little tart beside him was the same person as the trim professional woman he had seen just days before. As it was, within half an hour of meeting we were kissing and he was soon on top of me. It was all a bit public, but I let him put a hand up my skirt and have a good feel of my panties. The next thing I knew he had pulled the zip of my jacket down and my tits were out. It felt lovely with them bare in the middle of Regent’s Park, but it was really taking exhibitionism too far; I squeaked and hastily put them back.
He wasn’t particularly inclined to take no for an answer, and I really think he would have fucked me right there on the grass, even if he had had to pull my pants off to do it. I was in no mood to resist but insisted on at least some privacy. He just laughed, stood up and pulled me up after him. I followed, a dishevelled mess with my jacket half-undone and my red rubber panties on show to anyone lying on the grass. It was also quite obvious why he was pulling me towards a clump of rhododendrons, and I caught more than one knowing smile as we crossed the hundred yards or so to the shelter in which we were going to fuck.
Once there it was quick and rough. He pushed me down over a convenient branch and pulled my skirt up. Then he slowly rolled my pants down to my thighs, the sticky rubber peeling away from my skin, exposing first my lower back and then my bum cheeks and finally my pussy. I could smell my own excitement as I lifted my bottom, ready to have my pussy entered, or, just possibly, to be given the spanking I so desperately wanted.
I was there, bent over with my bare bum showing to a big, rough lad with hands like hams. I wouldn’t normally dream of showing myself off to a man in such a rude position, but it was exactly what I wanted. I looked back to find him pulling at the buckle of his belt, a wide one made of thick, embossed leather. For one blissful moment I really thought he was going to take it to my bottom, but he simply undid it and slipped his jeans and pants down in one smooth movement. His cock was already stiff, if not exactly erect, and the next moment he was offering it to my mouth. I sucked willingly, acutely aware of the rudeness of my position and that it was unlikely that we were completely hidden. He fumbled my jacket open as his cock came to full erection in my mouth and took one dangling breast roughly in hand as they came free. I was just beginning to get the taste for cock sucking when he pulled it out, went behind me and put it to my vagina. I was soaking wet and it went in easily, sliding up to give me that blissful full feeling as he took me by the hips. He rode me hard, grunting and shoving me against the branch while I panted and gasped at the sensation. I opened my legs, intending to reach back and masturbate while he was in me, but he was too fast for me, pulling out and spraying my bare bottom with come.
That was it. He was finished and had no intention of obliging me with a licked pussy. I had to come though – I couldn’t help it and was quickly rubbing at my clitty. He called me a slut and once more I had the wonderful feeling that he was about to punish me. He didn’t, but I still came, clenching my teeth to stop myself crying out as I thought about how I’d been taken roughly from behind in the bushes.
I was blushing as I cleaned my bottom up with a tissue, but I don’t think he noticed. He said nothing anyway, except to suggest another beer.
That incident really set the seal on things. It was all just too much fun, too much of an adventure, to back out of. Also, the two moments when I really thought I was going to be spanked had been so good, so heady with expectation and apprehension, that I knew that I just had to have it. The guy in the park, who turned out to be called Steve Monk, had actually quite scared me when I thought he was going to take his belt to my bottom, but that had just made it even better. My only regret was that he hadn’t done it.
Being realistic, the idea of spanking me before sex had probably never even entered his head. On the other hand I knew that he had smacked his girlfriend’s thighs at least once, and unless it was something she had specifically asked for he must have had a reason. So he had to be a possibility.
So did she, because she was more than a little suspicious when he introduced me as a new friend. I could see the light of jealousy in her eyes immediately. I didn’t mind the idea of the spanking coming from a woman, in fact in many ways it would be even more humiliating to be put across a woman’s knee than a man’s. I did want to be fucked afterwards though and so preferred the idea of it being done by a man.
I saw them twice over the next week and applied most of my charm to the girl, Lydia, so that she wouldn’t cut me out. On each occasion I made an effort to dress to their expectations, if not with quite the flamboyance of my first time. Despite this I couldn’t help but feel that they didn’t accept me one hundred per cent. There was always a subtle feeling that I was someone who was just amusing to have around, even to make fun of, and that I wasn’t really one of them. I suppose I wasn’t really, being something of an impostor, but then I wasn’t the only one. Despite her best efforts to cover it up, Lydia’s accent betrayed a somewhat different social background from the one she made so much effort to lay claim to. There was also something familiar about her, something in her face or perhaps her figure, but nothing that I could actually put a finger on.
I had hoped that among Steve Monk’s group the idea of punishing girls to keep them in their place might have been standard, but either it wasn’t or they weren’t telling me. Realising that my bottom wasn’t going to get her treatment quickly, I decided to play it easy with them and turned my attention to Antoine Barras.