Cover
Also by Penny Birch
Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Acknowledgments
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 unauthorized 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.
Epub ISBN 9780753530276
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Nexus, an imprint of Ebury Publishing,
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London SW1V 2SA
Nexus is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com
Copyright © Penny Birch 2001
This book is a work of fiction.
In real life, make sure you practise safe sex.
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.
First published in 2001 by Nexus
www.eburypublishing.co.uk
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Why not visit Penny’s very own website at www.pennybirch.com?
ISBN 9780352336477
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Also by Penny Birch
PENNY IN HARNESS
A TASTE OF AMBER
BAD PENNY
BRAT
IN FOR A PENNY
PLAYTHING
TIGHT WHITE COTTON
TIE AND TEASE
PENNY PIECES
Why do I always seem to end up stuck on the end of some fat bastard’s cock?
It was what was going to happen now, if I wasn’t careful. Dr Blondeau was explaining his theory of pleasure and, as he did so, his eyes were flicking between Percy’s face and my cleavage.
‘Beauty is essential for a girl,’ Blondeau was saying. ‘A fine body with an ugly face is inutile, a travesty before God. To provide pleasure to a man, a girl may be slim or plump, high or petite, so long as her body has feminine proportions; but she must have a pretty face. Otherwise it is better that she had never lived.’
He took a sip of Madiran, his gooseberry eyes moving to the dark red gleam of the wine in his glass. The bulging eyes were the least of it: thick, sensuous lips around a small mouth, a little greasy moustache, heavy jowls, several chins, a roman nose and the bald dome of his head made him about as ugly as they come. His face was well in keeping with his body too: a great, flaccid abdomen supported on spindly legs; long arms and fingers; pasty white skin. Evidently he didn’t believe his theory worked both ways, or he would have topped himself long ago.
‘You are fortunate, Percy,’ he continued, again looking straight at my boobs. ‘In Natasha you have a girl who has come to understand the potential offered by her body in her jeunesse. It is rare, so rare. My own Marie-France was thirty-one when we married, and beautiful, as she remains. At your tender age she knew her needs, but not how to express them. Is that not true, my dear?’
I glanced at his wife as he did, expecting to see some jealousy in her eyes. He’d been all over me since we arrived, commenting on my figure, even the shape of my bottom beneath my dress. Yet she had remained cool, aloof; showing no emotion whatever. I had decided that she probably suffered his excesses in aggrieved silence. Now she was drunk, almost as drunk as her husband, and I was sure something would show. It did, but not what I’d been expecting. Madame Blondeau was looking at me like a cat eyeing a saucer of cream. I returned a coy glance and quickly lowered my eyes.
‘So pretty, so sweet,’ the Doctor said, ‘yet so knowing, quite the little coquette.’
He was addressing Percy as if I was a doll, or a dog, to be commented on without the slightest consideration for my feelings. I get so fed up with having to cover up my private life in London that I’d told Percy it was all right to admit we were in a relationship while in France. Now I was wishing I hadn’t. The Blondeaus had known Percy a long time, and pretty intimately. They knew he was a spanker, and if I was his girlfriend it didn’t take much effort to work out that it was my bum which was getting spanked.
‘True pleasure,’ Blondeau went on, at last turning to me, ‘must never be frustrated, never confined, never hedged around with restrictions and petty morals. To do so is stifling, like telling an artist what subjects he may or may not paint. You, my dear Natasha, would naturally never be guilty of such gross philistinism.’
‘I would hope not,’ I answered, rather cautiously because I was sure he was up to something.
‘Then may I suggest,’ he said, ‘that you grace the table with your naked bosom. Your beautiful breasts would add an exquisite touch to what I hope you will agree is a fine dinner.’
So that was it; boobs out for them to ogle or I was a gross philistine. He was such a bastard, and if he thought he was making me strip for his amusement just because of a bit of verbal trickery, then he was very wrong.
They were waiting, him and his lecherous wife, waiting for me to smile prettily and open my dress, showing them my bra and coyly pulling my breasts from the cups, blushing shyly as they all had a good stare. After that it would get ruder. I’d be made to strip slowly, down to my underwear, just my panties, then nude. From there it wouldn’t be too long before they were passing me around for spanking, probably alongside the after dinner chocolates. Once my bottom was red I’d be expected to do as I was told, compliant to whatever perverted amusements they felt were suitable. Percy would just go along with it.
Actually, if Blondeau had been just that little bit less arrogant, less certain of himself, I’d have let them have me. I mean, a good bum slapping over a dirty old man’s lap is just so me. As it was there had been a fine line between whether it was his face or my bum which was going to get slapped. With his demand to show my boobs I came right to the edge of losing my temper.
Fortunately I hadn’t actually said anything when I thought of a third option; a much more satisfying one. They took my hesitation for girlish bashfulness, or deliberate teasing, or maybe just drunkenness. It didn’t matter because, when I stood up and smiled at them, it was obvious that I was going to do it.
‘It’s rather a difficult bra,’ I said, ‘and I’m sure you wouldn’t want your pleasure spoilt by the sight of anything as ungainly as me taking it off. Please excuse me.’
I left before any of them could point out that watching the awkward removal of my bra from under my dress would be a good part of the thrill. In the hall I shut the door behind me and made quick work of baring my boobs, just shrugging down the straps of my dress, unclipping it at the front and letting them fall free. A moment later I was bare chested.
It was a thrill, there’s no use pretending otherwise, and I treated my nipples to a stroke each before stuffing my bra into my bag. My mobile came out, and I walked quickly into the Blondeaus’ living room as I pushed at the buttons. It didn’t take a minute to make the call, after which I adjusted my dress to make the most of my chest, with my boobs lying against the deep red velvet. They looked pale and full above my waist, and I could guess the effect they would have on old Blondeau.
Two quick pinches left my nipples perky and I returned to the dining room. I nodded to each person in turn, smiling sweetly and trying to seem indifferent to my bare breasts. Percy returned a knowing smile, the Doctor tugged at his horrid little moustache, Madame merely lifted her chin a fraction. I sat down and turned my attention to my plate. If there was one thing I could say for Blondeau, it was that he cooked well. He’d served duck, with a sweet sharp sauce and the skin browned in sugar and brandy. Even Percy was impressed; while the good food and excellent wine made me feel warm and mellow, they also made me both mischievous and acquiescent.
I was trembling a little inside as I ate. It wasn’t the first time I’d shown off in front of several other people, but it was still strong. I could feel their eyes on my breasts, and I could imagine their feelings. Percy would be thoroughly enjoying himself, proud at my rude little display and eager to take it further. The Blondeaus had to be hopeful, but they couldn’t know how far I would be prepared to go, nor what I would be prepared to do. For that matter, I didn’t know what they would want to do, and what offer would get them most excited. The next step was to find out.
‘You say a woman needs to be pretty to be arousing,’ I remarked. ‘But if you don’t mind me saying so, that’s not always true. As I’m sure you’ve guessed because I’m with Percy, I like to be submissive. Percy would be the first to admit that he’s no Adonis, but he excites me.’
‘For the man it is not important,’ Blondeau answered. ‘Masculinity is what matters; assertiveness, confidence.’
‘You understand so well,’ I simpered. ‘Percy’s firm with me. He makes me feel protected. He makes me want to snuggle up to him, naked, while he strokes my hair. He also makes me want to crawl across his knee to have my bare bottom smacked. It doesn’t matter that he’s short and stout and getting on for three times my age, he still turns me on.’
Percy knew I was winding him up so that I’d get spanked and merely gave me a warning look. Blondeau was going red, and his hand was shaking as he set down his wine glass. He, of course, was also stout and getting on for three times my age, if not short. I was sure the comparison wasn’t lost on him.
‘Naturally,’ he answered, ‘and a great many young girls would be so much happier if they took your sensible attitude. Older men are more stable, more experienced. They know how to handle a girl, when to reward and when to punish.’
‘You may be right,’ I admitted, ‘although there’s fun to be had with handsome young men too, if not the same sort of fun. That’s not what I’m trying to say though. You see, I like to be punished, physically, spanked on my bare bottom. The best spankings always come from older people, authority figures, and in a way, the less good looking they are the more exciting it is. They don’t have to be men though. A woman can do it just as well, maybe better, and she doesn’t have to be pretty.’
‘Peut-être,’ he answered, shrugging, ‘but you are merely placing what is essentially a masculine image, the dominant, in a female context.’
‘What about submissive men, then? I know plenty of good looking young men who fantasise about being punished by an older woman.’
I didn’t, but he wasn’t to know that. Percy knew well enough, but he held his peace. Blondeau laughed.
‘There you have me, my dear,’ he said. ‘Very well, let us say you have found an exception. An aberrance indeed, against the natural order of things which, as your own personality recognises, is for men to dominate.’
I just smiled, not meeting his eyes. It was getting to me, my panties felt uncomfortable and my nipples were stiff and tingling. He was worse, red faced with a bead of sweat starting from his brow. I’d already guessed he was dominant, it was hard to see how anyone so uncompromisingly arrogant could be otherwise. He had responded as I’d expected to my admission of enjoying a submissive role, but not to my remarks about taking bare bottom spankings. Possibly he just needed egging on a little more.
‘So what would you like to do to a naughty girl?’ I asked.
‘Here we differ,’ he answered. ‘Your craving for punishment comes from guilt, and is a very English thing. We French are more sensual.’
‘So you wouldn’t like to spank me? Maybe to humiliate me first by pulling down my panties, then slapping my bare cheeks until I cry?’
‘You give yourself away by your words, my dear, in the way you choose to express yourself. Said this way, it is as if I were to discipline a child; a perverse motive! Yes, I use flagellation, but to stimulate the body, not to atone for our pleasure. Also to exert my authority, to beat because I can. There is none of this naughtiness, none of this humiliation.’
‘I like to feel naughty. I like to be humiliated. It’s no fun without those feelings. Anyway, I don’t believe you.’
‘You do not?’
‘Oh come on. You’ve got me sitting at a dinner table with my boobs out while the rest of you are fully dressed. Don’t you see that as humiliating?’
‘No. You are beautiful, also soumise, submissive. For you to be naked is appropriate.’
‘Exactly, and it puts me below you, which is humiliating.’
‘No, no, this is your nature. You should accept it without shame.’
‘I like the shame. It turns me on. If it didn’t I’d just feel like a clown, sitting here with my boobs out. The shame is the pleasure, that and showing off, but mainly that.’
‘You have a lot to learn. There is higher pleasure beyond what you are experiencing, true sensuality.’
‘Which you, doubtless, could teach me?’
‘Peut-être.’
He shrugged and took a sip of wine. I could see the trap, wide in front of me. He was trying to make me feel angry, pretending that he thought I was either too insensitive or too repressed to understand. I covered the urge to laugh with a bite of duck. What he wanted to do, of course, was get me to accept whatever perversion he was into, but in the guise of ‘teaching me to understand true sensuality’. That way, if I kicked, he could say I was just being repressed and hope I’d take it out of pure stubbornness to show I wasn’t. He was right too, but it didn’t matter.
‘I could learn,’ I answered him, walking blithely into the trap. ‘I have a mind, you know. I think for myself, and I am not repressed.’
‘Bien-sûr,’ he said. ‘You are strong. You know your own mind. Otherwise you would not have the courage to sit bare chested at my table. No, my little one, do not take offence. I am not saying that you are a mere guignol … What is the word, Percy?’
‘Puppet, or marionette,’ Percy answered. ‘Maybe moppet is a better translation.’
Percy went back to his food. He seemed completely absorbed in the pleasure of eating duck, and entirely nonchalant about his host trying to lure his girlfriend into bed. It was a front, and I knew that he was listening, just like Madame Blondeau, who was watching us bright eyed. Percy would make Blondeau ask permission, I knew. I also knew that Percy would give it.
‘Marionette is French, and will suffice,’ the Doctor went on. ‘I am not saying you are a marionette, Natasha, controlled by others. My concern is rather that you are so English, so involved with English ideas of pleasure. I understand you. For six years I worked in London, with Percy for three. I have met several girls like you. You, I think, do not understand me.’
‘Try me.’
‘I have no wish to offend …’
‘Speak freely, Clément,’ Percy remarked before taking another mouthful.
Blondeau shrugged again and reached for the decanter, his brow furrowed in thought. I could see what he was trying to work out – how to impose his authority without insulting me, and how to manoeuvre me into a position where I would be too proud to deny him.
‘The real understanding of sensuality,’ he began, ‘is possible only to those who are entirely liberated from the moral restrictions of society. True, in France we have moral restrictions, but they are not so tight as in England; the French mind is better suited to liberty. Look how we threw off our monarchy.’
‘We cut our King’s head off a hundred and fifty years before you did,’ I cut in.
‘Perhaps not a good illustration,’ he went on. ‘The point remains. To really explore the delights of the human body, you must indulge it absolutely, without thought of taboos. Nothing must be sacred, untouchable; no part of the body, nothing that comes from it. You use words like dirty, naughty, humiliation. All show that you have learned to turn your own negative feelings to positive, which I admire. Yet you still have far to go.’
He stopped, waiting for my response as he admired the colour of the Madiran in his glass. I was supposed to fight a little, then admit the wisdom of what he was saying. Being a little bitch at heart I decided on a different tack.
‘You say nothing is sacred,’ I said. ‘Is that why you called your daughter after one of de Sade’s heroines?’
His face went darker again, which it seemed to do very easily. We had met Juliette earlier, a younger version of her mother, slim and cool and haughty; her features slightly Hispanic. She was about twenty, and I’d seen Percy’s eyes following the movement of her bottom under her dress as she left the house. For a moment I wondered if I’d really hit a nerve, when Blondeau suddenly laughed.
‘True then, some taboos I do not break, some things are sacred. Juliette knows nothing of such things, or even about her namesake. For a parent to attempt to instil opinions into a child is foolish, as it always leads to rebellion. In her own time, Juliette may reach her own conclusions. She will need a teacher, yes, as all young girls do, but it could never be myself, nor yet Marie-France.’
He nodded to his wife. She responded with the tiniest of smiles and a slight movement of her fingers on the rim of her wineglass. The Doctor had been about to speak but stopped. I was sure it had been a signal and wondered if she hadn’t decided that I was not actually worth chasing after all. I was determined that they would not give in so easily.
‘I think I understand what you mean about sensuality,’ I said. ‘You think I should be completely abandoned, responding only to my animal feelings.’
‘Yes and no,’ he answered. ‘Yes, you should behave like an animal in that you must accept pleasure untainted by moral values. No, in that this does not mean you can only take that pleasure in mindless coupling. You must learn to accept the advantages of your human mind while rejecting the disadvantages.’
I could have argued, pointing out that all my best moments had come from breaking sexual taboos rather than overcoming them, but it wouldn’t have got me what I wanted. Instead I smiled sweetly, trying to look eager to learn.
‘Maybe you are right,’ I answered.
‘I am right,’ he answered. ‘Whether you can learn …’
He trailed off, made a wry face and cut himself a piece of duck. Already I was half-trapped. Unless I let him try whatever he intended on me it was an admission of the repression I had denied. There seemed to be only one route left open to me.
‘Maybe … maybe you could try to teach me?’ I said quietly.
My breasts were bare, my nipples hard and I was willing for sex. Blondeau had won, and he knew it. I didn’t know exactly what was coming, and it didn’t matter. Whatever it was, Blondeau had me just where he wanted me. I’d be his pupil, and if I didn’t do as he wanted I would prove everything he had said. The only question was what he – and Madame Blondeau, doubtlessly – wanted.
My panties were soaking. I was feeling very rude indeed, filled with the need to spread my thighs or stick up my bottom, offering myself for entry. For a moment we ate in silence, the air full of erotic tension, and all of it centred on me. It was Blondeau who spoke, addressing Percy.
‘I could try,’ he said, ‘that is, if you have no objection, my old friend?’
‘None at all,’ Percy answered. ‘You know how I feel, and I’d like to think that I’ve already taught Natasha more than she could learn from you. Still, I can never prove my point unless you have had a free run, so be my guest.’
Blondeau gave an inclination of his head, more a bow than a nod, then glanced to his wife. Again she tapped the rim of her glass. I looked from one to the other, sensing their rising excitement. The Doctor was staring at my breasts, openly now, and one arm was beneath the table, adjusting what I was sure was an uncomfortably stiff cock.
‘Does Percy sodomise you, my dear?’ Madame Blondeau asked.
It was quite a shock, especially when she had hardly spoken at all. I hadn’t even been certain how well she had been following the conversation, which had been in English most of the time since we’d arrived. Her accent was strong, and it took a moment to realise what she had said. I was blushing as I answered, and I’m sure I looked ever so coy and girlish, but I managed to do it and to play it up.
‘Yes,’ I said, very quiet, with my face hidden in my wine glass.
‘And it gives you pleasure?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ I admitted.
‘And a lavement … an enema, have you had one?’
I nodded, pretty shocked by what she was saying. I had expected something rude, and from the way old Blondeau had been talking about the absolute surrender of my body I had thought he would want to come over my face, or put me in some really exposed position while he had me or they had me together. Buggery was more than I’d expected, although if I was to be buggered it made a lot of sense to have an enema first.
‘Has Percy given you one?’ she asked softly. ‘Or another man?’
I nodded again, my eyes downcast, pretending to be too embarrassed to speak. Well, half pretending. I was blushing, for real, and hardly surprising! I’d only met them a few short hours before and they were suggesting flushing out my bottom, perhaps the dirtiest, most humiliating thing you can do to a girl. If I hadn’t ever had it done to me it might not have been so bad but, as it was, I found it impossible not to think about it. The feel of a hard nozzle poking into my anus, sliding up, all greasy with lubricant, the gush of cold water, that awful, out of control feeling in my belly, the terrible mixture of relief and utter, utter shame as it all squirts out behind me …
‘In truth?’ the Doctor asked.
I nodded again.
‘Say it,’ he answered. His voice was thick, really hoarse, commanding too.
‘Yes,’ I whispered, ‘I have.’
‘What, Natasha? Do not hold back.’
I wasn’t faking any more. The tears were starting in my eyes and my anus was twitching in anticipation. He was going to make me say it, out loud, and that always gets to me.
‘I … I’ve had it done,’ I said. ‘I’ve taken enemas, from Percy, and not just to … to clean my bum, for fun.’
‘With what?’ Madame Blondeau demanded.
‘Water,’ I said. ‘And wine, sometimes, to get me drunk quickly.’
‘Then think, my little one,’ she went on, her voice now soft, beguiling, ‘how it would feel for the two to come together. Two pleasures, but more than two together. Let Clément into your derrière, deep in. A moment of waiting, you become his urinoir.’
It took a moment to sink in, and then I was just staring at her, open mouthed. She’d said he wanted to use me as a urinal, and not just to pee over me, but actually up my bum. I didn’t know what to say, and I didn’t know how I felt. It was disgusting, but it was exciting too. It made me want to be sick, but it made me want to kneel and offer him my bare bottom at the same time. I could imagine it, the feel of warm urine in my rectum, my sobs as I rubbed at my clit, in unbearable ecstasy as I made myself come while my belly swelled with his piddle. It would be awful, too much to bear, and that was the irony. It wouldn’t be the sensation that made me come, not the breathless pleasure of being buggered, nor the swollen, helpless thrill of an enema. It would not even be the combination of the two. It would be the dreadful, unendurable humiliation of having it done to me by a man as gross as Doctor Blondeau, while his wife and Percy watched. I would get the sensual pleasure, and I would enjoy it, but it would be my own utter humiliation that really counted.
I swallowed hard, trying desperately to think of what to say. It took a moment to remember what I was doing, but I managed to pull myself together, turning my fish-faced expression into a knowing smile. Blondeau was looking at me expectantly, and as I smiled so did he.
‘Perhaps then you are not too English,’ he remarked, cocking one eyebrow. ‘You are shocked, yes, but I see you know how well it will feel.’
I answered by reaching out to fill his wine glass, looking straight into his eyes as the dark red liquid ran down into the bowl. The level rose, well past the point at which I should have stopped, to near the brim. The significance of what I was doing was obvious, and as I poured his face became redder than ever, his expression more lecherous. Madame was looking hungry, Percy smiling.
‘Drink up,’ I breathed, ‘make some more for me.’
It really did look as if he was going to have a heart attack. His face was crimson, and his hand was shaking so badly as he lifted the glass that it was obviously going to spill. I leant forward, letting my breasts loll down onto the table cloth, and laid my hand gently on top of his. He let me take the glass, and raise it to his lips, tipping and keeping it tipped until he had drained it.
I sat back. One breast was greasy with butter and sauce where I had brushed the edge of my own plate. That gave me an idea, a really dirty one. Everybody was watching me, and I do so love to be the centre of attention, especially for sex. I stood up, now fully in control, turned my back to the table and cocked one leg up onto my chair. Blondeau gave a little choking sound as I reached down to take the hem of my dress. I pulled it up, showing them the seat of my panties, stretched taut across my out-thrust bottom. They came down, slowly, eased off my cheeks to the top of my thighs.
Some girls don’t realise how rude they look from the rear when they bend over. I do, and I knew my pussy lips would be showing, and my anus too, as a tiny wrinkled spot, pink in a ring of pale brown. That was what he wanted to stick his cock up. That was what he wanted to pee in, and I was showing it.
I reached back to pull my cheeks apart, making sure he got a really good, rude view. Looking back over my shoulder, I found his eyes fixed on my bum, drinking in the dirty display I was making of myself. I love showing my bottom hole to someone who’s going to have me, it’s such a lewd thing to do, really smutty, but nothing like as smutty as what I intended.
My knife was on the side of my plate, and I reached for it, still holding my bottom apart with my other hand. Pushing the blade along the plate, I scooped up the butter I had left on the side, taking a good deal of the sauce with it. Blondeau’s mouth had come slightly open, and I winked at him as I pushed the knife down between my bottom cheeks and smeared the soft butter onto my anus. It felt good; cool and greasy, making me bolder still. Dropping the knife, I pushed a finger into my ring, opening my dirty little hole in full view of all three of them, sliding it in and out until I felt slimy and open.
I stopped, pulled up my panties and dropped my dress. Sitting back down, I wiped my finger on my napkin, then the knife, all the while quite cool, as if I had done nothing so very out of the ordinary. Once more I felt in control, and was thoroughly enjoying myself. Blondeau seemed to be speechless.
‘So, yes,’ I said. ‘You may bugger me, and yes, you may pee up my bottom. And you, Madame, may watch. Percy too, of course. The duck was excellent, Clément, you must give me the recipe, and the wine too. Tannat is not everybody’s grape, but personally I adore it.’
Blondeau gave me a little bow and began to clear the plates. He was trying to be nonchalant, but his hands were shaking. I was pretty sure they wouldn’t expect to have me until after dinner and a pause for digestion, and sure enough, he went to fetch the cheese.
The barriers were completely down between us, and as we ate cheese and the dessert which followed, we talked openly. Given the Blondeaus’ preferences, I kept off the delights of spanking and being naughty and stuck to what he liked. Despite his cultivated manner, he was pretty basic at heart, enjoying dirty, rustic pleasures, always with the female in a submissive or at least passive role. He liked birching girls and having them grovel in mud; bacchanalia too, and he described in great detail watching three drunken brothers take turns with a girl in a farmyard.
Madame was more refined, enjoying the whip and being tied, but again, it was very physical, with the sensations of the body always coming before those of the mind. Other than that one awful detail, I could have handled most of it easily. Next to what Percy had taught me it was no big deal; good, earthy stuff, but not a patch on the complicated role-playing and mind games we enjoyed together. Percy held his peace though, never stealing their thunder. I knew why – he wanted to see me get my bottom peed up, the one awful detail.
I was drinking fast, Cahors with the cheese, Jurançon with the dessert, both strong wines, but it didn’t seem to be making any difference. The meal finished, Blondeau served a single estate Armagnac, fine chocolates and an older Armagnac from the same estate. The moment of my degradation was drawing closer, and there were butterflies in my stomach while, no matter how much I drank, it didn’t seem to make the prospect of what might be coming any easier. It is one thing to talk about it, even to masturbate over it, quite another to actually surrender my bottom hole to some dirty old man, and with an audience. To make it worse, my buttery anus felt open and slimy, which never let me get what I’d agreed to out of my mind.
Being lubricated meant I was ready too, and I began to wonder if Blondeau would expect to have me right there in the dining room, maybe still sipping his brandy while he buggered me. Then again it was bound to be messy, so he would probably take me somewhere with a tiled floor, the scullery, even the hall.
It was at that moment that the doorbell rang. My heart leapt, but I did my best not to take any notice. Blondeau rose and excused himself, irritation showing in his face as he walked briskly from the room. I listened, hearing his footsteps on the tiles in the hall, the click of the door catch, his voice, then another, female, English, asking for me.
A wave of relief swept through me. I’d been sure Jo and Hugh would keep their word and come tonight instead of picking me up in the morning as we had planned. I’d told Jo that Percy was trying it on with me and that I badly wanted to get away. She knows Percy, but she doesn’t know he and I have sex. She doesn’t get on with him either, and it was that I’d been counting on as much as our friendship to make sure she came.
Blondeau tried to remonstrate, but it was really up to me. Covering myself hastily, I went to the door, greeting Jo and asking her to wait a minute. I could see Hugh beyond, sitting in his Jag and trying to look manly, even though it was Jo doing all the work. She greeted me, looking worried and throwing a dirty look across my shoulder. I turned to find Percy in the dining room door, a glass of Armagnac in one hand.
‘Is something the matter?’ he asked.
He was all politeness and looked puzzled. As he took a couple more steps into the hall I could see that he was rolling a bit, and Jo’s hard look became harder still.
‘Nothing you need worry about,’ she answered him.
‘I … I think I’d better get my things,’ I said quickly.
The last thing I wanted was a confrontation between Jo and Percy. Both knew things I didn’t want the other to know, and if they came out it would be awkward.
‘Jo and Hugh are picking me up now instead of in the morning,’ I said, and disappeared up the stairs before anyone could demand a more detailed explanation.
I heard Blondeau speak as I disappeared into the room I’d been going to share with Percy. Fortunately I had only partly unpacked, and the clothes I had worn on the way down from the Touraine to Mazamet still lay on the bed. I scrambled into them, jeans, top, socks and boots, not bothering to put my bra back on. My red velvet dress went back into the bag, along with the make-up and toiletries I’d taken out to get ready for dinner.
My head was swimming as I packed, and not just with alcohol. I would have done it, I knew I would. The situation had been just too rude, too exotic to resist it. Now I wasn’t going to, and there was a touch of regret mingled with my relief. There was also a lovely mischievous satisfaction that my trick had worked. In fact I was grinning with delight, just from the thought of how frustrated old Blondeau would be that he had failed to get what he thought was coming to him.
With my bags packed I grabbed the bottle of Crémant which Percy and I had been meaning to offer as an aperitif and hurried downstairs. The door was open, the car visible outside, Jo at the wheel. Percy and the Blondeaus were still in the hall, old man Blondeau talking in fast, agitated French. He turned at the click of my heel on the tiles of the hall.
‘What is this, Natasha?’ he demanded. ‘Why are you not staying?’
‘Because,’ I answered, tilting my chin up to look him full in the face, ‘you, Doctor Blondeau, are a filthy old pervert, and if you think I would ever, ever, let you get your wrinkly little dick up my bum you have another thing coming.’
‘What?’ he demanded, his face reddening once more. ‘But the wine? The butter?’
‘Oh that,’ I said as I kissed Percy, taking care Jo and Hugh couldn’t see. ‘That was just a tease. I rang my friends before I even got my boobs out. All the rest was just to get you going. Sorry.’
I tapped him on the end of his nose, just the lightest touch of my finger. A moment later and I was out of the door, turning to blow a final cheeky kiss. Old Blondeau was standing in the doorway, his face looking redder than ever in the porch light, his mouth as wide as his gooseberry eyes. Madame was behind him, looking thoroughly annoyed, Percy further back, tapping one podgy finger against a palm in a gesture I knew only too well. I stuck my tongue out and turned back towards the car.
It had been the last wonderful touch, to let him know he had been wound up on purpose, right from the start. I was laughing as I skipped across to the Jag, it was impossible not to. Jo and Hugh must have thought it was just because I was happy to be free of Percy’s supposed lechery, and they made sympathetic noises as we drove away down the track from the Blondeaus’ house and out on to a main road.
It is a wonderful thing to be drunk. As I lay back in the comfort of their car I just didn’t care. I was giggling as I struggled with the foil of the Crémant bottle. Hugh turned back, grinning at me, his eyes quickly flicking to my chest. Catching the look, I glanced down to find my nipples straining the thin fabric of my top. I bounced one boob in the palm of a hand, which made Hugh stare, sending me into another fit of giggles.
He took the bottle and quickly got it open, aiming it out of the window. I reached for it as he put it to his mouth, pulling it away and upending it over my own to spill froth out over the upholstery. Some went on my top too, plastering it against my boobs. I was pouring bubbles on top of brandy, but it didn’t matter. I felt safe, secure, and oh so horny.
One nice thing was that I was going to get it from Percy, definitely bare, and probably with the cane. It was only a pity that I couldn’t have it now, to finish the evening off to perfection. That would have been ideal, to do something really rude, but not with Blondeau around. It would have been better still if he got to know I’d done it.
It was nice to fantasise, but it was hardly practical. What I did have was Jo, Hugh and a long night drive to the Riviera. Jo, short for Jocasta, was one of the London set, a writer like me, only not wine and for one of the broadsheets. She was vegetarian, and austere in a fashionable sort of way, but we’d always got on well enough. I’d never really thought of her in sexual terms, but after the evening it was hard not to. She was tall and strong, very fit, pretty but with a stern look, made sterner now because she had her long golden hair tied up in a bun. It made her look severe, like an old-fashioned schoolmarm, just the sort I like to take me across the knee and spank me until I’m blubbering.
Hugh was cute too, even if not my type for a spanking. He was Jo’s ‘ideal man’, a city broker of some sort with a public school background and plenty of income, also tall and well muscled, with a lot of floppy brown hair. Jo said he was gentle, and to me he’d always seemed a bit shy of girls, scared even, until I’d got to know him. Now he was staring at my wet top, looking just as lustful as Dr Blondeau, only a lot prettier. Maybe he was no spanker, but it would be great to be done in front of him.
I gave him his look straight back, and cupped my boobs again as he put the bottle to his mouth. They felt good, heavy and sensitive in my hands, the nipples really taut. I shut my eyes and gave them a little squeeze, wondering if I dared masturbate then and there. It would be easy, and Hugh could watch, Jo too if she stopped the car. Maybe she’d be nice and spank me, over the back seat while I brought myself off. Better still, she could punish me and then make me go down on her, on Hugh too …
‘You’re not going to get drunk, are you, Hugh?’ Jo’s voice cut through my dirty thoughts. ‘I need you to share the driving.’
‘Sure, sweetheart,’ Hugh answered.
He passed me back the bottle, which was already half-empty. I took another swig, my hand tight on the neck, thinking of it as a long, hard cock going into my mouth. It would have been so nice to have a suck of Hugh’s cock, down on my knees, naked, while Jo stood over me, giving the orders as I nibbled and mouthed at her lover’s penis.
I stretched, pushing my boobs out. Hugh was watching me, half turned. I could tell what he was thinking. Two girls at once, a popular male fantasy and not one that I imagined he had realised. Well, he could have it now, as far as I was concerned, the only hard bit was getting Jo turned on to the idea.
He obviously wasn’t going to do it. He didn’t have the guts. I’d have to, but I wasn’t so pissed not to realise that if I came onto him Jo would just get angry. Get the girls together first and the men can join in when it gets juicy, that’s the way to do it.
‘Why don’t you swap now?’ I suggested.
‘I’m fine,’ Jo answered. ‘Maybe at Béziers, Hugh can drive the motorway.’
‘Actually, Jo, I could use a cuddle,’ I said. ‘I know I seem all right, but it was pretty scary. I really thought he might try and force me.’
‘The bastard!’
‘I need to be held, Jo.’
She didn’t answer, but began to pull the car over onto the verge. We stopped and she climbed into the back, Hugh taking over in the driver’s seat. Jo’s arm came around me as we pulled away, holding me tight as I leant my head on her shoulder. I put the bottle to my lips, draining the last of it down my throat, then snuggled up to her, putting my arms around her waist and my head on her chest. I could feel her flesh, the firm bulge of one breast and the gentle curve of her side. She felt warm and soft, very feminine, and I could smell her scent and her skin. I nuzzled against her, sighing and she pulled me closer, pressing my head to the fullness of her chest.
I stayed like that for a long while, my feelings building up inside me. I could hear her heart and feel her breathing. Both were getting quicker, I was sure of it. Outside the car windows it was dark, with a scatter of lights from some village on a distant hillside. It felt very private, very intimate, and eventually it was just too much to resist rubbing my face into Jo’s breasts.
They felt good, firm, as big as mine but a very different shape, what men call bumpers, wide and very proud. I could feel the fabric of her bra too, and her nipples beneath, starting to harden. I rubbed my nose on one, feeling it grow. Jo pulled me in, tight, moving my face between them. It was too much, too nice to resist, and I was sure she wanted it too. Moving my hands up, I took one lovely round globe in each hand, touching lightly.
‘Tasha!’ she said, pulling at my shoulder.
There was shock in her voice, but the pull wasn’t hard. It’s not easy to give in to another girl, especially in front of your boyfriend, but she had reacted, and I was too drunk and too horny to back away.
‘Let me,’ I whispered. ‘You’re so lovely, Jo. They’re so nice, so pillowy. I just want to cuddle you and nuzzle up to them.’
‘Tasha, no!’
It was an urgent hiss, but breathless, and accompanied by another gentle tug at my shoulder. She obviously didn’t want Hugh to hear, and that was fine, for now. All she needed was that little push, I was certain of it, enough to make her let her inhibitions go, to give in to me. I rubbed my cheek over one breast and took the firm bump of a nipple between my lips through her top. She pushed me back, firmly this time, and I felt a pang of frustration. I wanted her, and she was being silly.
‘You’re drunk, Tasha,’ she said. ‘You don’t know what you’re doing. Look, I think I’d better get in the front. You try and get some sleep.’
‘I don’t want sleep, I want you,’ I mumbled. ‘Come on, Jo, play with me.’
‘What’s going on?’ Hugh demanded from the front seat.
‘Tasha’s drunk,’ Jo answered. ‘Really drunk. Look, try and find a coffee bar or something.’
‘A coffee bar, at this time of night, in the middle of nowhere?’ Hugh demanded. ‘You’ll be lucky.’
‘Whatever,’ Jo answered. ‘Pull over anyway so I can get into the front.’
‘Stay with me!’ I pleaded. ‘Give me a cuddle. I’ll be a good girl, I promise. If I’m not a good girl you can spank my bottom.’
‘Jesus!’ Hugh swore.
He wanted me, obviously, and I could tell that the idea of me being spanked had got to him too, drunk as I was. Sober I’d have backed down. Sober I’d never have started, not with them. Now I was telling myself that it was too late. I’d shown my true colours, and so I might as well go on.
‘Don’t be such a spoilsport, Jo.’ I pouted. ‘I’ll go down on you, anything you like. It’ll be nice.’
‘Natasha!’ she exclaimed. ‘You never heard this, Hugh.’
‘Sure, you can trust me,’ Hugh answered, ‘I can keep a secret.’
I could tell what he meant; that we could have a threesome and he wouldn’t tell anybody. Jo ignored him, and pushed me upright as I slumped onto her lap.
‘Could you stop, Hugh, please!’ Jo demanded.
‘There’s nowhere to stop,’ Hugh protested.
‘It’ll just be us,’ I said. ‘Nobody else need know. Let’s strip. Look, I’ll go first.’
I grabbed my top, swaying as we rounded a tight corner. It came up, and off, over my boobs, and I fell against Jo as we took the other side of the hairpin. We straightened up and I heard the grate of tyres on gravel as we pulled from the road.
‘Thanks,’ Jo said. ‘Right, come on, Tasha, put your top back on and you’d better try and get some sleep.’