Bad Penny Read online

  Contents

  1 Opening the Garden

  2 Pretty in Pink

  3 Chocolate Surprise

  4 Purity

  5 Hothouse Peaches

  6 Teenage Reprieve

  7 Tweezers

  8 Smut

  9 Lace, China and the Cane

  10 The Puppy Girl

  11 New-Age Rough

  12 Peeping

  13 Golden

  14 Like a Red Rag

  15 Dairy Time

  16 Boot Black

  17 Cocks and Hens

  18 Black Mischief

  I was in disgrace, held tight over Vicky’s lap with my bum showing, naked and vulnerable to the punishment that was about to be inflicted on me. She raised a knee, lifting my poor bottom so that my cheeks opened. The shame was unbearable, as I knew my sex would be showing in every detail of pink fleshy folds and hairy lips, as well as the centre of my bottom, the wrinkled pinkish-brown hole of my anus. I thought nothing could be worse, and then she started to spank me.

  By the same author:

  PENNY IN HARNESS

  A TASTE OF AMBER

  Penny Birch

  BAD PENNY

  I would like to dedicate this collection of

  stories to the naughtiest of my

  playmates, who know exactly who they

  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.

  Epub ISBN 9780753543603

  Version 1.0

  www.randomhouse.co.uk

  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 9HT

  Copyright © Penny Birch 1999

  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.

  Typeset by TW Typesetting, Plymouth, Devon

  Printed and bound by

  Cox & Wyman Ltd, Reading, Berks

  ISBN 0 352 33335 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.

  1

  Opening the Garden

  From the very first, my sexual fantasies always revolved around being helpless: powerless to prevent something rude being done to me. I also liked the idea of being put in an awkward, embarrassing sexual situation through no fault of my own. I had been brought up quite strictly, and having such naughty ideas made me guilty and ashamed; yet that very guilt and shame served as a spur to my excitement.

  So when the other girls were drooling over the latest boy-wonder pop star, I’d be thinking about how it would feel to tear my skirt on a barbed-wire fence and have to walk home in my panties. I used to lie awake at night and play with my pussy while I thought about such things, although I was still a virgin and hadn’t so much as touched a man’s cock. Nor had I managed to reach orgasm, mainly because my worry about being caught masturbating never allowed me to really relax. The one about tearing my skirt off was typical of my fantasies, an imaginary scene in which my body was accidentally exposed and then taken advantage of by some great, brainless oaf of a man. The men were always like that in my imagination: huge, shambling brutes driven by lust they were quite incapable of controlling. Their cocks would be monstrous things, like small logs, gnarled and veined and capable of producing prodigious amounts of come.

  Of course, this was all fantasy. The only time I’d even seen a cock was when my cousin Kate let me watch her pull her boyfriend off in the back of his car. I’d been terrified, but also fascinated, by the way it swelled to erection and then spurted come all over her hand when he came. The experience fired my imagination, but unfortunately imagination was as far as it went. Being small, quiet and studious, the sort of boys I attracted were the exact opposite of the men of my fantasies. Without exception they were gentle, considerate, insecure, shy, nice . . . and totally devoid of sex appeal. I didn’t want a box of chocolates and a peck on the lips from a polite young gentleman. I wanted my blouse ripped open and my panties torn off by a man who could no more resist me than he could resist his own heartbeat.

  To make matters worse, there was Kate. We were cousins and the best of friends, yet she had everything to attract the sort of man I wanted: a C-cup bra, for one thing. Inevitably I got left with the wet ones and, just to add extra frustration, Kate’s rejects and exes would often confide their passion for her to me.

  I finally broke my duck during a summer holiday, as I suppose so many people do. My mother and her sister had been taking a cottage in the Channel Islands every year since before we were born, and it had become a sort of tradition for both families. Kate and I knew all the locals and the other regular holiday-makers and, looking back on it, the social set-up was insular to the point of being incestuous. Everybody knew more or less how they related to everyone else, and God help the girl who fancied a boy who wasn’t regarded as one of the attractive ones.

  Kate, inevitably, was Little Miss Popular, and was regarded by the boys as the catch. Despite being a bit of a loner and getting teased for studying and reading more than was felt to be normal, I was by no means unpopular. This was mainly because boys tended to see me as a way of getting to Kate, but I put up with it and enjoyed myself most of the time. That year I had no boyfriend, as usual, while Kate was going out with a tall, swarthy lad called Carl.

  Carl was a fisherman and about as close to rough trade as anyone on the island, which excited the disapproval of our parents and made Kate fancy him all the more. I didn’t really like him, as he was too laddish, yet I had to admit he had a certain appeal, and I was more than a little jealous of Kate. He worked with his father, and their main income came from lobster, langouste and crab. He used to be out all day and then meet us at one of the island’s many bars, where he and Kate would snog and fondle the evening away while I sat and talked to his friends.

  It was one such evening that sparked off my experience. Carl and three of his friends came into the bar, laughing and joking. Kate asked what was up as they sat down with us. Carl was grinning from ear to ear as he pulled Kate towards him with the characteristic roughness that always made me jealous.

  ‘You know that bloke Ryan?’ Carl asked.

  Kate nodded. From the point of view of our social set, Ryan was the least desirable boy of all. Tall, red-haired, gangly and unable to dance; to even speak to him was to risk ostracisation. Personally I felt rather sorry for him, and was sure that whatever story Carl had to tell was not going to be to the unfortunate Ryan’s advantage. I was right.

  Carl described how he and his father had been lifting pots in one of the tiny bays beneath the cliffs to the south of the island. They had had the engine off and put the anchor down while they lunched. When they had finished, it had only been necessary to let out a little more chain to let the current take the boat on to the next pot. As they had drifted past an outcrop of rock they had come in sight of a gully that had previously been hidden. Ryan had been in the gully, stark naked, with his erect cock in his hand, masturbating.

  ‘. . . you should have seen the fucker,’ Carl finished. ‘He had his eyes closed, his hand’s going up and down like a fucking piston, his great hairy sac’s going from side to side . . . fuck me, I thought he was going to explode. Then the old man calls out and asks him if he’s having a good one. Fuck, you should have seen him move when he saw us.’

  The story was greeted with more laughter from Carl’s friends, even though it was probably the third or fourth time they’d heard it. Kate laughed too, mixing her giggles with a suitably ladylike measure of disgust. I smiled and grimaced at the appropriate places but my emotions were very different. For a start, I felt sorry for Ryan, whose life would now be unbearable. I also felt only some of the disgust that I was trying so hard to register in my expression. What he’d been doing struck me not only as a dirty act that only boys who were unable to get girlfriends did, but as something primitively masculine, something that he had done because he was unable to restrain his lust.

  I didn’t stay out late that evening, but excused myself on the grounds of feeling tired and walked back to town. It was dark and I was slightly drunk, with the unlit road barely discernible between the banks on either side. I could see were I was going, just, yet the darkness made me feel pleasantly detached. I wasn’t really tired, but had wanted to let my mind run on the thought of Ryan masturbating without the distracting din of music and loud voices.

  Knowing that I would see the headlights of any cars long before they got to me, I slipped my hand down the front of my jeans and began to stroke myself through my panties. My pussy was damp and felt wonderfully soft and sexy under my fingers. In my mind I was imagining Ryan’s body, pale and sinewy with his swollen erection in his hands and his balls swaying beneath the shaft as he pulled at himself. Carl had said Ryan’s balls had been large and covered with red hair, his cock long, white and with a red tip, a description that was supposed to shock and disgust us. It did shock me, but mainly because I wanted so badly to have seen it. My emotions were an odd mixture of shame and sexual need, and only the horror of chancing being caught in much the same way Ryan had been prevented me from going into the hedge and playing with myself.

  When I got back I lay in bed, wide awake with my nightie up and my panties pushed down to my thighs so that I could pull them up quickly if anyone came in. I tried to bring myself off, rubbing at my clit with the little circular motions that always seemed to give the best sensation. Twice a really strange feeling crept up on me and I thought I was going to come, but all the time I was straining my ears for the sound of Kate’s key in the front door. We shared a room and, despite our intimacy, I did not want to be caught by her. There was the feeling of shame at what I was doing and what I was thinking of as well, which made it even harder to concentrate.

  Kate didn’t get back until nearly three, yet I was still wide awake. She was absolutely glowing, and told me how she and Carl had driven out to one of the old quarries at the eastern end of the island and had sex in the cab of his pick-up. She had pulled her top up so that he could play with her boobs and had even sucked his cock. She was immensely proud of herself and I was glad for her, but also jealous and even more turned on than before. There I’d been, lying in bed desperately attempting to make myself come, while Kate had been having sex with the big, rough Carl.

  Nobody saw anything of Ryan for about a week after that, and it began to be rumoured that he had left the island out of sheer embarrassment. Finally, the following weekend, he was spotted fishing on a particularly lonely piece of the shore. This led to a whole series of new jokes about his masturbatory habits, which I joined in with, despite having very different thoughts in my head.

  The place where he had been seen was called Val de Fret, an old French name typical of the islands. It was a rocky cove at the bottom of a couple of hundred feet of cliff, and if it was a pig of a place to get to, then that was presumably why he had chosen it. On that Saturday night, Kate and Carl went even further. They had gone out to the quarry as before, only this time, after she had sucked him hard, they had gone all the way. She had knelt for him in the back of the pick-up, topless and with her jeans and panties down. He had played with her tits while he rode her and came all over her bare bottom. The description made me jealous and also painfully turned on. It had been in the doggy position too, with her bum exposed to him, an idea which I found deliciously rude and incredibly sexy.

  The next day was Sunday, and I managed to evade everybody after breakfast and made my way out along the cliff path. My route was rather aimless, but I knew exactly where I was going to end up. Sure enough, half-an-hour’s walk found me on the cliff top that overlooked the Val de Fret. I was telling myself that I didn’t want to find Ryan, but of course I did. He was there, too, sitting on a rock and just watching the waves. I was completely incapable of doing what I wanted, which was to find the way down and ask if he’d like –

  Well, to be honest, I didn’t really know. I wanted him to be the instigator, to make me do something really dirty, like strip and pose in rude positions for him to come over. I didn’t want to have to ask, nor to get into the sort of half-embarrassed relationship that would lead to the clumsy gropes and fumbles that formed the extent of my experience of sex. Given that he knew the state of his reputation on the island, he was in fact highly unlikely to make an advance on me at all, as he would only know me as the best friend of the ever-popular Kate. I also felt more than a little ashamed of my own emotions.

  As I stood at the top of the cliff, feeling frustrated and annoyed with myself for my lack of courage, I decided that the least I could do was to climb down. I eventually found a suitable-looking place and began my descent, only to be brought up short by a drop of around six feet where the vegetation ended and the bare rock began. It was vertical and, while there appeared to be toe-holds, I didn’t trust myself to climb down. Feeling very pathetic, I sat down where I was sure he couldn’t see me and tried to think what to do. I was feeling pretty silly, and almost started back, but decided to at least try and get a better view of him. A little way above me was one of the German bunkers with which the Channel Islands are dotted. It looked as if its observation port had been designed to overlook the Val de Fret. As the thing was solid concrete about three feet thick, with only a narrow observation slit, I knew that once inside I would be invisible, yet could watch to my heart’s content.

  It smelt faintly musty inside, and I had to traverse an almost completely dark room to get where I wanted. It was worth it though, because the observation slit gave me a view of the entire bay, including Ryan. He was walking around the bay, leaping from boulder to boulder and occasionally glancing out to sea. He seemed strangely furtive, considering he was fully dressed and had a perfect right to be there, and I began to wonder, and hope, that he might be thinking of playing with himself. I felt a little scared, but also thrilled by the knowledge that, while I could see him clearly, he couldn’t see me at all.

  He inspected the sea-cave at the very apex of the bay, but quickly came out. Again he glanced out to sea, and I became doubly sure that he was up to something. He continued to search, clearly looking for somewhere private but with no luck. Finally he disappeared from view, directly underneath me. I began to feel more nervous, wondering if he might choose my bunker as a good place to masturbate. Of course, it was exactly what I wanted, in my fantasies: but now that it stood a chance of becoming reality, I began to feel scared.

  I had made up my mind to go when I heard the crunch of a boot on the gravel outside. It could only be him, and I was stuck, and faced with the embarrassment of being caught spying. I stayed still, thinking frantically of what to say. He didn’t come into my room, though; and, after a couple more noises, there was silence. Finally I decided that he had gone and plucked up the courage to leave. I moved quietly across the darken ed room, then into the lighter one, only to stop short.

  A short stair led from one wall, up to what had presumably once been some sort of gun emplacement. Ryan was standing in it, his lower half visible and his shoulders and torso out of my view. He was also massaging his crotch.

  I almost ran – but of course, from where he was, he could see all round. All round, that was, except for the interior of the bunker. Rooted to the spot, I watched as he stroked and squeezed at the bulge in his trousers. I knew my mouth was open and there was a lump in my throat the size of a football. Still I didn’t run, because, when it came down to it, I needed to watch so badly.

  His gentle massaging was making his cock grow, and I could see its outline inside his jeans. After a while he put his hand to his fly and drew the zip down, then undid the button and let his jeans drop. He had boxer shorts on underneath; his half-erect cock was even more conspicuous inside them. I felt myself start to shake as he took hold of his boxers and pushed them slowly down, revealing a brush of ginger pubic hair. Then his cock flopped over the top and I nearly gave myself away, just managing to stifle my gasp at the exposure of a man’s penis just feet away from me. He pushed the shorts down a bit further, exposing balls every bit as large and hairy as Carl had described.

  He started to masturbate, stroking his cock until it was standing upright and the head was completely out of the foreskin. It seemed much bigger than the only other erection I had seen, paler, fleshier and somehow more vital. Now that it was stiff he began to pull up and down, holding it around the shaft and tugging. I was entranced, scared and disgusted, imagining the thing being pushed into my vagina as I lay on my back with my legs open or knelt with every rude detail of my sex on display for him.

  I did register that something had changed, but only too late did I realise what it was, and what that meant. Even as I realised that I could hear the sound of a boat’s engine, he was ducking down into the emplacement and then he was staring me straight in the face.