A Taste Of Amber Read online

  A NEXUS CLASSIC

  A TASTE OF

  AMBER

  Penny Birch

  Contents

  Cover

  Title

  Copyright

  Other Nexus Classics

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

  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.

  Version 1.0

  Epub ISBN 9780753543573

  www.randomhouse.co.uk

  This book is a work of fiction.

  In real life, make sure you practise safe sex.

  First published in 1998 by

  Nexus

  Thames Wharf Studios

  Rainville Road

  London W6 9HA

  Copyright © Penny Birch 1998

  This Nexus Classic edition 2001

  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 33654 4

  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.

  Other Nexus Classics:

  THE IMAGE

  AGONY AUNT

  THE INSTITUTE

  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

  A TASTE OF AMBER

  ‘Punish me, please,’ said Susan, her voice shy and quiet.

  ‘Punish you?’ Ginny echoed, ‘How do you mean?’

  I knew exactly what she meant, and the idea excited me even though I’d just come.

  ‘Tie me up and spank my bottom,’ Susan said, blushing at what she was asking for.

  One

  I should have let the games mistress seduce me in the first place. At least, that’s what I should have done to avoid getting expelled from school. Instead I had told her to get lost and so found myself on the train home, wondering what I was going to say to my parents.

  Not that it was as simple as that, but my refusal was the moment that counted. It really started a few weeks before. School was Bridestowe Ladies’ College, a small, girls-only public school in the depths of rural Devon. It was the summer term and I was eighteen, a prefect and a model of responsibility and maturity to the juniors. To most of the teachers I was a successful product of the school: well-mannered, well-spoken and good at games, if a trifle wild and less scholarly than they might have wanted. To Miss Campbell I was a cheeky, sulky tomboy with a body I didn’t know what to do with. She did, or at least she thought she did.

  Unfortunately I was too innocent to realise this, even when she began to give me the occasional encouraging smack on my bottom whenever I was slow changing for games. She also used to talk to me when I was in the showers, but I thought my popularity with her was because I was good at sport.

  It was in the shower that she finally made a move. Looking back on it, I realise that she must have planned the whole thing. She kept me talking all the way back from the games fields, then asked for help putting various bits and pieces away. The result was that by the time I got into the shower the other girls were already dressing.

  Miss Campbell came into the shower with me, which was perfectly normal. Asking me to soap her back was less ordinary, but I thought nothing of it and complied, taking the bar from her and starting on her shoulders.

  ‘Thank you, Amber, that’s nice,’ she said. ‘Could you go a little lower?’

  I did as she asked, rubbing the soap into the small of her back. I was feeling a little embarrassed, not because of our nudity or what I was doing, but because she was a mistress. Unlike many girls, I’d never felt comfortable about friendships with staff members. Such relationships are always unequal, with the girl very much the junior. Even at eighteen I liked to be the senior one in a friendship; bossy I know, but that’s just the way I am. So was Miss Campbell, but she’d picked on the wrong girl to boss.

  ‘Lower still,’ she said gently as my hands began to go up her back.

  If I went lower than I had done already, I’d have been soaping her bottom, and I was sure she couldn’t want me to do anything so intimate.

  I did the small of her back again and then, once more, started upwards. I still didn’t realise that she was making a pass at me. I had no idea that she would get turned on by having me soap her, but I did see it as a gesture of status, like having me polish her shoes or do her ironing. Not that I was completely innocent. I already masturbated, and almost always over fantasies about girls, which I accepted as part of my personality. I’d also snogged both my closest friends and even played with one’s breasts. The idea that Miss Campbell – thirty-odd years old and an authority figure – might want sex with me was something entirely different.

  ‘Lower,’ she repeated, only now it was an order.

  ‘Miss …’ I objected, looking apprehensively at the bare roundness of her bottom.

  It seems incredibly naïve, but only then did I realise that she wanted me sexually. Actually, if she’d been a bit more passionate, she’d probably have got what she wanted. She was attractive enough: slim, elegant and strong-willed. Another girl might have been excited by the situation; I could only see it as her wanting me under control. Her bottom did look enticing, though: firm and round and womanly. My instincts told me to go ahead, only my annoyance at being told what to do stopping me.

  ‘Don’t be silly, Amber,’ she said, and it was the tone of her voice that finally spoilt her plan.

  If she’d sounded excited, hopeful or pleading my hands would have gone to her bottom. I liked women’s bottoms, and had often fantasised about caressing and smacking my friends’. As it was, she made it sound as if I was being disobedient. There was no way I was having sex with her in charge. I stopped soaping and stood back.

  ‘I really don’t think I should …’ I started, determined to be firm but not feeling very sure of myself.

  ‘Why ever not?’ she demanded in the same tone.

  ‘Because I don’t want to,’ I replied.

  ‘Amber Oakley, you will do as you’re told,’ she snapped.

  ‘No,’ I answered.

 
‘Perhaps a spanking would improve your manners?’ she continued, now sounding threatening.

  ‘No,’ I repeated, outraged at her suggestion.

  She turned on me, wearing the same look of righteous indignation she might have used if I’d refused some reasonable request. I stood my ground, making the situation a stalemate. I’m sure she would have dearly loved to take me around the waist, bend me over and spank me until I was begging her to stop, but she knew she couldn’t physically do it. I was taller and heavier than her and if she tried she might well have ended up getting her own backside smacked instead.

  She realised that it was hopeless, turning back to the shower and continuing to wash as if nothing had happened. I finished showering and dressed hastily, not exchanging another word with her.

  I thought I’d handled the situation rather well, but I still felt bad about it, partly because the way she obviously saw me as an inferior had hurt my pride. Worse than that was the way it churned up all the adolescent uncertainties which I thought I’d resolved. Coming to terms with preferring girls to boys had provoked a fair bit of angst. A great deal more had been provoked by my urge to punish and humiliate my friends sexually. By eighteen I’d accepted both needs as part of me, but not the dimension Miss Campbell’s behaviour had added.

  My fantasies had always involved a mixture of sex and control, and most of them involved spanking other girls’ bottoms. Given that I’d never spanked anybody, I had no idea where it came from. There was just something irresistibly fascinating about a girl’s bottom being smacked as a punishment. It didn’t mean I actually disliked other girls, just the opposite. I also knew that if I ever did spank a girl I’d want to hug and kiss her after I’d dealt with her, then go to bed. As it was, the strongest bit of the fantasy was not doing the actual spanking, but thinking of how the girl would feel as I took her pants down to get her bottom bare. She’d feel helpless, humiliated, about to be punished and unable to do anything about it.

  And that was what Miss Campbell had threatened to do – to me!

  There hadn’t been official physical punishments at school for years, although one or two girls had been known to accept unofficial spankings in place of more tedious punishments. Not me though. The idea of lying over a mistress’s lap with my skirt up and my pants pulled down was utterly unbearable. My bottom would be bare and my fanny would show from the back, and then she’d spank me. I knew I’d cry, which I do rather easily. I also knew it would turn me on. Whether I liked it or not, the idea of being spanked was at once terrifying and immensely attractive.

  It had nearly happened, and I couldn’t get it out of my mind.

  This had the effect of increasing my sexual need and I started to play with myself more often. I’d do it late at night when it was safe, with the bedclothes down, my nightie pulled up to my neck and my knickers off. Instead of thinking about sex with one of my friends, my fantasies would drift to what might have happened if I’d given in to Miss Campbell. In my imagination it would happen in the shower as it almost had, only I’d give in to the spanking and then she’d make me lick her between her legs while my bottom was all hot and red. Sometimes it would be different, perhaps with her spanking me in front of a class, with my gym knickers pulled down and my bottom bare for everyone to see. Worse still was the idea of being done on the games field in front of a visiting team. They’d all be laughing as I was pulled down over her bent knee. My skirt would come up and my pants would be taken down, despite my kicks and protests. Then I’d be spanked until I was blubbering. By then I wouldn’t care what I was showing any more – fanny, bottom-hole, the lot. It was incredibly humiliating, and used to give me the most exquisite orgasms.

  There was another detail – one that often came into my head just before orgasm, when I had least reserve. I’d be nearing my climax, imagining myself on my knees in the shower, Miss Campbell standing over me, her hand pushing my head into her fanny, and my tongue busy with her clitoris. Then, as I started to come, my mind would run off on its own, imagining her turning, putting her bottom in my face, and letting go of my head to pull her cheeks apart. She’d order me to kiss it and I’d know she didn’t mean her cheeks or the rear of her fanny lips, but her anus.

  I’d be looking at her bottom-hole from a distance of inches; a little ring of puckered pink flesh, slightly open in anticipation of my tongue. She wouldn’t pull my head in and make me lick it – she’d expect me to do it voluntarily. I’d know that for me to accept would mark me as so far beneath her that, from then on, I’d be just a plaything for her, like a doll she could use when she liked. I’d do it, though; I wouldn’t be able to help it – leaning forward, puckering my lips out as if I was going to kiss a friend. It wouldn’t be a friend’s lips I was going to kiss, but another woman’s anus; the dirtiest, most servile act imaginable. Finally I’d kiss it, putting my face between her buttocks and planting a willing, unrestrained kiss right on the little hole.

  Then I’d come, at first in utter bliss – my back arching and her name on my lips – then with a great rush of humiliation at the thought of what I’d come over. I’d lie there in the dark for a while, my nightie still up, hoping neither of my neighbours had heard me masturbating and wondering where such a dirty fantasy had come from.

  I wanted to talk to my friends about all of this, but there were only two I was close enough to to admit such dirty thoughts. These were Ginny Linslade and Susan Wren, who were also the two girls I used to fantasise over when I wasn’t thinking about Miss Campbell.

  Ginny was the girl whose breasts I’d played with. Tall, blonde and curvy, she was extremely sexy and would have made a statue sit up and pay attention. We’d been friends a long time and she had accepted the increasingly sexual nature of our relationship with the same playful enthusiasm she brought to life as a whole. There was nothing false about Ginny; she was always open, straightforward and let her feelings lead her.

  Susan was, in many ways, the opposite: petite, dark-haired and olive-skinned. She had only started her periods at seventeen and completely lacked Ginny’s boisterous attitude to sex. On the other hand, it was she who had first asked me to kiss her properly. Very intelligent, shy and vulnerable, she saw Ginny and particularly me as protectors – a role I was more than happy to fill.

  Somehow the moment was never right until one Sunday nearly a month after the incident with Miss Campbell. The three of us had been walking on Dartmoor and had bought a fair amount of beer to wash our lunch down. We ended up fairly drunk – too drunk to risk returning to the school – and so we chose a quiet spot among the rocks and sat down to chat with our shoes and socks off and our feet in the cool water of a brook.

  Inevitably the conversation turned to sex and, as usual, it mainly consisted of Susan and I listening to Ginny. She was the only one of us who wasn’t a virgin, having had intercourse with no less than three men. She’d also had plenty of less heavy encounters and had actually lost count of the number of men’s cocks she’d sucked, or claimed to have sucked. Just one would have made her by far the most experienced of us. Susan had only ever allowed herself to be coaxed into taking a boyfriend’s penis in her hand and I hadn’t even seen one.

  I had already come to terms with the fact that I preferred girls, but Ginny’s vivid descriptions of sucking men’s cocks still had quite an effect on me. Her father was a farmer in Wiltshire and she had two older brothers – a set up that seemed to give her endless opportunity for misbehaving. In this case she was telling us how she managed to entice one of the men who worked on the farm. The little flirt had waited until he was working in the yard beneath her bedroom window, then deliberately thrown the curtains open while she had no top on. Ginny’s breasts were big and round and I could just imagine how the man must have felt with her flaunting them in front of him.

  That was what she enjoyed most – to feel she was exciting, and the centre of attention. I suppose there’s a bit of that in all of us, me included. Whereas I find it rather awkward if my body turns men on
unintentionally, Ginny simply revelled in the effect she had on them. She was no tease, but felt almost a sense of obligation to anyone who had the guts to admit she turned them on.

  That was what had happened in this case. He’d cornered her in the barn a couple of days later and made it quite clear that he wanted sex. Ginny had spent the next few minutes down on her knees in the straw with her blouse pulled open to show her tits and his prick in her mouth.

  There was no way Susan or I would have done it, either of us would have probably kicked him and run for it. Not Ginny; she’d savoured every moment of having his erection to suck and played with herself while she did it.

  ‘Did he come?’ Susan asked, her voice a mixture of excitement and disgust.

  ‘Right in my mouth,’ Ginny answered with obvious relish.

  I felt a little shiver go through me at the thought and exchanged glances with Susan. Ginny laughed, clearly delighted at our reaction. The idea of letting a man put his cock in my mouth really alarmed me. It seemed such a servile thing to do, yet, like the thought of kissing Miss Campbell’s anus, the idea at once thrilled and repelled me.

  ‘What does it taste like?’ Susan asked.

  ‘Cocks taste all masculine and really sexy,’ Ginny answered. ‘Spunk’s salty and a bit slimy, but there’s something about it that really turns me on.’

  ‘Yuck!’ Susan replied. ‘It sounds awful.’

  ‘You should try it,’ Ginny suggested. ‘You’ve got such a pretty face, any man would love to see you sucking on his cock, especially in your school uniform. You should ask someone. You won’t get turned down.’

  ‘I couldn’t!’ Susan protested.

  ‘I’ll ask, and then you can do it,’ Ginny suggested. ‘Come on, let’s find a hiker or someone.’

  ‘You really would, wouldn’t you?’ I asked in disbelief.

  Ginny never answered because Susan said something that stopped the conversation dead.

  ‘To be honest, I prefer girls,’ she remarked in a small, embarrassed voice that sent a shiver right through me.