Tie and Tease Page 10

‘Absolutely,’ Anderson agreed. ‘That always puts the cap on it.’

  ‘It’s why I do it,’ I admitted. ‘It doesn’t matter how often it happens, it’s still incredibly humiliating, particularly the moment when my panties come down, and it still turns me on. The greater the humiliation the bigger the thrill.’

  ‘The same for dishing it out,’ Michael remarked. ‘Knowing what’s going on in the girl’s head is half the pleasure.’

  ‘That would seem to argue that the more humiliating the conditions of the punishment the more likely the receiver is to become excited by it,’ Amber suggested.

  ‘Why not?’ Anderson agreed. ‘Picture this contrast. On the one hand we have a girl in an imaginary sixth-form Catholic school, not as they are, but as some might argue they should be. Let us call her Mary. She knows she is under the authority of the nuns and that if she is bad she will be punished. For her, punishment has always meant the exposure of her bottom and a spanking, even the cane. She has also been taught that this is just. When it happens it hurts and doubtless it is a little undignified, showing what she has been taught is such a rude part of her anatomy to all and sundry while it gets whacked, but that is the extent of it.

  ‘In contrast think of a girl brought up to believe that she is special, something precious, something untouchable. She is noble, perhaps; her parents are certainly rich and she is called Annabella. To her, punishment is for other people, the gardener’s daughter, bare-bottomed over his wheelbarrow, the kitchen maids, lined up along the range with their skirts high and their drawers dropped while the cook belabours them with a wooden spoon. For it to happen to her would be unthinkable. Then someone, her tutor shall we say, finally loses patience with her airs. He upends her, exposes her bottom and gives her exactly the same treatment as she saw the gardener’s daughter get the day before. She howls just the same; she kicks just the same, and although she probably imagines her own pain is far worse, it’s really much the same. What is different is her humiliation, which becomes a burning, overriding sensation and which I would bet leaves her with a wet pussy and a lot of confusion.’

  ‘Afterwards,’ I added, ‘she runs to her room in tears, throws herself on the bed for a tantrum, then masturbates until she’s sore. I should know, because that’s more or less how I got into it. Not quite as bad perhaps, but I can imagine Annabella’s humiliation.’

  ‘It’s a nice story, Anderson,’ Amber put in, ‘but I don’t entirely agree. Annabella thinks she’s above it, but she knows it happens. She had seen the gardener’s daughter beaten, perhaps the maids and other girls, too. Yes, she feels superior to them and above such things. So when it does happen she is far more humiliated and outraged than they could ever be. She knows it’s possible, though, in the general sense. Punishment is part of her world, even if she feels it shouldn’t apply to her. After all, she’s got a bottom, just like the gardener’s daughter, and a bottom can always be smacked.

  ‘What would be worse would be for a girl to be spanked when the whole idea is completely foreign to her. OK, nobody could actually be unaware that bottoms can be smacked as a form of punishment, but to a modern girl it could be something totally inapplicable to her life, frightening but out of date, like being put in a scold’s bridle or ducked as a witch. We’ll call her Gemma. She’s an absolute brat, and likes making boys fight over her. She’s been in a pub, flirting with two boys in the hope that there will be a good fight after closing time. Sure enough, they agree to fight and go into a park where they won’t be seen, along with Gemma and others. The boys don’t fight, though. Instead they grab Gemma and push her over a swing. One sits on her back while the other pulls down her panties and shorts, leaving her bum showing, then lifts up her top to bare her boobs. All her friends and several men are watching as she’s spanked, bare-bottomed, and lectured for being a brat. Her humiliation would be worse than Annabella’s.’

  ‘I agree,’ Michael said, ‘but I think the same situation can be taken a step further. Picture this, a girl having to submit to the cane from a stepmother who is actually younger than her. She, we’ll call her Elaine, is twenty-two, in her third year at university, pretty, well educated, very self-confident. Her parents divorced when she was a teenager, and both have thoroughly spoiled her. She has never been spanked, let alone caned, and would be outraged by even a suggestion that any modern woman, let alone herself, could be subjected to such indignity. Like Gemma, she thinks of it as something that used to happen a long time ago in cruder and less civilised times.

  ‘The stepmother is a mere nineteen, called Sue, has dyed blonde hair and wears white high heels. She knows about spanking, because that’s what Elaine’s father is into. Elaine looks down on her and is always cold towards her. Sue resents this and engineers a way to get a hold over Elaine, blackmail or whatever it might be. Sue then tells Elaine that she is going to cane her. Elaine protests but ultimately has to do it. She is made to bend over a chair. Her dress is lifted on to the small of her back. Her expensive silk knickers are pulled down. She is told her sex is too hairy and that she ought to shave. She is told that before the next time she takes a punishment she ought to wash her bottom properly. Then she is caned, caned by the nineteen-year-old slut her father has taken as a second wife. There is true humiliation.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Vicky said, ‘but there’s no audience, only she and Sue ever know what has happened. I like an audience, and Amber’s Gemma sounds like she’d be less able to handle her feelings, so they’d probably be stronger. She wouldn’t understand why she was turned on afterwards either, so she’d be really flustered and confused. As you know, my ex-boyfriend, Todd, got me into being a pony-girl before I got fully into CP. Getting the crop across my bum was all part of the fun and I didn’t find it humiliating at all. I’ve always liked being naked and showing off; it’s only humiliating if people don’t appreciate it. The same goes for having my bum whacked.’

  ‘What about your health farm fantasy?’ I put in.

  ‘That’s not the same. There I’m being punished for not being good enough. It’s like when Melody beat me wrestling and made me kiss her bumhole. It was losing that humiliated me, not kissing her bum in front of all those people. I’ll admit it turned me on, but I did get her back.’

  ‘You lot are a bunch of perverts!’ Ginny laughed. ‘I was an innocent little farm girl until Amber got me into spanking, and pony-carting and the rest of it. If you want humiliation, though, what about this? I let this guy talk me into playing with him. He was this fat old bloke, bald with a red beard, and we got talking one afternoon. He gave me this big story about how lonely he was and how he’d never had a girlfriend and everything. He even said he’d never seen a girl’s pussy bare, or anything. I believed it and let him watch me sunbathe. He talked me into stripping, then got me to suck his cock! I even swallowed for him! I didn’t even mind so much, because I felt I’d done something special for him, a sort of good deed for the day. Then Katie King told me it was her uncle. He’d been married twice and had seven kids! That’s humiliation.’

  ‘No, that’s being a slut.’ Amber laughed. ‘After all, you didn’t have to strip off for him, let alone suck his cock.’

  Ginny stuck her tongue out at Amber but left it at that, taking a swallow of port. All the talk about how best to humiliate a girl had left me with a wet pussy and a strong need to have my own bottom seen to. I hadn’t been dealt with properly since Percy had caned me, and the thought of being stripped and whacked in some thoroughly rude and exposed position was immensely appealing.

  In front of them wasn’t enough. Amber would have put me across her knee if I’d asked, maybe passed me around so all six of them could warm my bum. It would have been nice, but after thinking of the depth of feeling the various imaginary girls would have experienced I wanted something more.

  ‘I’m inclined to side with Michael,’ Henry remarked. ‘At least in terms of depth of humiliation. I think Elaine would have suffered the worst. Maybe this is unfair of me, but I can never im
agine a working-class girl getting so upset about a spanking, so I can’t really picture Gemma being anything more than cross. Annabella’s better: just what some haughty little rich girl deserves, a good bare-bottomed spanking, preferably in front of the servants. Sadly the tale belongs to a bygone day. Nowadays the tutor would be arrested for assault.’

  ‘Annabella would still have had her spanking.’

  ‘True, but at what a cost, when really the tutor should be thanked. No, Elaine would have experienced the greatest depth of humiliation, and if she had found she had to masturbate afterwards I imagine she’d have been crying even as she came. Nevertheless, I think I can do better, albeit within a similar context. Michael’s fantasy relies on a disparity in age and status, and so does mine. My girl is called Camilla. She is a Sunday-school teacher in some quiet and genteel village, very proper, very well brought up, thirty or so and a virgin. She is pretty in a gentle, rustic way, and has a good figure if perhaps a touch fleshy around the bottom and breasts for modern fashion. Not that anybody really notices this, because her clothing is demure to say the least. When she eventually marries, the display of her body to her husband on the wedding night will be a moment of immense sacrifice to her, and even then it will be conducted in the dimmest of light.

  ‘So, she is in the habit of taking the local children for nature rambles each Sunday. There is some sort of exchange going on, so that instead of her normal polite and well-brought-up twelve-year-olds she has a group of twenty sixteen-year-old toughs from the local steel town. They are less than impressed by the glories of the English countryside, and the fact that Camilla knows a glade where ragged-Robin grows leaves them cold. They begin to tease her, quickly bringing colour to her maiden cheeks. Spurred on by her blushes, they go from bad to worse, suggesting she expose herself for their pleasure. “Get your tits out for the lads” is, I believe, the sort of phrase they might use.

  ‘Camilla’s blushes deepen at such rude words, and she is feeling distinctly flustered. In a desperate effort to keep control she threatens to tell their parents of their foul language. This is the worst possible thing for her to do, as it both amuses and antagonises the youths. No longer is she seen as the harmless butt of their jokes, but as an active member of the repressive establishment they all hate. Poor Camilla is dragged to a fence. She is bent across it. Her ankles are tied with bailing twine, wide apart. Her wrists are crossed over her back and lashed together. Her blouse is cut open, her bra too, spilling her large breasts out beneath her chest. Her skirt is pulled up. Her petticoats are exposed, much to the amusement of the lads at seeing such quaint underwear. They are lifted anyway, exposing big French knickers heavily trimmed with lace. After a period of jokes and laughter at the sight of this old-fashioned garment and the way her position stretches the silk across her ample behind, they are pulled down. Now everything is showing, details that even her husband was never supposed to see. They tell her so, too, describing in gloating detail the way her pussy lips show, with the inner labia peeping out from between the outer. Her anus is also remarked on, how pink and tight it is, and how it is bound to be virgin.

  ‘When they finally run out of things to say about her naked bottom and dangling breasts they beat her, with their hands and with twigs, slapping her bottom up to a rosy glow as they continue to tease her. Only then comes the final humiliation: tied, stripped and spanked she can no longer resist the lust that she had forced down for so many years. Choking on her own emotion, she begs to be entered, fucked if you will, not by some gallant swain in between fresh cotton sheets, but by twenty laughing oiks who take turns with her from the rear.

  ‘Her humiliation, at the moment she asked to be mounted, would, I suggest, be beyond anything so far mentioned. Hardly acceptable behaviour, of course, and if I were ever to come across such a scene I would do my utmost to drive the youths away . . .’

  ‘And fuck Camilla senseless,’ Vicky interrupted.

  ‘Certainly not,’ Henry answered. ‘I would release her immediately. Still, for humiliation I think I must claim the prize for Camilla, unless Penny has any say in the matter?’

  ‘I can think of a thing or two,’ I answered, ‘but just now I’d rather have it done to me, preferably like Camilla.’

  ‘We lack twenty steel-town roughs,’ Amber pointed out. ‘Why not just come over my knee?’

  I rose to go, tingling with anticipation for my spanking, only for Anderson to raise a hand as he tried to swallow his mouthful of port.

  ‘If she wants to have it in public, then she must have it in public!’ he declared. ‘We may not be able to provide such luxuries as gangs of perverted oiks, but there is a lay-by not so far from here where Vicky and I have occasionally provided the local dirty old men with a treat. How about it, Penny? Amber?’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Amber said, ‘as long as it’s safe. Michael, you’d better drive.’

  ‘I’d be delighted,’ Michael answered, ‘and may I suggest as an added refinement that Penny be put in a pair of frilly panties or something equally ridiculous?’

  ‘Better still, put her in nappies!’ Ginny chimed in. ‘We can use towels and big safety pins!’

  They did it too, all of it. Amber and Ginny took me upstairs and told me to take off my panties under my dress. I was in red velvet, a full-length dress, and had put on panties to match, grey silk with a lace trim, about the most expensive pair I own. Ginny fetched a big white towel from the bathroom and I lay down on it, allowing her to fold it around my tummy and up between my legs, closing it off with a big safety pin.

  My breathing had already started to get fast, and being put in a towelling nappy made it faster. When I stood up the feeling was stronger still, just knowing I had it on under my dress: in nappies, at my age, as if I was in the habit of wetting myself. I put my panties back on, stretching them over the impromptu nappy to add an extra touch of ridicule to my look.

  I showed the others when we got downstairs, lifting my dress and twirling to give them all a good show. Then it was outside, to Michael’s big four-by-four, the perfect vehicle for what we intended. Seated, we all looked respectable: the men in black tie, the girls in demure frocks. With Michael sober and the police not in the habit of performing panty inspections beside the public roads, we were completely safe, just so long as Anderson and Vicky knew what they were doing.

  Experienced exhibitionists that they are, they made no mistake. The lay-by was near St Albans, a pull-off with a high hedge shielding it from the main road. One other car was there, a battered old Ford moving to the motion of the teenage couple humping away merrily inside it. They took no notice of us, and when Michael had parked the car Vicky flicked the headlights. We had agreed everything on the way, and this was a known signal, showing that there would be something worth watching. A moment later a torch beam flashed out from the undergrowth and Anderson declared that we were safe. At his words a knot formed in my stomach. It was still a game, but that torch meant there was a genuine dirty old man out there, maybe more than one, and the prospect of my little bit of exhibitionism had suddenly become very real.

  We had already worked out what to do, a little sketch designed to give our audience the biggest possible thrill by making me seem reluctant. The signal Vicky had given meant look but don’t touch, with Michael and I the players and the others ready if anything got out of hand. With the lights off Michael and I began to snog, the others crouched low down in the back. It felt odd enough kissing Ginny’s husband in his car as it was, almost as if we were being unfaithful, and I have to admit to enjoying it. He soon had my top down over my boobs, leaving them feeling incredibly exposed as a flicker of torchlight from outside ran over their pale, naked skin.

  I started to play up, pushing his hands away when he tried to touch my breasts, putting them away, only to have my dress tugged smartly down over them again. He became more insistent, kissing my chest and sucking a nipple into his mouth. Again the torchlight washed over me, illuminating my naked breasts with Michael sucking
greedily at one teat. It was getting to me, and I wanted to show my nappy.

  Michael continued to kiss and feel, doubtless enjoying himself as much as I was. My nipples were achingly hard; my pussy was soaking, quite ready for a cock or Amber’s tongue. As Michael pulled back I knew the time had come, and found myself shaking hard as he opened his door and climbed down. There was a rustle in the foliage and I saw a face for just one instant, a red, leering face with a bushy moustache, faintly illuminated in the beam of his torch. That really set my heart hammering, but as Michael helped me down I managed to give an angry shake of my head. It was quite light, with the big lights from the main road throwing long shadows from the hedge, but the red colours of the car and my dress clearly visible.

  ‘You’re a bastard, making me do this!’ I snapped. ‘We could easily have made it home.’

  ‘That wouldn’t be half the fun.’ He laughed. ‘Anyway, why do you think I made you wear your nappy?’

  ‘To humiliate me at Annabella’s!’ I answered. ‘Can you imagine if I’d tripped or something and my dress had gone up? I’m sure it shows under my dress in any case.’

  ‘Nonsense. Anyway, you loved it, you slut. Come on, pee-pee time, or do I have to spank you first? That’s what happens to naughty girls who won’t do as they’re told, you know, they get their botties smacked.’

  ‘Oh come on, not that.’

  ‘Yes, that. I think it’ll do you good, actually. Put your hands on the bumper and stick your bum up.’

  ‘People are watching! I heard noises. I saw a torch!’

  ‘Nonsense, you’re just trying to get out of it. There’s only that old Ford and they’re just a couple having a quickie. Anyway, it’ll do you good if they see your bare arse, and probably spice up their sex a bit. Come on, bend, now!’

  The last was a sharp command and I did it, giving him my dirtiest look but bending to rest my hands on the bars at the front of the four-by-four. I got well down, making my bum the highest part of my body, gripped the bars and looked back, sulky and resentful as he came behind me.