Bare, White and Rosy Page 10

  ‘I’m not the first, am I?’ I asked.

  ‘By no means,’ Vernon assured me, ‘although you will be the first to go in there without financial inducement.’

  I managed a wry smile, reflecting what a slut I was to go willingly when other girls had had to be paid. There was a mirror among the portraits and I turned my back to it, trembling harder than ever as I inspected my bottom. He’d caned me beautifully, laying six neatly spaced double welts across my bottom flesh, which was flushed an even pink from my spankings. Now I was going to suck cock for the men who’d beaten me – maybe more, maybe all fifteen of them.

  ‘Come along, in you go,’ one of them said, and reached out to apply a firm pat to my bottom.

  Again I smiled, struggling to show how in control I was, and as I walked to the cupboard I deliberately wiggled my hips to taunt them. I was deceiving myself. They were in control, because they’d beaten me so well that I wanted to be used in any way they pleased. I was obviously expected to do it kneeling too, but that felt right, and I got down on the little square of thick carpet without demur.

  Vernon made a polite gesture to Gilbert, who joined me in the cupboard and slid the door shut. There was no window but a small ventilator set high in the wall, through which dirty grey light filtered down, illuminating the pale shape of his cock and balls as he flopped them out of his trousers. Evidently there was to be no preamble. I would be treated just like the girls they paid, expected to do as I was told without making a fuss.

  I took him in, his cock already half stiff from spanking me and watching me beaten. Through the haze of my arousal I was aware that not only was I sucking cock for a man who’d just punished me, but also that he was my boss. That was something I’d never done before, because I’d never really had a boss, and it was nice. I wondered how many girls ended up on their knees with their boss’s cock in their mouths, and how many got spanked first. Not many, I imagined, not nowadays, but it was just the fantasy I needed.

  He was rapidly growing hard, and he had a nice cock, quite big and pale with a fat, kissable head and big balls that just cried out to be licked. I obliged myself, masturbating while I flicked my tongue over the taut, wrinkly skin of his scrotum and rubbed my face against him. There was a long queue waiting for my attention, but I was not going to rush. I wanted to savour all fifteen cocks and to masturbate while I did it, making myself come.

  My hand was between my thighs before he was even fully erect, rubbing in my wet slit as I revelled in the delicious shame of being made to go bare-bottom over men’s laps, being spanked, then made to suck off the very same men. I imagined having no choice, surrendering first my bottom and then my mouth to some bastard because he’d sack me if I didn’t give in. He’d fuck me too, over his desk with my hot red bottom cheeks parted to show off my bumhole and the mouth of my cunt as his erection slid in and out. I’d be given to his friends and clients, used to sweeten business deals and brighten up dull afternoons in the office. He’d make me wear tarty underwear or none at all, have me sit with my skirt pulled up while I took dictation, make me wear a plug in my bumhole to keep me ready for buggering, force me to bend over in front of his friends and show it off, make me suck on it while they took turns to fuck me up my arse . . .

  Gilbert came in my mouth, a great gush of spunk that I struggled to swallow, my cheeks bulging as he held himself in deep to make sure I couldn’t pull back before he’d finished. It left me gasping, with a trail of spunk and saliva running down my chin, which I hastily licked up as he tilted my chin and looked down at me. I was still rubbing, right on the edge of orgasm, but he didn’t seem to realise, contenting himself with a gentle kiss on the tip of my nose before sitting back to put his cock away.

  I slowed down, eager to come with a cock in my mouth. Gilbert left and Vernon replaced him, treating me with the same casual disdain, cock flopped out and into my mouth with barely a word of greeting. Like Gilbert he was half stiff, but I was now urgent, sliding my mouth up and down to get him erect as I rubbed myself and once more returned to my fantasy. Now I was bent over my boss’s desk, my skirt and tails turned up to show off my bare bottom, the base of my butt plug sticking out obscenely from between my cheeks. There’d be six of them, clients, laughing at me as my boss eased the thick plug in and out of my gaping bumhole, and louder as it was extracted and put in my mouth.

  That was just too rude not to come over, but I held the image in my head as I gobbled eagerly on Vernon’s now rigid cock: myself in my smart little secretary’s suit, my bottom stripped and spread, my anus agape and about to be plugged with my boss’s cock, six men laughing at my unbearable humiliation as my mouth gaped to take in a plug drawn straight from my rectum, the taste thick in my senses as I began to suck. Vernon whipped his cock free just as my pussy began to go into contraction and jerked furiously at his shaft as I shut my eyes to focus properly on the awful degradation I was wishing for. My orgasm was long and hard, every sensation magnified: the feel of my fingers on my pussy, my burning clit, the heat of my smacked and welted bottom, a wet, stickiness on my skin. I’d come, and so had the Right Honourable Vernon Flyght, all over my face.

  Most of it was over one eye, which I didn’t dare open, but at least he had the decency to offer me a handkerchief to mop up with. By the time I’d finished he’d gone, to be promptly replaced by Otto Borse. I’d come twice and my pussy had begun to get sore but I was still high and took him in willingly enough. He was even bigger than Gilbert, with a thick, meaty foreskin and great hairy balls that tickled my nose as I tried to get him right in. He was nice about it, stroking my hair as I sucked, and firm only when it came to holding me in place to make sure I swallowed.

  He was my third. I couldn’t even remember the name of the fourth, but he was very controlling, holding me by my hair and making me purse my lips so that he could fuck the bud of my mouth. Like Gilbert and Otto he made me swallow, and so did most of the others, with just a couple doing it in my face or insisting I hold my mouth open to be spunked in. I took it all like a good little slut, meek and obedient, while my excitement gradually rose once more. When one of them told me he was going to masturbate over my smacked bottom I climbed up on the chair without hesitation, kneeling for him and helping him toss until he spattered my cheeks with spunk.

  I’d been ready for fucking from the start, but blowjobs seemed to be the order of the day, and it was only Stubbs who really took advantage. By then my fingers were back between my legs and I was masturbating as he came in. His cock was flaccid and tasted oily, and he sat on the very edge of the chair so that he could grope my tits while I got him erect. That made me feel dirty and eager. I couldn’t help but remember that he was the one who’d actually applied the cane to my bottom, and I could happily have got off on that, but he wanted more.

  ‘Dirty little tart, aren’t you?’ he grunted, squeezing my tits.

  My mouth was full of cock but I nodded.

  ‘You’ll do anything, won’t you, now we’ve got you feeling good and dirty?’

  Again I nodded, wondering what he had in mind for me.

  ‘I bet you’d even lick my arse?’

  This time I hesitated, in very real disgust, but he was right. I did feel dirty, deliciously dirty. Pulling back from his cock, I answered him.

  ‘You filthy bastard. Go on then, make me.’

  His response was a nasty, dry snigger, full of contempt as much as lust. I rocked back on my heels, scarcely able to accept what I’d just volunteered for but unable to resist. He stood up and as he unfastened his trousers I was trying to make excuses, telling myself that I was only doing it because I’d been told to be a good girl, that if I refused he’d force me, that I was just being kind to an old man who might never have the chance to enjoy a woman like me again – anything rather than admit that I actually wanted to push my tongue in between his buttocks and lick.

  I could only see him faintly as he pushed his trousers and underpants down around his ankles before flopping back into the c
hair. He lifted one leg free of his trousers and underpants, then hesitated, reached out to a nearby shelf, and passed something to me.

  ‘Stick that up yourself, why don’t you?’

  My hand closed on something round, smooth and hard, which I could just make out as the handle of a brush, the sort that goes with a pan. To have to stick it up my hole while I licked was a gloriously dirty thought and I didn’t hesitate, reaching back to ease it in up my sloppy pussy. Being penetrated felt good, and I was only sorry there wasn’t another one to go in up my bum at the same time. I used my finger instead, squatting down to push the brush against the floor as I tickled the little wet hole between my cheeks.

  ‘Get licking,’ he ordered as he pulled his legs up to spread his buttocks.

  ‘You have to make me,’ I told him, my voice hoarse.

  ‘Awkward bitch!’ he answered, and reached out.

  He grabbed my hair and I squeaked as I was hauled in. I fought back, struggling to stop it happening, because I was determined that if I did it he would really have to make me. His slit was matted with hair, clammy and pungent with a male smell strong enough to make me gag as I was pulled closer. I was close to panic, but still wriggling my penetrated cunt on the brush handle, needing what was going to be done to me, but only under his control.

  I got it, my face pulled hard between his buttocks and rubbed from side to side to make his slit open. His coarse anal hair was rubbing on my nose and lips and his smell almost overwhelming, but I kept my mouth firmly shut, wanting him to talk to me.

  ‘Lick!’ he ordered. ‘Lick my fucking arse, you stuck-up little bitch.’

  That was better. My tongue poked out to find the large, blubbery star of his anal ring, and to lick. He gave a groan of satisfaction and began to wank, his balls slapping in my face as I flicked my tongue over the crevices and bumps of his anus, struggling with the acrid taste and the bits of hair in my mouth but unable to stop myself, and not only because he had his hand twisted tight into my hair.

  It was the final, unspeakable degradation, to end up licking the commissionaire’s anus after everything else I’d been put through, and my hands went straight back between my thighs to frig and to tease my bumhole open. I no longer needed fantasy, because what I was getting was dirty enough: my tits swinging, naked and sweaty; my bottom stuck out, red with spanking and welted from the cane; my anus a wet brown star with my finger pushed well in; the brush sticking out from my cunt; my fingers busy between my sex lips; and, best of all, my tongue up some dirty old bastard’s arsehole as he masturbated. He wasn’t just any dirty old bastard, either: he’d spanked me and caned me, made me suck his cock and lick his balls, pulled my face between his buttocks and called me a stuck-up little bitch because I wouldn’t lick his arsehole.

  Now I was doing it, urgently, my tongue well up as I rubbed frantically at my cunt. I was going to come again, my hole already in contraction on the brush handle, my own anus pulsing hard on my intruding finger. I heard him grunt and felt his spunk splash in my hair as his arsehole tightened on my tongue, and that pushed me over the edge. My tongue pushed in, as deep as I could get it. My whole body had gone tight as my orgasm engulfed me, while splash after splash of spunk landed in my face and hair. Then my head was jerked violently up and his cock jammed into my mouth for him to finish off by spunking down my throat.

  I nearly fainted, and was left gagging on the floor, panting for breath and still clutching my cunt. The brush had fallen out when I came, and its bristles dug into my tender bottom as I rolled over on to my back, utterly exhausted. So was he, gasping in air as he lay back in the chair, and for one awful moment I thought he was going to die on me. He didn’t but was still breathless when I finally managed to climb to my feet.

  Cleaning up was urgent, to say the least, but fortunately, now that they’d had me, Gilbert and his friends were behaving like gentlemen once again. Only Stubbs was ungrateful, checking that the landing was clear and grudgingly showing me to a bathroom, where he watched with his back to the door as I stripped and washed. I didn’t complain; I’m used to men who can’t understand that, just because I can be utterly filthy, it doesn’t mean I don’t deserve as much respect as any other woman, if not more.

  By the time I had finished and returned to the room only Gilbert and Otto remained. It was gone one o’clock and they were keen to get their noses in the trough, pointing out that not only did the Aviators have an excellent menu but most of the wines were their own. I was so full of spunk I felt sick, and I was sure my belly had begun to bulge. The last thing I wanted was lunch, so I contented myself with a few glasses of Schoenenberg Riesling while Gilbert and Otto gorged themselves on grouse in a port sauce.

  They were well pleased with themselves, talking expansively and explaining the background of their little club. Most of them had been at school together, it seemed, that or university, and so had built up an intimacy long before. That created an enduring bond of trust and meant they could hire girls for their dirty games with the minimum of risk – or, in my case, find themselves a genuine slut to play with. By no means all the members of the Aviators were in the spanking club, so they had to be discreet, but with well-paid girls and well-bribed commissionaires they had managed to avoid the attentions of both the less tolerant members and the press for nearly ten years.

  I took it all in, happy to listen and to sip my wine because an idea had begun to form in my head. By the time they were munching their way through portions of spotted dick and custard served with a ’67 Coutet I had my solution.

  Six

  IT WAS SIMPLE and effective, or at least it would have been had I not decided that certain personal issues needed to be resolved at the same time. I was back in my office, checking my calls. One of those ‘personal issues’ had phoned that morning, Lydia, and she rang again as soon as I’d lowered myself – rather carefully – into my chair. She wanted a decision, and told me that Orpheus Asset Management would have to reconsider their offer if I didn’t accept it within twenty-four hours, a line so old and cheesy I couldn’t help but laugh at her. At that she changed her tactics, threatening me with a spanking and inviting me to dinner almost in the same breath. I accepted but pretended to be busy until the following Saturday, just to keep her warm. As I put the phone down I was smiling to myself, sure that I had her nicely hooked.

  The other call that morning had been from Earle Hayes, asking me to meet him for a drink. He was no longer part of my scheme, so I ignored it, too sore behind to be tempted by rough sex. Also, while I hate showing my smacked bottom to men who’re not into it, because they never understand. Not only that, but somebody, probably Stubbs, had pinched my knickers, leaving me bare under my skirt and feeling extremely vulnerable. As the sick feeling in my stomach and the ache of my jaw subsided I began to feel increasingly randy.

  In order to distract myself and pass the time I began to search the net for reports on the vintage, which turned out to be less pessimistic than I’d expected. The dry autumn was helping, although to make anything worthwhile they’d have to leave the picking later than just about any year in living memory.

  I left at five and took a cab to Marylebone High Street, intending to throw a simple dinner together, put my feet up with a bottle of wine and tease myself to a badly needed climax over what had been done to me. They also had been quite rough, so that beneath my excitement I badly needed a cuddle, making me wonder if I shouldn’t go to Percy instead. He’d also cook for me, so I could skip the throwing-together-some-dinner bit and go straight to the wine. I called him and he said he would come over immediately.

  With a little effort I could shower and towel myself down in time for him to find me naked, lying face down on my bed so as to spare my tender bottom. The position was sure to arouse both his sympathy and his lust. I thought I’d have enough time, only to find Earle Hayes standing on the pavement outside my flat with an enormous bunch of roses. He’d already seen me, and there was nothing for it but to smile and search for an excu
se to put him off without offending him. After all, even if I almost certainly didn’t need him any more he was far too influential for me to risk an open snub, and they were beautiful roses. I also preferred him not to know about Percy, because it might cause complications if I did need to allow myself to be seduced a second time.

  ‘Hello, I, er . . ., I wasn’t expecting you,’ I stammered, accepting the roses as he held them out to me. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Pleasure’s all mine. I thought I’d scared you off.’

  He leant forward to kiss me and I let him, reacting a little despite myself.

  ‘I don’t scare easily,’ I told him, ‘but—’

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ he interrupted, ‘because I have a proposition for you.’

  ‘That’s sweet, Earle, but I’m afraid my . . . my uncle is taking me to dinner tonight. I can’t let him down.’

  ‘Oh, that’s not a problem. What I was going to say was, how do you fancy a little trip to Bordeaux, all expenses paid of course?’

  I hesitated. It was a generous offer, especially from him. Even if the locals were likely to be a bit fed up the wines would be brilliant and the opportunity for making contacts incomparable. If my scheme didn’t come off for any reason, that might be invaluable, and after the mess I’d made of my first plan I didn’t want to take any chances. It was also sure to mean getting my tits fucked and several nights of rough sex without the kinky bits, but I could cope with that. On the other hand I had a lot to do in London and I didn’t want to tell him yet that his bid for Hambling and Borse was unacceptable.

  ‘Well?’ he asked, grinning and evidently assuming I was overwhelmed by his largesse.

  ‘Perhaps,’ I responded cautiously. ‘I need to think about it. When would we be going?’