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  A sharp pang ran through me, shame and excitement. That was what I was now, a cock sucker, maybe what I would be once he’d come, but it was what I wanted. Again I rocked forward to use my mouth on him. I still didn’t know what to do, so I began to lick, the same way I would a girl if she had a really huge clit, kissing the bulbous helmet and lapping under the shaft. Again Clive groaned, and this time he came, a fountain of thick white spunk erupting from his cock to catch me completely by surprise, full in my mouth.

  It tasted horrible, salty and slimy and male, but before I could spit it out a second spurt caught me in the face and hair, forcing me to close my eyes and leaving me spluttering spittle and come over my bra and my bare tits, which was where he finished off, wanking himself to spray gobbets of sticky whiteness into my cleavage and both little mounds, before wiping the last drop off on one nipple.

  Finally he collapsed back onto the sofa, leaving me with spunk dribbling down my face and chest, my eyes closed to avoid the sticky streamer laid over one lid and my mouth open in disgust. I heard him speak.

  ‘Oops! Sorry, Pippa, I got a little carried away. Let me get you some loo roll.’

  I shook my head, and climbed unsteadily to my feet. Opening my single clear eye, I made my way over to the bathroom, a big, white-tiled affair. I locked the door very carefully and went to the loo, not to wipe my face, but to tug my skirt up and slip my knickers down to my ankles, then to sit down. He’d spunked in my face, maybe the most disgusting thing I’d ever had done to me, worse than being peed on, worse than being made to suck things I’d had up my bum. I simply had to come, and I had to come still filthy with his mess.

  After all, it was what I deserved. I was a cock sucker, his little cock sucker, so it was perfectly right for me to have my face spunked in, and my mouth. I could feel it, and taste the salt and slime, filling my mouth and wet on my skin. As I began to masturbate I was touching my breasts, rubbing the spunk into my nipples and scooping up the bigger blobs so that I could suck them from my fingers.

  As I soiled myself the same phrase was running through my head again and again, what I now was, Clive’s little cock sucker, and as I came in a welter of shame and ecstasy it had changed, to what I was going to become, Mr Prufrock’s little cock sucker.

  Five

  IT DIDN’T SEEM nearly so easy the next day, not least because I’d spent a night of glorious mucky lesbian sex with AJ and was wracked with guilt. She’d been amazed by how horny I was, but I could hardly explain that it was because I’d just sucked my first cock, while I knew it was pointless to ask permission to go down on Mr Prufrock. What I did tell her about was my meeting with Morris, and how he knew what had happened at the Pumps, which put her in a foul mood until I managed to drag her out of it by crawling around her kitchen floor in the nude and pretending to be a puppy.

  She was still talking about it in the morning, going through the thirteen girls over a bowl of cereal and trying to decide who was the traitor, which was how she saw it. I had to point out that any one of them might have told their girlfriends, who in turn might have told somebody else, or even Morris directly, so that in the end she had to admit defeat. She drove me in as usual, but dropped me in Fenchurch Street, where she had an early collection to make. I walked to work through the back streets, past Champagne Charlie’s and to the rear door of Montague, Montague, Todmorden and Montague.

  I had to knock twice to get any attention, but was eventually admitted by Andy Wellspring. He made some remark about my figure, but I barely heard. My attention had been drawn to the gloomy well of Mr Prufrock’s stairs. The door at the bottom was shut, and he probably wasn’t even in, but it was impossible not to imagine him crouched down there, thinking his dirty little thoughts, or even masturbating to pictures of girls being rude on some smutty website. I was sure it was the sort of thing he’d do.

  Andy obviously knew he was out of the running, because he didn’t linger, leaving me to walk through into the hallway. I knew I should go and see Maggie to find out what she wanted me to do, but I was dreading the answer. In the end I told myself I ought to wait until Clive had a chance to get his bet on, otherwise the whole thing might go wrong, which was enough of an excuse to delay my fate. I went upstairs, to meet Steve Frost just coming out of the Blockhouse. Clive was there too, at his desk, but I ignored him. We’d agreed it was the best course of action the day before. I’d also explained to him that his blow-job was strictly a one-off. Mark was there, talking to Gail, so a little flirtation was obviously a good thing.

  ‘Hi, Steve,’ I said brightly. ‘Are we going anywhere today, like out for lunch maybe?’

  A distinctly stern voice answered me – Maggie, who was coming upstairs behind me and must have been in one of the partners’ offices.

  ‘You’ve had quite enough long lunches for one week, young lady. At the very least you might have checked in with me before going home.’

  ‘I just missed you,’ I explained. ‘I was with Clive.’

  ‘I know,’ she said, ‘and I know what you were doing.’

  She didn’t, but I wasn’t about to correct her.

  ‘So it need not go any further,’ she continued, ‘not officially.’

  The last two words had been spoken softly, and Steve had already gone into the Blockhouse, out of earshot. It wasn’t safe to say anything specific, so I merely gave her a nervous smile.

  ‘What should I do?’ I asked.

  ‘I need you to collect something for me, from Stepney Customs.’

  ‘Oh, I thought . . . Mr Prufrock?’

  ‘Never mind Mr Prufrock, this is important. Come upstairs for a moment.’

  She took my arm and led me quickly up to my own room, where she shut the door. I was already beginning to feel nervous, and it got worse as she fixed me with her sternest look.

  ‘This is one of those tasks,’ she said. ‘Mr Mulligan’s account is badly overdue, and he is being deliberately difficult, but only so that he can take advantage of our special relationship . . .’

  ‘Sorry,’ I broke in, ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘For goodness sake, Pippa,’ she sighed. ‘Mr Mulligan comes to Morris’s parties, as do many of our clients, which has allowed us to build up a useful network of contacts and business. Think of it like the Rotarians, or the Masons, only with spanking instead of funny handshakes.’

  ‘Spanking girls? And in this case me?’

  ‘Yes, of course. You’re not going to be prissy about this, are you, Pippa?’

  ‘Prissy! Maggie, I . . .’

  ‘Yes, yes, I know, you’re a lesbian, etc. I’ve heard it all before, Pippa, and I’m not impressed. We both know you like it . . .’

  ‘No I don’t! And why me? Couldn’t you send Helen?’

  ‘Mr Mulligan has asked for you personally. He’s one of those men who likes to try something fresh, I’m afraid, and that something fresh is you.’

  ‘But I don’t want to be spanked by Mr Mulligan!’

  ‘Pippa, you’re beginning to sound like a brat. It probably won’t even be bare bottom, not in front of his son and the other mechanic. He may not ask to spank you at all, but you’re to be prepared for it, and you’re to tell him you’ll be at Morris’s next party, and to promise him he’ll get to do you there.’

  ‘But I’m not going to Morris’s party!’

  ‘That hardly matters, once his cheque is safely in the bank. We can say you caught Mr Montague’s cold or something.’

  ‘Yes, but . . .’

  ‘I’m not asking you to have sex with the man, Pippa, just to flirt a little. The most you’ll get is a few pats to the seat of your skirt, and that won’t hurt, will it? Or if you really have to be a little madam about it, tell him you’re on your monthly and promise you’ll be willing at Morris’s party. Is that too much to ask?’

  I didn’t answer, and I knew I was pouting badly.

  ‘And you needn’t put on that face to me, young lady,’ she said. ‘Now come along, bend over your desk and
I’ll warm you up a little. That will make it easier.’

  ‘But if he’s not going to . . .,’ I began, only to break off with a squeak as she pulled me firmly across my own desk.

  She had me by the wrist, and twisted my arm up behind my back, forcing me to stay in position as she groped for my skirt and I began to babble.

  ‘Maggie, no! This isn’t fair . . . and anyway, you’re not allowed to . . .you’re not . . . AJ said so, and . . . and . . . ow! Not so rough!’

  My skirt was already up, and she’d yanked my knickers down, pulling them out from where they’d ridden up between my pussy lips on the bike. It hurt, and so did the smacks she began to apply to my bottom, one cheek at a time, hard and accurate, to set me kicking my feet and struggling in her grip.

  ‘I’ll tell AJ!’ I warned, realising how pathetic the threat sounded even as I said it.

  She didn’t even bother to reply, but twisted my wrist a little harder, keeping me firmly pinned down across the desk as she spanked me, now full across my cheeks before beginning to pepper the meat of my bottom with little hard slaps of her fingertips. I knew I’d be going pink, and was praying I wouldn’t have to take my knickers down in front of Mr Mulligan, but I was getting warm too, with inevitable consequences. By the time she finished I could smell my own pussy.

  ‘That should do,’ Maggie said, releasing me, ‘and there’s a certain natural scent about you too, which should appeal to him, if only subconsciously. Now come downstairs and I’ll get the paperwork ready for you.’

  I quickly adjusted myself, pouting furiously as I followed her, my bum warm in my knickers. My gusset was soaking wet by the time she was ready, but I did my best to compose myself before stepping outside to find a cab. She’d really got to me, making me angry and excited at the same time, with my resentment for the spanking hot in my mind even as I yearned for more. One thing I was sure about was that Mr Mulligan wasn’t going to be giving me what I needed, and I promised myself I would get the job done, but with the absolute minimum of personal humiliation.

  When I got to Stepney Customs they had the big double doors wide open and Fitch was driving out the Ford I’d seen to a waiting customer. I’d had the cabbie drop me some way down the line of arches on purpose, and was glad I had done so. The owner of the Ford was there, and his girlfriend, and while it didn’t seem likely that Mulligan would simply up-end me then and there, I didn’t want to take any chances. I pretended to study some graffiti in one of the empty arches until they’d gone, then walked cautiously forward. Mr Mulligan himself emerged from the doors just as I reached them. He smiled and rubbed his greasy hands on an equally greasy cloth as he spoke.

  ‘Ah ha, what have we here!’

  ‘Good morning,’ I said brightly, fighting to keep the tremor out of my voice.

  ‘So they’ve sent you to collect, have they?’ he asked, leering at me.

  ‘Yes,’ I admitted, ‘if you could just sign a couple of things, and . . .’

  ‘Come in the office,’ he said, cutting me off.

  I followed him into the garage and across to the little shack he used. His son looked up from where he was putting the finishing touches to the Bonneville, watching my progress with what seemed to me an unhealthy interest. My cheeks began to colour up as I wondered how much they knew, if anything, and I was glad to find the shelter of Mr Mulligan’s office. He sat down and motioned to the chair opposite the desk, which I took. I wasn’t at all sure what to say, but he had no such reserves, leaning back and putting his hands behind his head as he spoke.

  ‘So you want your money? That’s fair enough, but seeing as I’m being so generous, I think it’s only fair if I get a little something in return, don’t you?’

  ‘What might that be?’ I asked, trying to sound coy and flirtatious despite the hammering in my chest and huge lump in my throat.

  ‘Ooh, I don’t know,’ he replied. ‘It all depends on what you want to give, don’t it? Morris tells me you like a good spanky, in public?’

  ‘No!’ I squeaked before I could stop myself. ‘I mean, yes . . . maybe, for the right person, in the right place . . .’

  ‘Am I right?’ he asked, grinning.

  I began to stammer an answer, my efforts to remain calm collapsing in ruins at the prospect of him spanking me in front of his son and Fitch, but he cut me off again.

  ‘I’m not one of these bastards who likes to hurt a girl,’ he explained. ‘With me it’s nice and slow, knickers down easy, a bit of cuddling, and I know how to warm a girl properly too. So how about it?’

  ‘I, um . . . yes, that sounds nice,’ I managed, ‘but not right now, please? It’s a bit embarrassing, but I’m on my period. Perhaps at Morris’s party though, if you’re going?’

  ‘I’m going,’ he assured me. ‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world, not now I know you’ll be there. So you’ll give me first go, yeah?’

  I nodded, my hope rising. He seemed perfectly content with my suggestion, and had reached out to take my documents. I handed them over and watched as he signed, then reached for his cheque book. It had been easy, far easier than I expected, or so I thought, until he stopped short of signing the cheque and laid his pen down.

  ‘Give us a little preview then,’ he said, ‘just a little twirl, bare bum. Then I sign.’

  My heart was back in my mouth, my hope shattered. He had sat back again, in the same position as before, waiting.

  ‘Now?’ I asked, and immediately realised what a stupid question it was.

  ‘Yeah, sure,’ he said. ‘Nobody can see.’

  That wasn’t strictly true, because if I stood up both his son and Fitch would be able to see me, or at least my top half. Neither of them were visible though, and I quickly stood up, knowing I had to do it and keen to keep my exposure to a minimum. Mr Mulligan was smiling broadly, no doubt enjoying my red face and shaking fingers as I stepped clear of my chair. I turned my back, quickly tugging my skirt up and pushing down my knickers to show him my bare bum, only to realise that both mechanics were now in the garage, both could see me, and both were close enough to the window to get a full moon of my bum.

  ‘Heh, heh, give us a chance,’ Mr Mulligan said as I snatched my panties up. ‘Go on, pretend you’re getting ready for a spanking. Stick your bum out and push ’em down, nice and slow, then just a little twirl and you’re done. Nice panties, by the way, and did anyone ever tell you how gorgeous your arse is?’

  I didn’t answer him. I couldn’t, because I was biting my lip to hold in the sobs of humiliation as I stuck my bottom out a little and took my knickers down once more.

  ‘Slowly, doll, slowly,’ he urged. ‘What’s the rush?’

  ‘Your son’s watching,’ I sobbed, ‘and the other man.’

  ‘Let ’em,’ he said, ‘they deserve a treat now and again. One more time, nice and slow, and stick it out properly. I like to see pink.’

  I was choking on the lump in my throat as I pulled up my knickers again, close to panic, but determined to bring the cheque back to Maggie. Yet he wanted to see pussy, which meant he might realise I didn’t have a tampon in, and he’d tell me to get over his knee, and he’d spank my bottom in front of his son, and they’d take turns to fuck me . . .

  ‘That’s my girl,’ he said, ‘out with your bum, and down they come.’

  My bottom was thrust out, and I hadn’t even realised it. I hadn’t even pulled up my panties properly either, half my crease already on show, and more as I began to push them down, sure he’d only complain if I didn’t do it slowly enough. His eyes were glued to my bottom, drinking in every inch of bare white flesh as it came on show, and I was praying I wasn’t still pink enough for him to realise I’d just been spanked. I was wishing I had a fatter bum too, because even stuck out a little way my anus shows, and at the thought that he’d be the first man ever to see the tiny pink bud between my cheeks I lost my nerve.

  ‘Oh you little sweetheart,’ he sighed, as I hurriedly pulled my panties up. ‘Oh you little tease. I am go
ing to enjoy spanking you, Pippa, I am going to love it. One last show then, and this time, pull your knicks right up first, so they’re nice and tight over your cheeks. I love the sight of a nicely shaped bum in white panties, I do.’

  ‘You said just once!’ I protested, turning, and my mouth came open in shock.

  Both mechanics were at the window of the office, grinning at the display I was making, still with the seat of my panties on show.

  ‘Mr Mulligan . . .,’ I began.

  ‘Come on, doll, don’t be shy,’ he interrupted. ‘Not like it’s the first time, is it?’

  ‘I . . . I’ll pull them up tight for you,’ I said, ignoring what he’d said, ‘and you can . . . you tell me what to wear for Morris’s party, but that’s all for now. I’m on my period, Mr Mulligan!’

  ‘Oh that’s the problem, is it?’ he responded, not unkindly.

  ‘Yes! I told you!’

  ‘OK, pull ’em up, pull ’em down, quick twirl and you’re done. I promise.’

  I didn’t hesitate, pushing my bottom out and pulling my knickers up tight to lift my cheeks in the cotton pouch, holding the pose for just a moment and then easing them down, but turning before my bumhole came on show, to provide him with the briefest possible flash of pussy before hastily covering myself up. I was now facing the grinning mechanics, who were laughing at me, making my blushes more furious still.

  ‘Beautiful, and so shy,’ Mr Mulligan commented. ‘Who’d have thought you were one of Morris’s girls?’

  I very nearly told him I wasn’t, but managed to hold back, grabbing the cheque and the documents I needed the instant he had signed. The mechanics were still outside, and I fled in confusion, scampering across the oily floor in my heels and thrusting one leaf of the big doors wide. It hit something, bounced back and nearly knocked me over. I just managed to keep my balance, and ran, only to turn at the sound of a bang followed by a metallic clatter from directly behind me.

  The door was swinging slowly back, to reveal the 1969 Bonneville, almost on its side, the gorgeously painted petrol tank against the low iron bollard which marked the boundary between the properties. I slowed to a stop as what I’d done sank slowly in, my mouth falling wide in horror. The bike was obviously dented and scratched, the brand-new paint job ruined, and possibly the tank as well. Mr Mulligan wasn’t going to want to spank me any more, he was going to want to murder me, crucify me, stick a spit up my bum and roast me for dinner.