Butter Wouldn't Melt Page 6

  Three

  AJ WAS GOING to kill me. I had broken her trust, which meant a severe punishment, and while in a way I was eager to take it, that didn’t mean I wasn’t scared. The only question was whether I should confess to her, and there was only one acceptable answer. If I kept it from her and she did eventually find out she would be genuinely hurt, which I didn’t want at all.

  I didn’t see her that evening, and when we spoke on the phone I managed to convince myself that it was the sort of admission that should be made face to face. Not that it would be put off for long, because Mum finally decided to see sense and let me stay in London during the week. Jemima was green with envy, and once Mum and Dad were out of the way she wouldn’t stop teasing me about what I’d be getting up to with AJ. Fortunately she only had the sketchiest idea of what that might be, although it was still deeply embarrassing having my little sister gloating over the thought of me getting a spanking.

  The next day I packed a weekend bag to take with me, including several changes of clothes. At Montague, Montague, Todmorden and Montague I was greeted with a faint but knowing grin from Maggie and went straight upstairs. I now had the filing down to an efficient routine, and was eager to finish so that I could go out with Steve Frost, although it was very hard indeed not to think about what had happened the day before, particularly while using the stamp Maggie had stuck up my bottom and made me suck.

  I was also sure the men in the Blockhouse would be talking about me, and I couldn’t resist listening in. There was even an excuse for being in the right room, because I now had so many files for the popular letters that I’d had to double up my alphabet and was rapidly running out of floor space. The room above the Blockhouse was the largest on the top floor, so it made sense to lay out my piles of folders there, and I could listen in safety.

  There wasn’t much to hear at first, because both Gail and Claire were in and, unsurprisingly, they didn’t seem to have been included in the bet. Only when they went down to a meeting in the Boardroom did the conversation change, with Mark, Steve and Andy left in the room. After a moment of careful listening to make sure nobody was coming up the stairs I put my ear as close as I could get it to the hole in the floor. Steve was talking.

  ‘You’re a sneaky bastard, Mark, taking little Pippy off to Champagne Charlie’s like that.’

  First I’d been ‘Miss Double Barrel’ and now I was ‘little Pippy’. I wasn’t sure which was more insulting.

  ‘All’s fair, mate,’ Mark answered, ‘and besides, I have to protect my investment. Anyway, I’m making a few changes to the odds. She seems to like you, so you’re down to 5–1, and I reckon I’d have made her yesterday if you lot hadn’t pushed in, so I’m 3–1 and going down. After Den’s performance, he goes up to 20–1, because frankly, I suspect after what he said she’d rather have sex with a syphilitic orangutan. Andy’s 15–1, and the others stay the same.’

  They carried on talking, but about the bet and other similar bets they’d had before, which was all very interesting but only really served to confirm that they had no respect whatsoever for women. I’d soon gone back to work, which had become automatic, and I was again considering the best way to benefit from their dirty little game and to puncture their arrogance at the same time.

  One obvious consideration was that I had to get my bet on before they found out I’d have sex with anyone, and with Maggie on a mere 10–1 I definitely didn’t want them to find out about us. That meant acting fast, because she was sure to want to spank me again, and while I knew I ought to turn her down it wasn’t going to be easy. After all, I’d accepted her once, so she might not accept any nonsense on my part, a thought that in itself gave me a delicious thrill. I also had to keep myself out of the clutches of old Mr Montague and Lucius Todmorden, so when I heard a slow tread on the stairs I was doubly apprehensive. It was indeed old Mr Montague, beaming paternally as he addressed me.

  ‘Good morning, Pippa. I trust everything is going well?’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ I answered, rising quickly in case the crawling position I’d been in gave him any ideas.

  ‘And I trust Maggie is keeping you busy and out of mischief?’

  There was a hint of amusement in his voice as he spoke and I found myself wondering if she had told him about the day before.

  ‘Yes,’ I told him, ‘and she’s very kindly allowing me to visit a client with Stephen Frost once I’ve finished this filing.’

  He raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Do you know who you will be visiting?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Stephen is handling Stepney Customs, if I remember rightly,’ he said. ‘Would you like me to suggest he takes you there? I think you would appreciate Stepney Customs.’

  ‘That would be very kind, thank you.’

  ‘Always happy to oblige, my dear,’ he replied, and glanced towards the stairs before continuing in a quieter voice. ‘I was sorry not to see you on Saturday night. Another time, I trust?’

  I hesitated, wanting to explain the situation and how I felt about men, still not entirely certain that he was talking about Morris Rathwell’s spanking party and very eager indeed not to give myself away if he wasn’t. A question seemed the best answer.

  ‘Did it go well?’

  Again he glanced towards the stairs, then shut the door before he answered.

  ‘Yes, although your presence would have been a great asset, both for your own sweet sake and because he was down to three girls. However, when at the office, we make a rule of only referring to our mutual penchant in oblique terms; while however delightful the prospect might be, it is of course out of the question to actually indulge ourselves. Discretion must be our watchword.’

  He had to be talking about spanking, in which case Maggie would seem to have broken the rules with a vengeance. I wondered if that meant she would get her own bottom smacked if I told on her, a thought I couldn’t help but relish. That also implied that neither he nor Mr Todmorden was likely to be trying to get me across the knee at the office, which came as a relief.

  ‘Although,’ he went on, ‘we have occasionally given in to temptation with Helen, but only when it was quite safe.’

  I nodded, picturing the pretty secretary punished by the three of them as he continued.

  ‘I trust you would be amenable to something similar?’

  Now was my chance to back out politely, but as I struggled for the right words I realised that I could hardly claim to be faithful to AJ when he might find out I’d been spanked by Maggie. A claim of pure lesbianism seemed a better bet, but even more embarrassing, and I was quickly going pink. He smiled.

  ‘You are blushing, how lovely. Well then, I shall not press the issue.’

  He would have said more, and I still wanted to explain myself, but his phone went and he returned downstairs. I went back to work, my fingers now trembling slightly at what was expected of me, and the fact that I wasn’t entirely against accepting my fate. Possibly I could let Maggie deal with me in front of them, a thought at once hideously embarrassing and deeply compelling, although it paled in comparison with the prospect of actually being put across a man’s knee.

  An hour later Steve came up to invite me out to lunch but I refused flat out, confident that it would be in character. I was approaching the end of the filing as well, and keen to get it done before the end of the day, so I pushed on, applying the final stamp to the final file just before four o’clock. It only remained to take them downstairs, so I worked out how many I could carry at a time and divided them into twelve neat piles.

  As I took the first down, I was telling myself it was ridiculous to feel apprehensive at having to go into the basement, and that Mr Prufrock would be a perfectly ordinary old man. I still hesitated at the top of the staircase, which seemed unnecessarily gloomy, while the door at the bottom was firmly shut. Again I told myself not to be silly and went down, putting one foot firmly in front of the other and balancing the files against the door to free my hand as I knock
ed.

  There was a creak from within, an odd shuffling noise and a rustle which I couldn’t help but interpret as Mr Prufrock hastily doing up his fly. At last the door opened, but I found myself looking over the top of my bundle at nothing more alarming than some old shelves, each stacked with files. Only as a veined and liver-spotted hand pushed the door wider still did I realise that I was looking clean over the top of Mr Prufrock’s head.

  ‘You must be the new girl,’ he said as I quickly turned sideways so that I could see him.

  Mr Prufrock didn’t look quite as grotesque as I’d been imagining him, but not by much. He was not only short, but broad and badly stooped with age, also completely bald, with the dome of his head shining yellow in the glow of the basement lights. His skin was rough and discoloured, his face a collection of small features squashed around a large, crooked nose, while his eyes bulged disconcertingly as they travelled slowly down my body.

  ‘And aren’t you a pretty one,’ he remarked.

  He gave a dirty chuckle, leaving me acutely aware that with the files in my arms there was nothing I could do to protect myself from a wandering hand. I tried to get past him as quickly as I could, but not fast enough as a gentle pat was applied to the seat of my skirt to urge me into the basement.

  ‘If you could just slip those into the bottom shelf, over here,’ he instructed, shuffling deeper in among the stacks.

  I followed, between two high sets of shelves, to the corner of the basement, where the bottom three rows were empty. As far as I could see, my files should have gone on the highest of the three, and I was sure he’d chosen the lowest in order to make me bend down or kneel on the floor. Sure enough, he took up a position behind me, and I could feel his eyes caressing the shape of my bottom beneath my skirt as I put the files into place. My skin was crawling for fear he would touch me again, or even try to pull my skirt up, but he left me alone, contenting himself with watching my legs as I climbed back up the stairs.

  He made me feel dirty, and I was very glad indeed that I wouldn’t be associating with him very much, while it was intensely embarrassing to remember how I’d considered giving him some sexual favour in order to win the betting on my surrender. There was not any doubt in my mind, though, that he’d have accepted my offer, probably having me sit on his knee so that he could fondle my bottom while I pulled on his dirty little cock.

  Not that it seemed all that little. When I came back down with the second set of files it was to find him seated on a chair which he’d used to prop the door open. His legs were set well apart with his nasty little pot belly hanging down between, but not far enough to hide a substantial bulge in the crotch of the threadbare suit of brown tweed he was wearing. I could even see the outline of his cock.

  ‘Hurry along,’ he said as I reached the bottom of the stairs, and I quickly turned to protect my bottom.

  He gave another dirty chuckle, perhaps equally amused at my embarrassed evasion as at the little start I’d given previously. Once more he followed me, his eyes feasting on my rear view as I stacked the files, leaving me blushing pink and more conscious of my bottom than ever. I was only glad I was in a smart skirt instead of jeans, let alone a short skirt, which would have allowed him to look up it every time I climbed the stairs, maybe high enough to see my knickers.

  As I climbed back up for my third load of files I was wondering if I should tell him what I thought of his behaviour, but decided not to. After all, what could I do except complain to the partners, and he was an old and respected member of the firm, while I was a mere trainee. It would be his word against mine. He only needed to make up some story about how I’d been rude to him and he’d told me off for my complaint to look like a piece of spite.

  So I put up with it, doing my best to avoid his wandering hands and enduring his attention to my rear view. It was a lot of work too, and left me glad for all the long hours of gym and sports at school. I was still hot by the time I’d finished and straightened up from putting away the final set of files with considerable relief. Mr Prufrock was in his usual position, directly behind me, and I waited for him to start back between the shelves. Eleven times he’d gone first, but not the twelfth.

  ‘Come along then,’ he said. ‘It’s time I locked up, and what would people think, with you down here alone in the basement with me?’

  ‘I’m sure they wouldn’t think anything,’ I answered, outraged that he dare imply that there was a possibility anyone might even think we would have done anything together.

  He was still waiting for me to go past him. I made a vague gesture, intended to suggest he should go first, but he held his ground. He was smirking, quite obviously enjoying my predicament, as we both knew that if I passed him he would take the opportunity to pat my bottom. Standing there waiting, he looked like some kind of malignant little troll, and I was sure that even if I told him exactly what I thought of him he would only laugh, and enjoy my discomfort all the more. The longer I waited the worse it would be, and I finally gave in.

  ‘Excuse me, then,’ I said, and made to move past.

  Immediately he moved to the side, pretending to be considerate so that he could get a better angle to my bottom, and sure enough, as I passed his hand found the seat of my skirt, only not with a pat, but with a definite little rub.

  ‘Hey!’ I protested, unable to hold back. ‘Do you mind?’

  He just chuckled, and I moved quickly on, burning with humiliation and resentment. I was still sure that any complaint would be futile, and that given what old Mr Montague knew about me he wouldn’t even realise why I was making a fuss. Men never seem to understand that it’s not what a girl will do that matters, but who she’ll do it with. Now I was glaring, but he merely returned a nasty little smirk, and when he spoke it was far from an apology.

  ‘Not at all, my dear, and nor should you, at your age.’

  I couldn’t help but answer him; what he’d said was just too outrageous.

  ‘I suppose you think it’s acceptable to go around patting girls’ bottoms, do you? Well it isn’t!’

  He gave a peevish little grunt, then spoke again.

  ‘Certain young ladies would do better to permit their elders and betters the occasional little courtesy, you know. It doesn’t pay to be prissy.’

  My mouth came open to answer him, but I just couldn’t think of anything to say. His attitude was a complete reversal of everything that made sense, as if I should somehow be grateful for him pawing me and leching over my body. I could have slapped the revolting little gnome, but again I held back, telling myself it would only make matters worse.

  Instead I simply walked away. Mr Prufrock was coming behind me, quite fast, so that I was forced to scamper the last few feet to the door. I made it, quickly said goodbye, and fled, his bulging eyes following the movement of my bottom under my skirt all the way to the top of the stairs, so that as I glanced back he was still staring up at me, grinning, and apparently completely unashamed of his unspeakable behaviour.

  I was boiling with fury, and only very slowly came down as I made myself a coffee with trembling fingers. When Maggie came into the room I couldn’t hold it, immediately blurting out my feelings.

  ‘I’ve just met that horrible little . . . little creature in the basement! He kept staring at my legs and trying to touch my bum. He succeeded too.’

  She responded with a sympathetic smile, then spoke.

  ‘Oh you mustn’t mind Mr Prufrock, he’s just a bit old-fashioned.’

  ‘Old-fashioned? He molested me!’

  ‘Oh come, come, Pippa, do try not to be prissy. Just yesterday you were telling me you like to fantasise about being punished in front of an audience of older men.’

  ‘Yes, but that’s hardly the same thing as letting some old git touch up my bum!’

  ‘But you like the fantasy, don’t you?’ she responded.

  I made a face, unable to deny it when I’d already admitted to enjoying my own humiliation. What Mr Prufrock had done still felt wrong
. In fact it was wrong. Maggie had come close, and kissed me gently before putting the two coffee cups she’d brought into the room down in the sink.

  ‘You need to come to terms with who you are, Pippa,’ she explained.

  ‘I’m not a plaything for a load of dirty old men!’ I protested.

  ‘No?’ she answered. ‘I bet that’s what you think about next time you masturbate.’

  I promised myself firmly that it wouldn’t be, but I was sure that if I said anything she’d only laugh at me. Instead I thanked her and took my coffee upstairs, where I drank it slowly, staring at the trains outside my window and brooding over my sexual feelings, which seemed to grow more complicated all the time. It had been bad enough coming to terms with my lesbianism, never mind my desire to be spanked. It seemed that I always wanted whatever other people deemed inappropriate, and just as I’d managed to accept one thing, another came along.

  At precisely half-past five I put my things together and left the office. I was meeting AJ in Whispers, the lesbian bar in Soho where she was undisputed queen. As her girlfriend I was always treated with respect, at least unless she decided I needed to be punished, when my knickers would come down in front of maybe as many as fifty laughing, clapping girls. Now I had to admit to what I’d done with Maggie, which made a public spanking extremely likely, so that I was buzzing with a delicious mixture of excitement and fear as I pushed in at the door, a state of emotion that had absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with the way Mr Prufrock had treated me, or so I kept on telling myself.

  Plenty of my friends were there, and Gina had an ice-cold vodka mixer on the bar for me before I even got there. AJ wasn’t there yet, but to my surprise and delight Penny was, looking as neat and prim and intellectual as ever. She was at a table with her friend Jade, who waved for me to come over as I put down my drink after the first welcome swallow.

  ‘Hi Pippa,’ she greeted me, moving her chair up to make space.

  ‘Hi Jade, hi Auntie,’ I answered, sitting down.