Bare, White and Rosy Page 9

  We climbed to the fourth floor, where a landing ran round the stairwell, with doors on every side. Gilbert selected one of them and admitted me to a room looking out over the mews at the rear of the building. The walls were panelled in oak and hung with the portraits of various long-dead imperialists; the carpet was deep and bore a dignified pattern of brown and old gold. The furniture consisted of a single table under the window and a ring of chairs, on each of which sat a man. Some were short, some tall, some fat, some thin, but every one of them was over fifty and dressed in a fashion that suggested old money. A school cane lay on the table.

  I’d been expecting to be taken in and left alone to dwell on what was about to happen to me, while Gilbert assembled the troops, so I was more than a little taken aback to find them ready and waiting. One notably fat gentleman with a huge gingery-white moustache even had a clothes-brush in his hand, its purpose all too obvious. That could only mean that Gilbert had been sufficiently confident of my acquiescence to inform his friends in advance. Maybe the commissionaire downstairs was in the know, too.

  He was – because at this point he came in behind us. I stood gaping at my reception committee with my face burning and no doubt the colour of a beetroot. Otto Borse was there, looking smug, but I didn’t recognise anybody else. I didn’t need to. Their self-satisfied, somewhat predatory expressions revealed confidence and hunger – enough of both for me to be sure they wouldn’t feel we needed to be introduced before my panties were pulled down in front of them. Gilbert, always the gentleman, did the honours anyway, naming each of them as I stood there blushing and fidgeting in the middle of the carpet. Only one name sank in properly, that of the man with the ridiculous moustache and the clothes-brush: the Right Honourable Vernon Flyght, chairman of the club committee and therefore, by order of precedence, the first one to spank me. The clothes-brush was a huge old-fashioned thing with a handle and I found myself biting my lip and whining in protest.

  ‘Not first, please! That will really sting, and you promised to warm me up!’

  The Right Honourable Vernon Flyght gave a cluck of amusement.

  ‘It is intended to warm you up, my dear,’ he assured me, ‘but don’t fret. You’re not the first little filly I’ve had across my knee by a very long way and I know just how to handle you. So does everybody else in this room.’

  ‘Everybody else? I thought I was going to get a warm-up spanking and then the cane?’

  ‘So you shall, my dear, but surely you can see that it would be unfair to deprive any one of us of the pleasure of your bottom?’

  ‘But there are fourteen of you!’

  ‘Fifteen. Stubbs will want his turn, naturally.’

  I turned round to see the commissionaire standing with his back to the door, grinning at me. My mouth opened to protest, closed again, opened again and finally closed as I realised that I probably looked like a goldfish trying to gulp in air. Gilbert finally broke the silence.

  ‘Now come along, Natasha, pop your knickers down and bottom up for the boys, eh?’

  I nodded weakly and reached up under my skirt to tug my expensive silk panties down over my hips and bottom. That was as far as I intended them to go, so that I could at least walk over to Vernon Flyght with a little dignity instead of shuffling along with my knickers around my knees. Unfortunately they fell down, all the way to my ankles and as I stepped forward one of my heels caught in the fabric. I tripped and staggered forward to sprawl across his lap, and it was only because he was such a fat bastard that he and the chair didn’t go over backwards. I was left at an angle across his lap, bum high and knees apart, with my ankles trapped in the tangle of my panties.

  It couldn’t have been a much more humiliating position, and they all had a good laugh at my expense, while Vernon gripped me round the waist to prevent me getting into a less undignified pose. My face was burning hotter than before. He didn’t give me a chance to ready myself for my exposure, but simply lifted the tails of my jacket and blouse, then tugged my skirt up to lay my bottom bare for all to see. I’m not in the least bit overweight, but for some reason my bottom always feels huge when I’m over some man’s knee and stripped behind – a fat, pink, wobbling ball of girl-flesh, thoroughly rude and in this case made ruder still because he’d got my knees cocked apart and my pussy and bumhole were already on show.

  I wasn’t ready at all but, as I twisted round to beg him to let me at least get into position properly, I saw the clothes-brush raised over my bum, which he was admiring as if he’d been fasting for a week and I was a piece of sirloin steak.

  ‘No, please!’ I squeaked. ‘You said you’d warm me up!’

  ‘So I shall,’ he assured me, and brought the brush down across my cheeks.

  It wasn’t hard at all, barely even a smack. He simply pressed the wood to the turn of my cheeks and began to wobble them, pulling my flesh this way and that to make my already open pussy spread and my bumhole stretch. There was more laughter at the sight and I immediately began to sob with humiliation at the view I was giving them, which I could picture all too clearly in my head: the full spread of my naked cheeks, my thighs open, my fancy knickers in a tangle around my ankles, my freshly shaved pussy pink and bare and already moist, the pale brown ring of my bumhole on blatant display and winking to show off the wet red centre.

  ‘Pig!’ I managed, but only earned myself a smack of the brush that made me gasp.

  I thought my spanking had begun, but he hadn’t finished playing with me. Turning the brush over, he began to use it on me as if I’d still had my skirt in place and he’d been removing some fluff. The bristles were quite stiff, and they tickled and stung at the same time, getting me giggling helplessly and wriggling my feet in my panties. They all thought that was hilarious, clapping and encouraging him, although one or two were telling him to get on with spanking me so that they could take their own turns.

  ‘There is no hurry, gentlemen,’ he assured them. ‘I believe we have her for as long as we please. Is that not so, Gilbert?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Gilbert assured him. ‘Take as long as you like. I certainly intend to.’

  ‘What about me?’ I demanded. ‘I can only take so much, you know!’

  ‘Rest assured that you are in the hands of experts,’ Gilbert responded.

  I shook my head, far from convinced. Vernon had put the clothes-brush down on my back and had begun to feel me up instead, cocking his knee up to lift my bottom for his inspection and leaning forward to peer between my cheeks. I hung my head, breathing deeply, and surrendered to him as he fondled me, taking his time to enjoy the feel of my cheeks and to inspect my anus and cunt. Even when he put a finger in, all I could manage was a whimper of protest that sounded like pleasure. At that he gave a knowing little chuckle and slid a second finger in beside the first, opening me wide and finally bringing my resentment to the boil.

  ‘I only volunteered for a spanking,’ I pointed out. ‘And the cane. You’re taking liberties.’

  ‘You wanted to be warm, didn’t you?’ he asked reasonably, and his thumb found my clit.

  My sarcastic answer turned into a gasp as he began to masturbate me, rubbing right on my bump, with his fingers pushing in and out of my open hole. I struggled to drive the pleasure out of my head, but I couldn’t do it and gave in, slumped spread on his knee, panting out my ecstasy in front of them all. Soon I was wriggling my bottom and rubbing against him, and at that he picked up the clothes-brush with his free hand and began to spank.

  It stung like mad, but I was already too high to resist, merely wriggling a bit harder for a moment before pushing my bottom up for more. I was going to come, but it had all been so sudden that my body had left my mind behind, so that I was painfully aware of just how unspeakably lewd I looked even as my pussy hole began to contract on his fingers. He was spanking hard too, making my cheeks dance and setting my feet kicking in my panties in a final, pained flurry before the climax hit me. I screamed, in ecstasy but no less with an overwhelming sense of e
mbarrassment that left me snivelling and limp when he finally stopped.

  ‘Up we get,’ he said gently, giving my bottom a gentle pat.

  I couldn’t do it immediately – my reaction had just been too strong – and when I did I was shaking and unsteady. He was grinning, both amused and aroused, which was no surprise. The air was thick with the scent of my pussy, while I was a dishevelled mess, my skirt still up but my tails hanging down so that just the turn of my now red bottom cheeks was peeping out beneath, my pussy showing at the front and my panties in a puddle around my feet. He’d broken my resistance, leaving me confused and a little dizzy but compliant. When the man next to him patted his lap I went straight over, sticking my bottom up for spanking without a second thought. He began immediately, talking as he slapped my cheeks, striking upwards to make them spread and quiver.

  ‘Quite the little tart, isn’t she, Gilbert? You said she was willing, but I’d have expected at least some resistance.’

  ‘Percy Ottershaw trained her,’ Gilbert answered. ‘He’s something of an expert.’

  ‘So it seems,’ another man put in. ‘He’s certainly done an excellent job with this one.’

  A fourth man was more critical. ‘She’s obedient, yes, but I prefer them to put up a bit of a fight myself.’

  ‘Old Percy spanked that out of her years ago, apparently,’ Gilbert put in.

  ‘That’s a shame. I love to break them in.’

  ‘There’s something in that, of course, but there’s a lot to be said for a knowing tart.’

  ‘I agree with Clive. It’s best when they put up a fight.’

  ‘Especially if they try to keep their knickers up. This one just dropped them to order.’

  Light laughter greeted this final remark. All the while I was being spanked, my bottom bouncing to hard, rhythmic smacks that were bringing the heat to my cheeks with a vengeance. Every word made my sense of humiliation more bitter, until I began to sob and shake, at which the spanking stopped.

  ‘Is she all right, d’you think?’ the man who was holding me asked.

  I nodded, unable to take the chance to escape. He stopped anyway, releasing me and sending me on my way with a final pat to my now hot bottom. My knickers were in the way and I stepped out of them as I went to the next man, climbing obediently across his knees with my bottom well lifted to allow him to readjust my clothes to get me fully bare. I waited as my skirt was tucked into its own waistband and the tails of both my jacket and blouse wedged underneath, then I settled into spanking position. But he wasn’t finished.

  ‘Aren’t we forgetting something, gentlemen?’ he remarked, and his finger moved to my blouse.

  I pouted resentfully as my buttons were opened and my bra flipped up to leave my boobs dangling for all to see. I know my bottom has to be bare for punishment – that’s inevitable – but there always seems to be some bastard who wants to strip my tits as well, and because they’re big they jiggle and bounce while I’m smacked, which is hideously embarrassing. He had a good feel too, stroking and squeezing my boobs even as he began to spank me. My nipples were stiff and sensitive after my orgasm, and he began to pull at them as if he was trying to milk me, adding to my shame and confusion.

  ‘A delight,’ he said after a moment. ‘I don’t suppose you’d care for a job as a maid, my dear? Topless, naturally, but the salary would reflect your extra duties.’

  ‘No,’ I retorted, with very real indignation, but he simply laughed and began to spank me harder.

  The next man was worse, cold and harsh, spanking me hard and full across my cheeks as if he was really punishing a naughty girl rather than enjoying a willingly offered bottom. I wondered if that was what he was used to, and whether the position I was in had previously been occupied by his wife or even daughters. He certainly did it well, leaving me rubbing my cheeks and shifting from foot to foot when I was finally allowed up from his lap.

  There was no respite. I was taken down by the next man, the one who’d been on the cover of Kane, who was another groper; then the next, who spread my thighs so that every single one of them had a prime view of my open cunt. I no longer cared, dizzy and shaking as I was passed from lap to lap, my bottom smacked and stroked, pinched and fondled, my boobs molested and even slapped, my pussy fingered and my bumhole tickled and teased. By the time I got to the commissionaire I was so juicy that I was slippery between my thighs and my stocking tops were wet.

  He was much rougher, bundling me over his knee and spanking so hard that he got me kicking again, and squealing too. By the time he’d finished I was gasping for breath and so weak-legged I could barely stand. But there was no mercy. Gilbert looked me in the eye and pointed to the table on which the cane had been laid.

  ‘Bend over,’ he instructed. ‘Feet apart, back well in.’

  I knew the drill and adopted a position that not only left me completely vulnerable to the cane but flaunted every detail of my rear view. My legs were shaking terribly, and I had to rest my upper body on the table, even though it meant my tits were squashed out on the cold, hard wood. The cane was directly under my nose.

  Behind me the men were enjoying the view, those on either side adjusting their chairs to make sure they could see right between my legs. It’s a rare man who can beat a girl without also wanting to rob her of every last scrap of modesty by looking at what he’s made her show.

  ‘Perhaps you would care to do the honours, Stubbs?’ the Right Honourable Vernon Flyght suggested. ‘Unless you prefer to insist on your privilege as her owner, Gilbert?’

  ‘No, no, not at all,’ Gilbert assured him. ‘With the cane it’s often better to watch than to wield. Besides, I can do it whenever I wish.’

  ‘Owner?’ I queried, but they ignored me.

  The commissionaire came forward and picked up the cane. It was an ordinary school cane, long and brown and wicked, with a crook handle, and capable, as I knew from bitter experience, of inflicting a great deal of pain. My bottom cheeks tightened as he got behind me, and again as the thin, hard rod was tapped on my flesh.

  ‘Six of the best,’ Gilbert instructed, ‘but good and hard.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Stubbs responded, and lifted the cane.

  My cheeks squeezed tight again as I looked back. His face was stern, purposeful, with just a hint of malice; after the way he’d spanked me I knew better than to expect any mercy. He was a sadistic bastard too, holding the cane high above my bottom until I’d begun to sob in frustration and only then bringing it down. I heard the swish and the crack of wood on my bare flesh, felt the impact, then the sting, so painful it had me gasping again and jumping up and down on my toes to set my bottom jiggling.

  Several of the men laughed at what admittedly must have been a ridiculous sight, and I forced myself to get back in position. The cut across my bottom was already burning and I knew I’d be badly welted, so badly that it would be two or three weeks before I could go to a spa or show my bum without making it obvious what had been done to me. I imagined the humiliation of having my caned bottom inspected by giggling girls or having some disapproving matron realise that I’d been punished.

  I stuck my bottom out, half eager, half scared. Stubbs lashed the cane down again, drawing a second line of fire across my cheeks and once more setting me gasping and dancing on my toes. It hurt enough to make me wonder what the hell I was doing offering myself to the evil old bastard, but I soon had my bottom stuck out again. The third cut was harder still, leaving me sobbing and shaking my head, with tears starting in my eyes. Still I pushed my bottom high as soon as I could, trembling with fear even as I offered myself.

  ‘By God, I’d like to fuck her,’ one of them growled, distracting me at exactly the wrong moment so that the fourth stroke caught me off guard.

  That broke me. It was just so unfair, to be beaten in front of them with my bottom flaunted naked, every detail of my wet, ready cunt open for their inspection, and not one of them with so much as his tie undone. I wondered if Stubbs would fuck me, stick
ing his cock up my hole from behind, not to pleasure me, not even for his own enjoyment, but to give the ring of dirty old bastards watching us something to toss over later. I burst into tears, imaging how it would feel to be fucked for their amusement, with Stubbs’s cock up me and his paunch slapping against my caned and spanked bottom as he thrust into me.

  Still I held my pose, and they were too high on my pain and exposure to worry about my tears. Again Stubbs brought the cane down across my bottom and again I jerked and squealed, kicking and jiggling my bum. I was going to get it, I had to, my cunt filled with cock by the man who’d beaten me, by the man who’d earned the right to use me as he pleased. Maybe he’d even put it up my bum. Maybe they’d all have me, turn and turn about in all three orifices until I was dribbling spunk and sore.

  I thrust my bottom out as high as I could, deliberately showing off as Stubbs measured up for the sixth and final stroke. It came down across the fattest part of my cheeks, biting into my flesh and sending a jolt to my pussy not so very far from orgasm. I was done, well and truly beaten, my bottom on fire, my pussy agape, my bumhole pulsing lewdly between my reddened cheeks. They could do as they liked: fuck me, bugger me, make me suck their dirty old cocks one by one and spunk in my face.

  ‘There we are, my dear,’ Gilbert remarked, ‘all done, unless . . .’

  He left the question unfinished, but there was no mistaking his meaning. I nodded urgently as I got to my feet, still ashamed of myself but needing it too badly to back down. One of the men gave a dirty little chuckle.

  ‘Into the cupboard with her then,’ Vernon announced.

  Vernon’s words left my puzzled. Surely I wasn’t going to be tied up and left again? Stubbs had put down the cane and crossed the room to slide back a panel I hadn’t realised was any different from the others. It closed off a sort of janitor’s cupboard, full of junk and cleaning utensils, but with a single chair positioned so that a man could sit in comfort with a clear space in front of him, a clear space just large enough for a girl to kneel while she gave a blowjob. They’d even put down a piece of carpet.