by C. P. Vanner
It was over all too soon. The movement of Celeste’s firm moist tongue on her eager clitoris was more than Beth could bear. Waves of liquid heat like molten lava surged and swirled through her loins until in one brief but timeless moment they exploded in a volcanic eruption throughout her straining body. Beth shrieked and clamped her thighs together on either side of Celeste’s head, holding the younger girl still, her lips welded to Beth’s vagina with an amalgam of cold cream and the intimate secretions of a female body at peace with itself at last.
The chicken casserole went cold for a second time as the two girls fell asleep together in the same bed.
Chapter 3
The Rybix building was in Victoria and Beth had time to get her hair done before her meeting at ten. As she strode through the glass and marble lobby at five to ten, she knew she looked good with her neat pageboy haircut shining above a white summer suit. Good enough to eat, she thought as she caught sight of her reflection in the darkened glass, and she blushed remembering the previous evening. She had never made love to a woman before; and she had certainly not thought of Celeste in that way. The girl had been sweet though, and suspiciously adept at what she did. But not so sweet and adept that she did not still need a damn good spanking.
Three men sat across the boardroom table awaiting her. ‘The redoubtable Ms Forrester - alone,’ said Jim Tyson, the Rybix marketing director, hardly bothering to stir from his seat to greet her. ‘Travelling without your team this time?’
Beth sat. ‘We’re close to the end,’ she said, laying her briefcase on the table. ‘There should be nothing I cannot settle myself.’
‘Perhaps Miss Forrester would like some coffee - I certainly would.’ The speaker was a heavyset man in a Savile Row suit at the head of the table.
‘Right away, T.J.,’ Tyson said, and leapt up from the table and disappeared to talk to a secretary. Beth smiled her thanks to T. J. Kearns, the managing director of Rybix, and busied herself sorting out her papers on the tabletop. T. J. Kearns was her man; the man who would make the final decision, the man she must win over to win the contract. Take it slowly girl, she told herself.
Nothing more was said until the coffee was poured. The third man, Charles Haigh, the finance director whose face was as grey as his suit, opened the proceedings.
‘I’d like to start with the questions of debentures and default payments,’ he said.
Beth patiently found the correct papers and started to negotiate. For half an hour she and Tyson and Haigh went over the contract details, ironing out differences and sorting out ambiguities and confusions. Kearns sipped his coffee and watched and listened.
When the conversation ground to a halt, he spoke. ‘That seems quite straightforward,’ he said to no one in particular. Then he fastened Beth with a piercing gaze. ‘You are sticking to a three year contract at six hundred thousand per?’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I would consider five but for a five year term.’
Kearns stood up and the others immediately followed suit. He offered his hand to Beth. ‘We’ll be in touch soon, almost certainly tomorrow.’
He held on to Beth’s hand, pulling her gently through the door into the corridor. ‘Come to my office when you finish up here,’ he said quietly. ‘Jim will show you where.’
Ten minutes later Beth stood in the lift and pressed the button for the top floor.
Once there, she found Kearns’ secretary, Mrs Woods, who rose from her desk, a desk almost as big as Beth’s office. ‘How nice to see you again, Miss Forrester,’ she said with a practiced smile. ‘T.J. is waiting for you.’
She opened double doors opposite the lift and ushered Beth inside. Across an acre of sumptuous carpeting, Kearns rose from his mahogany desk and approached his visitor. ‘No interruptions, please,’ he said to Mrs Woods, who was already quietly closing the doors.
He again formally offered his hand to Beth. ‘The wunderkind of Cross, Carstairs and Denton,’ he said flatteringly. ‘Come and sit close to me. This place is so big it has drafts.’
He led her across the office to a comfortable easy chair, in front of and to one side of his desk. It gave Beth a chance to size him up properly. She was not fooled by his benign resemblance to Santa Claus in expensive tailoring. She knew he was a self-made man who could be and frequently was tough and ruthless.
‘I hope I am not holding you up,’ he said. ‘I wanted a quiet word with you alone.’
‘Not at all,’ Beth said. ‘I am at your service.’ A voice inside her head was repeating like a mantra: be bold, face him like an equal. ‘What can I do for you?’ she asked.
‘It is more a question of what I can do for you. Or rather, what I cannot do for you.’
Beth suddenly felt cold.
‘You have been a very good negotiator,’ Kearns went on. ‘I think it is only fair to be honest with you now.’
For some reason Beth’s confidence flowed away, and her voice became croaky. ‘I don’t think I want to hear this,’ she said.
Kearns gave her a rueful smile. ‘It was between you and AdWise. There’s hardly anything between you but, on balance, AdWise offers the better deal. The official announcement will not be made until tomorrow but I thought, since you are here, I should tell you now in person.’
Beth was angry. ‘So what have I been doing for the last hour and a half then?
‘Don’t be annoyed with me,’ Kearns said mildly. ‘This is business. I wanted to give you every chance. And you did well... very well.’
It was the kindness of his tone that did it. All the tensions of the last twenty-four hours seemed to catch up with her at once. She tried to stop herself, but tears began to flow and deep sobs shook her body. How pathetic, she scolded herself. How unprofessional... how bloody unprofessional. But still she cried.
Kearns seemed momentarily at a loss, and then he crossed the room and sat awkwardly on the arm of Beth’s chair, putting one arm around her shoulders. She could smell talcum powder and an expensive aftershave lotion.
He patted her back. ‘There, there,’ he cooed, and her sobs slowly subsided.
Beth reached into her handbag for her make-up mirror as Kearns returned to his desk. ‘God, I look a mess,’ she said, looking into her compact.
‘Not at all,’ Kearns said. ‘You are a beautiful girl. A very beautiful girl. And very clever too.’
‘Not clever enough, it seems,’ she said quietly.
‘Not at all,’ Kearns repeated with hearty jocularity. ‘You’re the future of the industry. The world, this world, is your oyster. It’s only a small setback.’
Her tears welled again. ‘No it’s not,’ she wailed. ‘It’s the end of the world.’ How she hated herself at that moment. Not only had she not got the contract, but she was wailing like a baby in front of one of the most powerful men she knew. What on earth must he think?
Kearns suddenly seemed a little bored. ‘It’s not that bad,’ he said dismissively.
She pulled herself together. ‘It is, you know. It’s my job. I lost one contract and I was punished. Just yesterday. Now I’m to lose this one. Two strikes and I’m out.’
Kearns’ interest was rekindled. His eyes dropped to her knees and thighs as she rearranged her skirt and jacket, pulling herself together. ‘Punished?’ he said, almost tasting the word as he uttered it.
Beth nodded. ‘This contract would have expunged my sins.’
‘How were you punished?’ Spots of colour had appeared on his cheeks.
‘If you must know, I... I was caned, sir.’
‘Caned? Where?’
‘At the office.’ She was not so distressed that she did not momentarily enjoy his discomfort.
‘No, no,’ he said. ‘I mean, where were you caned?’
‘Oh, on my bottom, sir.’
‘Good heavens,’ Kearns said, throwing himself back in his seat with an awkward
laugh.
‘On my bare bottom, sir,’ she confirmed. ‘Six strokes of the cane on my bare bottom.’
‘I don’t believe it.’
‘It’s true, sir,’ Beth said. ‘I can hardly sit down today. It’s a good thing your chairs are well upholstered.’
‘I don’t believe it,’ he said again.
‘You would if you saw the marks,’ Beth said without really thinking.
Kearns instinctively glanced at the door, then back at the lovely girl sitting before his desk. ‘Show me then,’ he said, a poker player calling her bluff. ‘Mrs Woods won’t disturb us.’
Beth shook her head. ‘That wouldn’t be right, sir.’
‘I knew you were lying. What a drama queen, you are.’ But before he could say anything else Beth stood up, her jaw set. Without another word she removed her jacket and reached down and grasped the hem of her skirt. Slowly she raised it, revealing that she was wearing stockings and a suspender belt. The flesh of her thighs was creamy-white between the brown of her taut stocking tops and the pink of her panties.
Holding her skirt bunched in one hand, Beth demurely turned sideways to him as she hooked her other hand into her panties and eased them down. He had time for a glimpse of her pubic hair before she turned further and stood with her bottom exposed, her panties around her knees.
Neither of them said a word. Beth stood still, her bare bottom thrust out a little towards him. She glanced back over her shoulder. Kearns’ eyes were fixed rigidly on her exposed flesh.
‘Now perhaps you’ll believe me,’ she eventually said, her voice soft and gentle.
‘That, um, that could be make-up,’ he muttered. ‘Come round here, a little closer.’
‘Believe me, they’re very real marks,’ Beth said, her twisted panties stretched between her knees making her hobble a little around the desk. She stopped a few feet from him, turned away and lifted her skirt again.
Kearns leaned forward in his seat, his face on a level with her gorgeous bottom. ‘Bend forward a little,’ he instructed.
She obeyed, thrusting her warm globes towards him, and over her shoulder she could hear him clucking sympathetically as he surveyed the bruises.
‘May I touch them?’ he asked.
‘Gently,’ she replied.
He reached out and with warm fingers traced the breadth of one of the welts. Beth felt them stop momentarily over the valley between her cheeks, and then she stepped away and dropped her skirt. Kearns sat back in his chair, visibly disappointed and panting slightly as she took her time adjusting her panties under her skirt.
‘You must have been a very naughty girl,’ he said as she resumed her seat. ‘I won’t ask you who did it; that is your business.’
She nodded. ‘Let’s just say I deserved it. I admit I can be a naughty girl - very naughty, at times. But that’s all in the past now, with the contract going to AdWise.’
‘Ah, the contract,’ he said, seeming to have forgotten about it for a moment. ‘Yes, the contract.’ He was lost in thought for a while, then he pronounced, ‘We don’t formally make a decision or an announcement until tomorrow...’ then his voice trailed off.
Beth said nothing. She did not want to interrupt his train of thought.
‘AdWise is not a certainty,’ he went on. ‘There could always be a last minute change of mind...’
Beth remained silent. She was marvelling to herself over the effect her bottom seemed to have on men.
‘Of course,’ Kearns went on, ‘if there was a last minute change of heart and the contract went to Cross, Carstairs and Denton, I would require your cooperation. Your personal cooperation,’ he added, with plenty of meaning.
Beth nodded, breathlessly excited by the possibility of winning the contract after all. ‘Naturally,’ she said, ‘that goes without saying.’
Kearns gave her a piercing look. ‘That cooperation would have to be... how shall I put it... it would have to be intimate.’
‘In what way intimate, sir?’
‘Let me put it this way,’ he said. ‘The announcement is due to be made at three tomorrow afternoon. Suppose, just suppose, you were to come to me here at my office at twelve-thirty when Mrs Woods goes out to lunch.’
Beth held her breath.
‘Suppose, just suppose, I was to ask you then to show me your bottom again, to see how the marks are.’
‘Go on,’ she whispered.
‘And suppose, just suppose, I was to tell you then what a naughty girl you are and that I was going to take matters into my own hands.’
‘I - I think I understand, sir, and I think that might be possible,’ she said quietly.
‘Then if that was the case,’ the powerful man decreed, ‘I imagine the announcement at three o’clock might well be different.’
‘I am not sure that is ethical...’ Beth said, ‘...if I understand you correctly.’
‘Ethics, shmethics,’ Kearns snorted. ‘This is business. Ethics don’t apply.’
‘Are you sure?’ Beth asked, a kaleidoscope of thoughts flashing through her mind - Richard’s face, her office, a signed contract, a cane. She stood up. ‘Well, I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow then,’ she said.
Kearns let her walk almost to the door before he spoke again. It was the old Kearns again, the man used to taking command. He called her by her first name for the first time. ‘Beth, I would like to ask you a question. Take your time before answering. It’s important.’
She turned and nodded. ‘Of course.’
‘If I asked you to show your bare bottom to a member of my staff - say, to my second in command - would you do it?’
Beth was nonplussed. She had not expected anything like this. She knew it was important, but it was not easy. If she acceded to the command and agreed to expose herself to someone else because Kearns wanted it, she would be demonstrating to him his authority and her submission. That, she guessed, might turn him on. On the other hand...
She quickly decided what the correct response should be. ‘No T.J.,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t. My bare bottom and any discipline it might receive is strictly a subject between you and me. It is no one else’s business.’
He nodded, apparently pleased by her answer. ‘We’ll resume discussions on that subject tomorrow,’ he concluded.
‘And discussions about the contract, of course,’ she added, as she gave him an impish smile and reached for the door handle.
Beth was speaking into her mobile phone as she walked along the pavement. ‘I think Rybix might be in the bag,’ she declared.
‘Think?’ snapped Richard Cross. ‘Might be?’
‘We’ll know tomorrow,’ Beth said. ‘I’m seeing Kearns at lunchtime.’ The things she did for her career, she said to herself.
‘And I’m seeing you this evening, don’t forget, for part two of your lesson.’
‘Yes, Richard,’ said Beth, in her meekest tone. ‘I haven’t forgotten. I’ll be in later. I’m going home to freshen up first. It’s been quite a morning.’
Beth was still feeling pleased with herself when she opened the front door of her flat. She was, however, angered by what she found inside. The place was a mess. In the kitchen the congealed casserole was still on the stove, and the sitting room was strewn with cushions and fashion magazines. Beth stalked around the flat, her anger rising.
In her bedroom she found Celeste still asleep in her bed, on her front, the duvet thrown back and her slender legs exposed, her pouting sex peeping between her slightly parted thighs.
Beth slapped the nearest buttock hard, and a knot of unexpected excitement gripped her stomach as she watched the flesh quiver firmly. ‘Y-you really are the limit, Celeste,’ she stuttered, surprised by her unexpected reaction.
Celeste lifted her head, protesting and looking around in bewilderment at the same time. ‘Wha... what are you doing here at t
his time?’ she mumbled. ‘Ow, that hurt,’ she added, rubbing her bottom.
‘Checking up on you,’ Beth said shortly. ‘And not liking what I find.’
Celeste rolled over and swung her feet off the bed. ‘I’ve got to pee,’ she announced sleepily, stretching her arms above her head as she yawned, and angry though she was, Beth thought how beautiful the girl looked, flushed and ruffled from sleep and with her lissom body showing clearly through her flimsy nightgown. She thought back momentarily to the previous evening and then drove the memory from her head. No, she was not going to weaken. The girl had to be taken in hand.
When Celeste returned from the bathroom, Beth was sitting on the bed waiting for her. Celeste had thrown cold water onto her face, but still wore only the nightgown.
‘Celeste, do you remember what I told you last night?’ Beth asked, and if Celeste detected a coldness in her tone, she ignored it.
‘Only that I looked beautiful with my head between your legs,’ the younger girl replied mischievously.
‘No,’ Beth said with asperity. ‘I told you that you’re a lazy good-for-nothing who deserves to have her bottom smacked.’
Celeste pouted. ‘What have I done now?’
‘Nothing,’ Beth said. ‘That’s just the point. Abso-bloody-lutely nothing... as usual.’
‘But there’s nothing for me to do,’ Celeste complained, and turned away looking for her clothes.
‘There’s lots for you to do,’ Beth retorted. ‘Clean the flat, for a start. Get a job, so you can pay your share of the rent.’
‘Oh that,’ Celeste said dismissively.
Beth exploded. ‘Yes, that,’ she said, raising her voice. ‘Am I going to teach you a lesson now.’ She reached out to grasp Celeste’s arm and to pull her over her lap, but the girl twisted away.