The Carrot and the Stick

by C. P. Vanner

  In the toilet cubicle, with the door locked, she opened again the folder of photographs from the previous day. The two Chester Hampton had picked up should still be at the bottom of the pile. She slid them out and stared at them. One showed her standing with her back to the camera, her bottom, picked out by a spotlight, glowing a bright, rosy red, with the rest of her seductively shaded. The other showed her bottom in close-up, the marks of Celeste’s spanking clearly visible. So he liked spanking, she thought, and he clearly did not realise the photographs were of her.

  ‘Sorry about that, Chester,’ she said, back at the table. ‘Where were we?’

  ‘The girl in the photographs.’

  Beth realised she needed to play for time, to gain time to think. ‘I don’t know much about her, Chester. I could find out and let you know. How long are you in town?’

  ‘I leave the day after tomorrow,’ he said. ‘If you do this for me, Beth, I shan’t forget it.’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t know, Chester. She’s a top model, and very hard to get hold of.’

  ‘I only want a date,’ he persevered. ‘One night, on her terms. And I can pay for her company.’

  ‘She’d be silly to say no, if she’s in town,’ Beth said reassuringly. ‘I’ll let you know.’

  Beth telephoned him late that afternoon. ‘Can I talk, Chester?’ she asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

  ‘Yes, go ahead. I’m alone.’

  ‘She’s agreed to meet you.’

  ‘Good!’ he enthused. ‘Excellent!’

  ‘I told her that you’d seen her in the photographs.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘I told her which photographs specifically; the ones that showed her bottom. After that she sounded even more interested.’

  ‘Excellent! Where? When?’

  ‘Before we get on to that, Chester, she wants to make some conditions.’

  ‘Oh, yes, well as I said before, I can pay for her time.’

  ‘No, it’s not that, Chester. She is well known and wants to remain anonymous. She does not want you to know who she is.’

  ‘How can we do that? She can’t go out wearing a mask.’

  ‘That’s the point. She does not want to go out. She wants to meet you in your hotel suite. You could book the suite next to you for her. Book it in my name for tomorrow evening.’

  ‘Yes, good, even better.’

  ‘I’ll bring her there myself. Just to make sure you find each other.’

  ‘Yes, fine. Beth, I won’t forget this.’

  ‘Oh, Chester, one other thing. I think she’s quite naughty. She likes games. I didn’t think you would mind. She wants to know whether you would like her in a costume.’

  ‘In a costume? Well, I hadn’t really thought about it that—’

  ‘So why not think about it now? What sort of girls do you like?’

  ‘I... er... I have always liked cheerleaders. You know, American cheerleaders.’

  ‘Then I’ll tell her. See you tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh, Beth, what do I call her?’

  ‘Anything you like. What would you like to call her, Chester?’

  ‘Um, Candy.’

  ‘Candy. That’s cute. Candy and I will be there tomorrow at nine.’

  On the top floor of the exclusive hotel in London’s West End, the carpet in the corridor was deep and plush, and Beth approached the door of suite fifty-one without a sound. It was eerily quiet, no people, no activity at all, just the faint hum of air conditioning. Whatever was happening behind all those closed doors, Beth thought, it would not matter, no one else would hear, the walls were so reassuringly substantial.

  She knocked quietly on the door, not wanting to break the quiet, and Chester Hampton opened it almost immediately. He was in shirtsleeves and trousers, but his feet were bare and his hair was wet. He had apparently just come out of the shower. He shook her by the hand and led her inside.

  ‘She’s here, next door,’ Beth said, cocking her head towards the adjoining suite.

  Hampton looked pleased and excited, but most of all relieved. She realised that he probably doubted whether Candy would turn up. ‘Thank you, Beth,’ he said, grasping her hand again and giving it a squeeze.

  ‘Remember the rules,’ she went on. ‘She’ll be masked and she probably won’t talk. She doesn’t want you to know who she is. She is doing this for me and for the excitement.’ She lowered her voice. ‘She might be married for all you know, Chester. You don’t want to cause her problems, do you.’

  He shook his head solemnly. ‘And what can I do with her?’ he asked.

  Beth smiled at him, amused by his puppy-like eagerness. ‘Anything you want, within reason. She’s a very naughty girl, I know that much. She likes games. Most games. If I know her, she’ll leave it all up to you. She likes masterful men.’

  Chester straightened his shoulders, obviously pleased by the reply.

  Beth turned towards the door. ‘Give us five minutes together, Chester, and then she’ll be here. Make sure that door is unlocked.’ She pointed to the internal door connecting the two suites. ‘I’ll be next door but don’t worry; I won’t interfere. I’ll call back when Candy has left. You haven’t got all night because she has to get home; she has a busy day tomorrow.’

  Back in her own suite Beth undressed and dressed as quickly as she could while still taking pains to make everything just right. Several minutes later, she leaned over the dressing table to brush on a glossy red lipstick and to slip a white cat mask over her eyes, and then stood up to look at herself in the full length wall mirror.

  She liked the look of Candy; she reminded her of an adolescent fantasy figure from her teenage years. As an English schoolgirl, she had often dreamed of being the sort of American co-ed she saw on television. Beth looked carefully at the figure in the mirror from top to toe. Candy wore white mid-calf boots but otherwise her legs were bare, almost to the tops of her thighs. Above was a very short, white pleated skirt and a loose white woollen jumper with a huge red letter A sewn on the front. Apart from the lipstick, her face looked scrubbed, pink with good health and, with the eyes masked, mischievously mysterious. Her blonde hair was caught up in two bangs on either side of her head. She twirled around, looking back over her shoulder, and caught a glimpse of the tight white knickers beneath her skirt. She smiled, showing perfect white teeth. Chester should like Candy. She picked up her hat, a white shako with a red star on the front, and tucked it under her arm. ‘Ready,’ she said softly to the mirror, taking a deep breath. ‘Let’s go.’

  She knocked on the adjoining door with the padded tip of her twirling baton, and Chester Hampton opened it, looking the same as he had ten minutes earlier. ‘You must be Candy,’ he said, a little shyly. ‘Please, come in.’

  He closed the door and led her to the centre of his huge sitting room. ‘Let me have a look at you,’ he said, sitting in an easy chair. She stood before him, one knee slightly bent while he looked her up and down. ‘Now the other side - turn round.’

  She did as she was told, standing still until he spoke again.

  ‘You know why you are here, don’t you, Candy? I am told that you have been slacking in the cheerleading class.’ She hung her head. ‘I am also told that you have been fooling around with some members of the football team, but we’ll get to that later. First, I’d like to see you go through your paces. March up and down for me.’

  She marched back and forth in front of him from one wall to the other, lifting her knees extravagantly, like a high-stepping horse in a dressage contest. She felt her skirt lift with each step and she knew that the white of her knickers would show tantalisingly.

  ‘Fine,’ he said, as she began to flag. ‘Now, let’s try leaping. Some good high cheerleading leaps, if you please.’

  Standing facing him, she leapt in the air, her arms and legs wide, her head thrown
back. After the third leap he stood up and walked around behind her. ‘Keep going,’ he said. After three more leaps she stopped, gasping for breath.

  ‘You are out of shape and you are not very supple,’ he said. ‘It just won’t do.’ He sat down again in front of her. ‘Let me see you touch your toes.’

  She raised her arms above her head and swung them down to the floor. Her feet were slightly apart, but she could feel the muscles and tendons on the backs of her thighs stretching. ‘Keep going,’ he said, rising again and walking around behind her. ‘There’s a lot of work yet to do.’

  Again she swung downwards, trying to reach her toes. ‘Hold it there,’ he said from behind. ‘It’s good for the muscles to stretch like that.’ She knew it was not just her muscles that were stretched, but her knickers too. She could feel them as taut as a drum skin across her bottom.

  ‘We need to work on that position,’ he said. ‘Have a rest and then we’ll get back to it. Show me some baton twirling in the meantime.’

  Beth was glad to be standing upright again. She picked up the baton and tried to twirl it between her fingers. She was hopeless and she knew it. After she dropped it for the fourth time, Chester picked it up.

  ‘There’s more than one use for a stick like this,’ he said pensively, running one hand up and down its length. ‘And I can certainly think of one way to use it.’

  She hung her head again. ‘Get your breath back,’ he went on. ‘Have a drink. And then we’ll start again, only this time in earnest,’ he said, pouring her a coke in a tall glass. She drank it gratefully.

  When she put the glass back on the table, he continued. ‘Now, I think you should take your panties off. They seem to be restricting your movement.’ She did as she was told, peeling them off and placing the delicate little white bundle alongside the glass.

  ‘Let me see you leap again.’

  She leapt in the air as before, head back, arms and legs apart and her skirt flying up to her waist. ‘Your legs should be wider apart,’ he ordered. Three times more she leapt as high as she could. ‘Now touch your toes,’ he commanded, without allowing her to stop for breath. He prowled around, studying her from all sides but particularly from behind, as she swung her arms high in the air and down as far as her boots. ‘Lower,’ he said.

  When he finally allowed her to stand upright again, her cheeks were flushed and she was panting. ‘You look hot,’ he said. ‘Take off your sweater.’

  Grasping the hem, she lifted it carefully over her head, and then stood in front of him again in only her boots, skirt and mask. Her head was hanging down and she saw her small nipples, standing proud on her breasts.

  For at least ten more minutes he made her do a series of exercises; bending, flexing, leaping and falling back on her hands to make a bridge. Finally she collapsed on her stomach on the floor, exhausted and with her skirt up around her waist, her bottom fully exposed and her legs apart.

  ‘You are unfit and lazy,’ he pronounced, standing over her. ‘So now I am going to show you how we deal with that. Come here, and lie over my lap.’

  He sat on an upright chair beside the table and she lowered herself across his legs. With one hand he folded up her skirt and began to stroke the delicious naked bottom in front of him. She was glad to be still and relatively relaxed; all that leaping about had been truly exhausting.

  He began to spank her, not hard at first but thoroughly, covering every inch of flesh from the creases at the top of her thighs to the dimples in the small of her back. She could feel the heat from the spanking and knew that her bottom would be glowing red, as it had been in the photographs.

  For a while he stopped spanking her, only to pull gently at her flesh with his fingers, revealing first her sex and then her anus. Then the spanking resumed, harder and more painfully.

  ‘Now I am going to teach you another use for that baton,’ he said in due course, his voice tight with emotion. ‘I want you to stand up and touch your toes again, and every time you try I shall offer encouragement.’ As he spoke his fingers were undoing the catch on her skirt, so that when she stood up it shimmered to the floor.

  Again she stood in the centre of the room with him behind her. She swung her arms up and then down. As her fingertips touched her boots he brought the short stick down across her buttocks. ‘Lower,’ he said, over and over again. The exercise and the beating seemed to last for ages. The baton was too short to hurt much, but she knew her bottom would be heavily striped. He was panting almost as hard as she was.

  Suddenly it stopped and he resumed his seat, leaving her bent double. When he had recovered his composure he told her to stand in front of him.

  ‘Now there’s the question of your misbehaviour with members of the football team,’ he said. He raised the baton and touched her nipples with the round, padded end. ‘Have any boys seen these?’ he asked, and she nodded. He put the baton between her legs, and rubbed it back and forth against her sex. ‘And this?’ She shook her head. ‘Are you sure?’ he persisted, rubbing faster and probing between her moist lips. She shook her head again, her blonde locks swaying back and forth. He pushed his arm forward so that the end of the baton slid between her legs and up into the crease of her bottom. ‘How about this?’ he asked, and she shook her head vehemently. ‘Then it must be this,’ he said, raising the now damp baton to her lips and patting them. ‘Suck it.’ She opened her mouth and took the end of the baton inside, as if sucking a large lollipop.

  ‘Show me what you do to the quarterback,’ he said, putting the baton to one side. She leaned forward and unbuttoned his shirt, then helped him to stand. She undid his belt and zip and pushed down his trousers and underpants, putting them neatly to one side. She pushed him back into the chair and knelt before him. She ran her tongue along the flesh of his upper thighs until it could go no higher. With both hands she lifted his scrotum and began to lick the wrinkled sac, rubbing her warm cheek against his penis. Opening her lips wide, she gently took his testicles into her mouth, moving her tongue from side to side and around the tightening balls.

  Letting them go, she traced with the tip of her tongue the line from his scrotum, up the soft vein running the length of his penis to the shiny, purple head. She twirled it around the helmet and poked it into the tiny slit before opening her lips and swallowing all of the head and half the shaft. Slowly, very slowly so that he would get maximum enjoyment, she moved her head up and down, filling her mouth with warm saliva to lubricate him. With each movement she swallowed a little more of him, taking his rigid penis deeper and deeper into her throat.

  He slumped back and closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable that was about to come. But as his muscles tensed and he began to pant, she stopped and pulled her face away.

  ‘Don’t stop,’ he said, but she shook her head and clasped his penis with one hand. ‘I said don’t stop.’

  She shook her head again, and began to move her hand up and down the shaft.

  ‘You might tease the lads in the football team like that,’ he said, pushing her hand away, ‘but you don’t do it to grown men.’ He reached forward and grasped the back of her head with both hands, pushing it back down into his lap. ‘I want you to drink it,’ and as she again took the purple plum into her mouth, he added, ‘all of it.’

  Seconds later she did just that, swallowing every drop of his ejaculation and licking her lips as she withdrew her head. He flopped in the chair with his eyes closed, deep slow breaths making his chest rise and fall as she quickly collected her clothes and left the room the same way she had come.

  Beth again stood at the door of Chester Hampton’s suite. She was wearing her business suit, familiar deep red lipstick and her hair was properly brushed.

  ‘Candy has gone,’ she told him, and she was not lying. ‘Did you like her?’

  Hampton looked ruffled but happy. ‘Yes, very much,’ he said. ‘I can’t think how to thank you.’
/>   ‘I can,’ she said, her eyes shining brightly.

  ‘Well, for a start, you should stay in the suite,’ he said, ‘as it’s all paid for. Enjoy a little luxury for the night.’

  She waved the plastic key she was holding. ‘Okay - good night then.’

  As she turned he took her by the arm. ‘Beth,’ he said conspiratorially, ‘I’ll be back next week. Would it be possible to see Candy again?’

  ‘It might be,’ she teased, ‘but it’ll cost you.’

  He smiled. ‘Well I expect there’s an easy way to pay my debt to Cross, Carstairs and Denton.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, feeling very pleased with herself, ‘there is. Good night, Chester.’

  Beth sunk lower into the scented water of the bathtub feeling the bubbles erupt around her hips. She stretched out one leg and wiggled her toes between Celeste’s thighs until they relaxed and opened to allow her access.

  Celeste had arrived just twenty-two minutes after her call. ‘Grab a toothbrush and come and join me in my luxury suite,’ Beth said, adding, ‘and don’t worry about a nightie.’

  Celeste slid forward in the tub so that her sex pressed against the ball of Beth’s foot. ‘Tell me all about it,’ she said. ‘Every detail, every inch,’ she giggled.

  After Beth had told her, Celeste asked, ‘So is your bum sore?’ When Beth nodded, Celeste said, ‘So is mine. T.J. never leaves me alone. If it’s not a spanking, it’s the cane. And if it’s not the cane, it’s the slipper.’

  Beth reached towards the shelf along the side of the bath. ‘There should be something here among all these luxurious freebies that we can rub on each other.’ She held up and studied a series of multi-coloured miniature bottles and sachets. ‘Ah,’ she said. ‘Cold cream.’

  Ten minutes later she was lying naked on her stomach on a huge bed with an equally naked Celeste kneeling beside her. ‘Your poor bottom,’ Celeste cooed, leaning forward to kiss and lick the punished flesh before slapping a dollop of cold cream between the cheeks.