The Carrot and the Stick

by C. P. Vanner

  Natasha could hardly contain her fury. Beth could see her quivering with anger. ‘Then,’ Natasha said, clearly working hard to remain calm, ‘then he made us suck him off. I whored for you and I don’t even work for you.’

  ‘Quite,’ Richard said calmly. ‘You don’t work for me. And if you ever have any hope of doing so you’ll have to learn, as Beth has, that everything is fair in love and war and business. How do you think I became managing director here?’

  ‘I don’t know, do I?’ she said. ‘By hard work?’

  He smiled patronisingly. ‘Yes, plenty of that, and also because I married the boss’s daughter. My wife Helen is the Cross in Cross, Carstairs and Denton. I took her name when we married, to keep things simple. Is that whoring?’

  Natasha shook her head.

  Richard went on. ‘I slept with her long before we were married. Is that whoring?’

  ‘No,’ Natasha said meekly.

  ‘So let’s get this straight,’ Richard said. ‘You did what you did voluntarily. Nobody made you do anything - right? You paid a penalty that was only fair - right?’

  She nodded, and Richard changed tack. ‘Do you still want to work here?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’ Natasha nodded.

  ‘Even after what you’ve been through?’

  She nodded again, so he thought for a moment and then said, ‘Well at least you show the right spirit. You have also shown enterprise, albeit misdirected, but you’ve a lot to learn. An awful lot. I’ll tell you in a minute my conditions, but first I think we’ll give you a practical demonstration.

  ‘Won’t we, Beth,’ he said, snapping his head in the direction of the other girl.

  ‘Yes, Richard,’ Beth said respectfully, rising to her feet.

  He also stood up. ‘I hold you responsible for everything that went wrong last night, Beth. I hold you responsible for recruiting Natasha in the first place and for putting her in a position with which she could not cope. I hold you responsible for everything you two did to Merchant and everything he did to you in return. Natasha has every right to be angry with you...’

  ‘Oh no,’ Natasha interrupted, ‘I’m not angry with Beth, it wasn’t her fault...’

  ‘So now you will pay the penalty and give Natasha a lesson at the same time,’ Richard went on, ignoring Natasha’s protestation. ‘Bend over the desk.’

  ‘But you can’t beat her, please,’ Natasha tried again. ‘She has already...’

  ‘Are you telling me what I can or cannot do?’ he snapped. ‘Do you want to make it worse for her?’

  Natasha fell silent and Richard again told Beth to bend over the desk. He cleared away papers and an executive toy with silver balls, and Beth lowered her top half to the surface, gripping the sides with her hands.

  He turned to Natasha. ‘Lift up her skirt and take down her knickers.’

  ‘Oh please,’ she said, but he was unrelenting, so she did as she was told, whispering an apology to Beth as she raised the skirt and eased the girl’s knickers down around her ankles.

  ‘Right off,’ Richard said. ‘Legs apart.’

  Natasha slid the knickers over Beth’s feet and put her hand between her friend’s thighs, pushing her legs apart. ‘Look at those marks, Mr Cross,’ she pleaded. ‘You can’t spank her again.’

  ‘I can see she has been well punished,’ Richard said, touching Beth’s flesh. ‘Peregrine Merchant is good at his job, I always knew that.’ He reached into a desk drawer and produced a jar of lubricant. He handed it to Natasha. ‘Put some of this on her.’

  Natasha smoothed the oily paste onto the inflamed and purple buttocks. ‘No,’ Richard corrected, ‘not there; on her anus, where it will do some good.’

  Natasha looked at him in horror. ‘You’re not going to...’

  Richard’s eyes flashed. ‘Are you trying to tell me again what I can and cannot do?’

  Natasha shook her head. ‘If you really are going to do it,’ she said quietly, ‘you should do it to me, not to her. I was the one who was naughty.’

  Richard was unmoved. ‘You’ll get yours soon enough, I dare say. For the moment you can learn by watching. Now do what I told you.’

  Natasha smoothed the paste over Beth’s anus, which puckered at her touch and then loosened again to allow the greasy finger to slip inside. When the little ring was shining with grease, Richard turned Natasha around so she faced him and, pressing on her shoulders, forced her down to her knees. With no further instruction, Natasha undid his belt and unzipped his fly, sliding his trousers and pants down to his feet.

  ‘Beth, watch,’ Richard instructed, and still lying over the desk, Beth turned her head so that she was facing them. His erect penis was just inches from Natasha’s face, and the younger girl took the swollen helmet into her mouth. Richard allowed her to suck him until his rod was stiff and full to bursting, and then pushed her away. ‘Now the lubricant,’ he said.

  As neat as a geisha at a tea party, the dark-haired girl smoothed the lubricant the full length of the rigid column and then ran her hands up and down it in a continuous movement, gathering speed with every stroke. When it dawned on Richard what she was trying to do, he gripped Natasha by the hair and pulled her away from him. ‘Oh, no you don’t,’ he said. ‘This is for Beth.’ With Natasha still sitting on her heels on the floor, he positioned himself between Beth’s legs and held his penis with its head touching her anus. ‘Now come and watch,’ he ordered Natasha. ‘Come close.’

  She crawled across the carpet to the couple. ‘Closer,’ Richard barked, and Natasha rested her cheek on Beth’s buttock, feeling its heat, and stroked her friend’s thigh with her hands, trying mutely to offer her support. Natasha’s eyes were just inches from the rod that now began to seek entrance. She watched as it slid silently out of sight, deep into the most intimate part of her submissive friend.

  The act was not lovemaking; it was brief and frantic, designed not for Beth’s pleasure but only for Richard’s. Beth gasped with every thrust, tears running down her face to form two small pools on the desktop. Richard seemed to be full of lust and anger. With each shunt Natasha sobbed in sympathy for her friend, and Richard rutted against Beth so aggressively that the desk moved a little, before arching his back and shuddering, and letting out a strangled groan.

  Five minutes later the two girls with tearstained faces sat next to each other on the couch, Natasha’s arm around Beth’s shoulders. Richard was back behind his desk looking as he had done when first they entered the office, apparently untouched by the experience since.

  ‘I won’t keep you much longer,’ he said. ‘I hope lessons have been learned this morning,’ he added sternly, searching their faces. They both nodded mutely, Beth shifting uncomfortably where she sat. She had hated the lesson, not because of what he did, but because of the uncaring way in which he did it.

  He addressed her directly. ‘Chester Hampton will be back in town in the coming week. We need that Internat contract. See if you can get back into my good books. Incidentally, it seems only fair to tell you now that Perry Merchant was not just angry about your behaviour yesterday, he was impressed too; impressed by your ingenuity and your fortitude.’

  He picked up a folder. ‘You can go now,’ he added.

  ‘But...’ Natasha began, but Beth spoke for her.

  ‘What about Natasha?’

  Richard cocked an eyebrow at the lovely dark-haired girl. ‘You’re still interested, after that?’

  Natasha blushed again. ‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘Beth likes working for you and she admires you. I have not yet worked out why, but I’d like the chance to find out.’

  Richard snorted. ‘You’re certainly a girl with spirit,’ he mused. ‘That’s good. But it is untamed; you don’t know the difference between being frank and being rude.’

  ‘So?’ Natasha replied cheekily.

  Richard twiddled a pe
ncil in his fingers. ‘So before we go any farther you will have to prove yourself a willing worker, and to learn some discipline and manners.’

  ‘From you, like Beth just did, you mean?’

  ‘No, from my wife. Do you agree?’

  Natasha looked surprised and glanced at Beth, who raised her eyebrows, a gesture that Natasha could not immediately interpret.

  ‘And what would that entail?’ she asked.

  ‘You will spend two days in our home in the country, with my wife. She is very experienced. She will teach you and she will discipline you. If you are smart you will learn from her. If you are smart, you will also do what she says. Do you agree?’

  Natasha shrugged. ‘I suppose so, yes.’

  ‘But that’s not quite all,’ Richard went on. ‘You must also prove yourself to me. You will keep a journal of your stay, what happens and what you have learned, in detail. I want to know everything. When you return to London you will present your report to me. You can write, I take it?’

  Natasha ignored the last question, and asked one of her own. ‘What will your wife be looking for?’

  Richard shrugged. ‘She won’t teach you advertising, if that’s what you mean. She’s a bit out of touch. But she is a very good judge of character and a very firm teacher. She enjoys instilling a sense of self-discipline into young women, as Beth can confirm.’

  Natasha glanced again at Beth and then said, ‘Okay, it’s a deal, but if I pass at the Mrs Cross school of self-discipline, do I get a job?’

  ‘That depends upon your report; it better be good, it better be detailed, and it better be the truth. Remember, I will have already heard it from Helen.

  ‘You can go now.’

  As the two girls threaded their way back through the empty offices, Beth took Natasha by the arm. ‘When I was young,’ she said, ‘we were going on a cycling holiday. Before we left we rubbed turpentine onto our bottoms.’

  ‘What on earth for?’ Natasha asked, pressing the button for the lift.

  ‘To make them harder, so we didn’t get saddle sore.’

  Natasha giggled. ‘Why are you telling me?’

  ‘Oh nothing, it’s not important,’ Beth replied with a smile, hugging Natasha’s arm closer to her bosom. ‘I just thought you might want to buy some turpentine before visiting Helen Cross.’

  Beth and Celeste sat leaning against the arms at either end of the sofa in their flat. Beth’s feet were in Celeste’s lap and the younger girl had her head leaning to one side, concentrating on painting Beth’s toenails.

  Celeste held up one small foot, to admire her handiwork. ‘I have something to show you,’ she said.

  ‘And I have something to tell you,’ Beth replied. ‘You first.’

  Celeste dropped the foot on the sofa and went off to find her handbag. She returned holding three photographs that she handed to Beth without a word. Beth looked at all three carefully and then looked up at Celeste.

  ‘Great, aren’t they?’ Celeste beamed.

  ‘They’re pornographic,’ Beth replied.

  Celeste was indignant. ‘They can’t be pornographic, they’re me.’

  Beth laughed. ‘I know they’re of you,’ she said patiently. ‘I’d recognise that bottom anywhere. But they’re still pornographic. Look.’ She held them up as if Celeste had not seen them before. ‘They’re of you being caned in the nude by T.J. Kearns, who also happens to be in the nude and who has a great big hard on.’

  ‘I know,’ Celeste giggled. ‘Isn’t it exciting! He’ll think twice before trying to get rid of me now.’ She looked up to the ceiling in mock innocence. ‘He might even promote me or increase my salary.’

  ‘Have you shown them to him?’ Beth asked, incredulity straining her voice.

  ‘Just one of them. I told him to keep it as a souvenir.’

  ‘That’s blackmail.’

  ‘No it’s not. It’s cinema-verite, or photo-verite at least.’

  Beth shook her head in disbelief. ‘Who took them?’

  Celeste looked triumphant. ‘I did.’

  ‘Oh sure,’ Beth said. ‘You took these from the side while you were bent over the desk having your bottom thrashed.’

  ‘Yep,’ Celeste said, and laughed. ‘It was the remote control camera I tried to pocket when I was in Peter Parnell’s darkroom. He lent it to me a week ago.’

  ‘Not for nothing, I bet,’ Beth said.

  Celeste blushed. ‘You’re right. I had to pay with my bottom again.’

  Beth shook her head in dismay. ‘You’re awful, Celeste.’

  From a pocket Celeste produced the camera, smaller than a cigarette packet. ‘It’s great.’ She held it out to Beth. ‘I thought you might like to use it for your work, if you know what I mean.’

  Beth pushed her arm away. ‘No, I would not,’ she insisted. ‘You keep it. I don’t want to touch the dirty thing.’

  Celeste made a moue of protest and with a swirl of her skirt sat down again with a thump. ‘So what did you want to tell me?’ she asked, taking the photographs and putting them to one side.

  ‘Now that Natasha is away in the country for a couple of days of strict training,’ Beth started, and both girls gave an exaggerated shudder at the thought, ‘I want to use this place for work tomorrow evening and I need your help.’

  ‘Sounds like fun,’ Celeste said, wriggling with pleasure, quite forgetting her annoyance about the camera. ‘How can I help?’

  Beth smiled at her. ‘I want you to be Charlie again.’

  ‘Yippee!’ Celeste cheered. ‘I’m quite getting to like Charlie.’

  Beth explained about Chester Hampton, that he was a valuable potential client and she was doing her best to win his business. ‘He likes games,’ Beth said, reminding the younger girl about the night they spent in the hotel suite in central London. ‘I thought we might use this place tomorrow for a charade.’

  ‘With me as Charlie,’ Celeste said.

  ‘With you as Charlie in a mask,’ Beth confirmed.

  Celeste whooped with delight. ‘A masked play,’ she said eagerly. ‘Let’s plan it now.’

  At eight the following evening, Chester Hampton stood outside the door of the flat checking the number. It was the right flat. He checked his watch. It was the right time. He recalled Beth’s somewhat confusing instructions; it was Candy’s flat but Candy would not be Candy, she would be Abigail, and she would be there with a ‘friend’. The front door would be unlocked and he should enter and join in any activity or game he found going on.

  So he turned the handle and went inside.

  One end of the sitting room, the end where Chester Hampton sat, was dark, whereas the other end of the room was brightly lit. Abigail, dressed as a maid, wore a sexy black dress, the short skirt of which just reached the tops of her shapely thighs, black stockings and shoes and a tiny white apron. On her face was a cat mask and in her hand a feather duster.

  ‘I must get this done,’ she murmured, flicking the duster at the bookcase, ‘Mr Hampton will be home soon.’ She leant over to pick up a bit of fluff on the carpet, revealing tight black knickers stretched across a pair of saucy buttocks. ‘He’s so strict with me, I mustn’t get in his bad books.’

  She flitted around the room, bending and stretching, totally absorbed with the task in hand, oblivious to all else. When she was bending with her back to the door, a figure entered silently. The intruder was slimmer, with short fair hair and wearing a dark trouser suit and also a mask. The newcomer approached the maid silently from behind and smacked her proffered bottom. The maid squealed and turned to confront the intruder.

  ‘Oh, Charlie,’ the maid said when she saw who it was, ‘what are you doing? Mr Hampton will be home soon. You shouldn’t be here.’

  ‘Well he’s not here yet, so give me a kiss,’ Charlie said, taking the maid into his arms.

&nb
sp; The maid pushed him away angrily. ‘You’ll get me into trouble. Remember if Mr Hampton finds you, you’re my brother. Now leave me alone and let me get on.’

  She tried to continue the dusting but was pestered at every step by Charlie. As she reached to dust a picture he cupped and squeezed her breasts. When she bent down to the wastepaper basket he deftly pulled aside her knickers, revealing soft pink flesh and a shadowed cleft.

  As she moved he followed, insinuating a hand between her legs. Relenting, the maid stopped, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply and passionately, but when he reached behind to grasp her bottom, pulling her even closer, Abigail pushed him away.

  ‘Cool down,’ she said. ‘Better still, go away.’

  But instead of leaving, Charlie lounged in an armchair, making himself at home.

  ‘Well, occupy yourself with a book, or something,’ the maid said. ‘I’ve got to clean the bedroom.’ As Charlie looked around, the maid added, ‘But don’t touch those in the bookcase with the glass doors. They’re Mr Hampton’s special books. He keeps a cane hidden behind them, to use on anyone who breaks his rules.’

  As soon as he was alone, Charlie opened the bookcase and began to read the titles of the books from the spines. When he found one he liked, he pulled it out and opened it. It was a large book with full-page illustrations. As Charlie turned the pages slowly, studying each picture with rapt attention, he shifted uneasily in the chair. After a moment or two, with the book open on his lap with a particular picture on display, he pushed one hand down the front of his trousers. The cloth emphasised rather than concealed the slow, rhythmic movement of the hand beneath. Charlie had his head back and he began to pant.

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Chester Hampton demanded, entering into the spirit of proceedings.

  Charlie leapt to his feet, and the book clattered to the floor. ‘I-I’m sorry,’ he stammered. ‘I’m your maid’s brother. I was just waiting for her.’

  ‘I don’t give a damn who you are,’ Hampton said. ‘You were reading one of my private books.’ With his toe, he touched the volume lying open on the floor. ‘The penalty for that is a severe caning.’