Butter Wouldn't Melt

by Penny Birch

  ‘Pippa? Earth to Pippa,’ Steve’s voice broke in, and I found myself mumbling embarrassed apologies as he went on.

  ‘I was saying, once you’ve finished with that stuff you’re doing for Maggie, why don’t you join me on a visit to a client. It would be good experience for you.’

  ‘Yes, thank you, I’d appreciate that,’ I answered, truthfully. ‘But what about Maggie?’

  ‘You can ask her,’ Den said, nodding towards the window.

  I turned, to see Maggie Phelps halfway across the square. She had seen us, and she did not look pleased, filling me with exactly the sort of apprehension I thought I’d left behind at school. I made to rise, an apology already trembling on my lips, but Mark’s arm was still around my shoulder and he eased me back into my seat.

  ‘Relax, Pippa. You don’t need to worry about Maggie.’

  ‘Doesn’t she?’ Maggie herself responded as she turned in at the door. ‘She’s supposed to be gaining experience with us, Mark, and not in how to drink, or flirt. Come back to the office, Pippa.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I began, but Mark wasn’t satisfied.

  ‘How much experience do you think she’ll gain sorting out the old files?’ he asked. ‘We could get a temp in to do that.’

  ‘It’s what I need her to do, at present,’ Maggie answered.

  ‘Fair enough,’ Steve put in, ‘but once she’s finished I’d like her to come out with me for a few days.’

  ‘That’s not unreasonable,’ Maggie agreed. ‘Now come along, Pippa.’

  I came, knowing it was what I should do and unable in my case to resist the authority in her voice. Mark let me up, and while Maggie didn’t actually take my hand I felt very much that I was being led away as we left, led away like a naughty little girl caught playing with the wrong friends. I was sure the men were laughing at me as I crossed the square a couple of paces behind Maggie, leaving me red-faced, but my embarrassment flared higher still as she turned to me and spoke.

  ‘I think we both know what you need, don’t we?’

  ‘A coffee?’ I suggested, although I’d heard that tone of voice before and I had a horrible, thrilling suspicion I knew what she meant.

  ‘A good spanking,’ she answered, and my suspicion turned to certainty.

  The shock and doubt in my face must have shown, because she went on immediately, her voice stern and commanding.

  ‘Don’t try to play the innocent with me, young lady. I know exactly what you are, and what you like.’

  Sober, I’d have realised she really did know, and maybe told her I was in a faithful relationship with my girlfriend, maybe. Drunk and flushed with embarrassment, I tried to deny it.

  ‘No, you’ve got it wrong, Miss Phelps, I don’t . . .’

  ‘I’ll have none of that nonsense,’ she interrupted me. ‘You came with a reference from Morris Rathwell, didn’t you? And we all know what that means.’

  ‘Yes, but I . . .’

  I’d been going to say that I had nothing to do with Morris Rathwell and that I only got spanked by my girlfriend, but both protests would have been lies and the second completely useless anyway. Instead I shut up, and Miss Phelps gave me a smug little grin, taking my hand as we turned and lost sight of Champagne Charlie’s. She strode forward and I came meekly behind, full of confusion, scared and yet expectant, burning with resentment and yet full of arousal. There was a world of satisfaction in Miss Phelps’s voice as she spoke again.

  ‘I wanted to be the first to spank you, and it looks like I will be. Perhaps we’d better go in at the back? Otherwise I might have to deal with you in front of Lucius and Mr Montague, which would be a pity.’

  She didn’t say why, whether it was to spare my blushes or because she had further plans for me, but I suspected I knew the answer. I cast her a nervous look, already imagining the taste of her sex in my mouth, but she was walking straight ahead, towards the rear door of Montague, Montague, Todmorden and Montague. Inside, she hurried me up the stairs, applying a pat to the seat of my skirt to urge me up the final flight. It was no more than a touch, but it meant a great deal, her assumption of the right to smack my bottom, which I didn’t rebuff.

  My heart was beating fast as I entered my tiny room, and I was biting my lip for a moment before I managed to stop myself, trying to look composed as I awaited my punishment. She drew a key from her bag and quickly locked the door. For all my attempt at calm I felt very small indeed, and tried to be brave, speaking in an effort to show that I wasn’t quite the pathetic little creature she assumed.

  ‘How do you want me, over your knee I suppose?’

  I’d put on my best sassy voice, but she answered quite casually.

  ‘No, climb onto your desk and lie on your back, as if you were ready to have your nappy changed.’

  All my efforts to appear cool and sophisticated collapsed in humiliation and the first words to enter my head spilt from my mouth.

  ‘I don’t wear a nappy!’

  ‘No, but that should give you an extra little something to think about while your bottom is smacked.’

  She was right. I was pouting furiously and quite unable to stop myself as I climbed onto the desk. It wasn’t a position I’d been punished in before, but I could quite imagine how shameful it would be, with everything showing, while the thought of being made to wear a nappy and having it changed had inevitably got stuck in my head.

  Determined at least to deprive her of the pleasure of exposing me, I began to tug my own skirt up, only to have a finger wagged in my face.

  ‘Oh no you don’t,’ she warned. ‘I’ll get you ready. Now on your back you go.’

  I went, turning over and lifting my knees as I knew I should. Even dressed, my bottom felt prominent and vulnerable, and Miss Phelps was smiling as she eyed the shape I made under my skirt.

  ‘I’m going to enjoy this,’ she said, taking hold of the hem of my skirt. ‘It’s been quite a while since I spanked a young one like you.’

  She began to draw my skirt down my thighs, deliberately slowly. Her eyes were fixed on my legs as she exposed me, and when the tops of my stay-ups came on show she gave a nod of satisfaction and spoke again.

  ‘I see you wear stockings. Sensible girl. Aren’t tights horrid?’

  I managed a nod, unable to speak for the lump in my throat. She could now see right up my skirt, to where the bulge of my sex was hidden by my knickers, my embarrassingly wet knickers. Her eyebrows lifted in amusement as she saw.

  ‘Wet already? Quite the little slut, aren’t you?’ she said. ‘Lift your bottom, darling.’

  My obedience was automatic, and as I raised myself from the table she quickly pushed my skirt up over my hips, leaving my knickers on full show. Ever since my first spanking I’d been taught to associate a particular style of underwear with punishment, plain white, full-cut knickers, which was what I had on. Just knowing I was wearing them could be enough to turn me on, and Miss Phelps seemed to share my taste.

  ‘Spanking panties?’ she remarked. ‘What a good girl you are.’

  She stepped back a little, admiring the view of my thighs and bottom, no longer hidden by my skirt but bare save for where the taut white cotton of my knickers covered my most intimate secrets. It was a thoroughly ridiculous pose, and as she took hold of my ankles I thought of what she’d said about it being the way I’d lie if I was having my nappy changed. Given the amount of modesty I was going to be allowed to keep, I might as well have been.

  ‘Let’s have those panties down then, shall we?’ she said, her voice full of smug amusement as she took hold of me by the seat of my knickers.

  One good jerk and they’d been pulled out from under my body. Another and my bum crease was showing. A third and they were around my thighs, exposing my spread bottom hole and the wet tart of my pussy. A hard sob escaped my lips as I was laid bare, and she gave a soft chuckle as she twisted her hand into my knickers, now at knee level, holding me firmly in place with my bottom stuck out and completely exposed.
I was bare, and ready to be spanked, but she seemed to have other ideas.

  Her eyes were lingering on what I was showing, and her hand had settled on the turn of my bottom cheek. I’d thought she might touch me up as well as spank me, and I closed my eyes, unable to resist the pleasure of having my bottom stroked and fondled for all the shame of my position. Only when her fingers began to move close to my anus did I open my eyes again, to find that she’d squatted down and was looking at my twin holes from just inches away. My surprise must have shown in my face.

  ‘Aren’t you used to having your bottom inspected?’ she asked.

  I shook my head.

  ‘I always like to inspect a new girl before I spank her,’ she said, and her hand had moved to my sex.

  Another sob burst out as she inserted one long finger into pussy, just briefly, before extracting it and spreading my lips to open my hole for inspection.

  ‘Not a virgin, then,’ she remarked. ‘Pity.’

  ‘I am a virgin,’ I managed. ‘I just ride a lot.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ she replied, doubtfully, ‘but I do like to see an intact hymen. Are you sure you haven’t let your knickers down for some nasty little boy?’

  ‘I promise,’ I sobbed. ‘I’m a virgin, I really am.’

  She gave a little tut, then spoke again.

  ‘Do you masturbate?’

  ‘No,’ I lied.

  ‘I think you do, Pippa,’ she responded, and she had begun to stroke between my sex lips.

  My thighs tightened and my mouth came wide as she touched my clitoris. I began to wriggle, but she tightened her grip on my knickers and once more pushed a finger in up my hole.

  ‘Do you masturbate?’ she asked again, firmer now.

  ‘Yes,’ I admitted.

  ‘How often?’

  ‘Not often. OK, quite often . . . nearly every day . . . sometimes twice, or more . . . I can’t help it. My head always seems to be full of dirty thoughts.’

  Her finger had been sliding in and out of me as she spoke, bringing my pleasure higher and breaking down what little resistance I had.

  ‘Do you think about being spanked?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ I admitted, ‘all the time.’

  She pulled her finger free, but only to move it a little lower. I winced and gasped as she touched my bumhole, using a knuckle to rub in some of the cream which had begun to trickle down between my open cheeks. My ring began to twitch, and I was wondering if she was going to put a finger in when she spoke again.

  ‘You play with your bottom hole, don’t you?’

  ‘No! Yes . . . it’s nice, and so is what you’re doing.’

  ‘Dirty little girl,’ she replied, still rubbing my cream into my anus, ‘but perhaps not all that dirty. Did you know that when a girl has been regularly sodomised her anus comes open a little at the slightest touch? I don’t think you’ve been sodomised, have you?’

  I shook my head, now shaking with humiliation and excitement. She continued to play with me, teasing my anal ring until I was open enough for the top joint of her finger to fit in.

  ‘Then I’d watch out for old Lucius,’ she said. ‘He likes to collect girls’ anal virginities. Unless of course you’d enjoy his cock up your darling little bottom?’

  ‘No,’ I managed, a weak sob as she continued to explore my anus.

  ‘I didn’t think so,’ she went on, ‘but I dare say you’ll get it in the end, and I dare say you’ll learn to like it. Now, as you like to play dirty, let’s see if I can’t find something to pop inside you while you’re spanked.’

  Her finger pulled from my anus and she reached to one side, where I’d left the stamp I’d been using to mark dates on the files for archiving. The handle was red painted wood, small and bulbous, just right for going in a girl’s bottom hole, and staying in. She was smiling as she picked it up, and turned it over in her hand as she spoke again.

  ‘These are perfect, I find. They look rather like dummies, too, don’t you think?’

  I nodded weakly as the image of me being put on my back to have my nappy changed rose up once more, only now as I sucked on a dummy. Not that the stamp handle was going in my mouth, it was going up my bum, the rounded tip already touching my ring. I was slimy with my own juice, and opened easily, my hole accepting the little plug and closing on the narrow part to hold it in with the date stamp protruding from my anus, both ridiculous and obscene.

  ‘There,’ she said, ‘I expect you like that, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ I admitted.

  ‘Time for your spanking then,’ she said, and it began.

  She was using her finger tips, applying little stinging slaps to the turn of my cheeks, hard enough to set me gasping and clutching at the table. I could feel my bumhole pulsing on the plug inside as I was smacked, and pussy felt open and vulnerable. The way she’d inspected me had turned me on so much I was quickly beyond the point of pain, wriggling my bottom to the smacks.

  ‘You want to come, don’t you?’ she laughed, and I could only nod in urgent agreement.

  ‘Not yet you don’t, you little slut,’ she answered me. ‘First I want to punish you.’

  As she spoke she changed the way she was spanking me, slapping hard across my cheeks so that every hit jammed the rubber stamp in up my bottom hole. It hurt, but it only made me wriggle all the more, and in turn she spanked harder still. Her expression grew stern and my legs had been hauled higher, to make a bigger target of my bottom. She began to slap my thighs and hips, bringing me real pain and making me yelp and kick in my tightly twisted panties.

  ‘That’s better,’ she said, ‘and you’re getting nice and pink too.’

  She was getting faster, and smacking just as hard, until I was writhing on the table top and biting my lip to stop myself screaming out and revealing to the entire office that I was having my bottom smacked. I knew I couldn’t hold it in much longer, and perhaps she realised, slowing down, but tormenting me by lifting her hand over my bottom before applying single, hard slaps, so that each one had me twitching in anticipation before it was delivered.

  At last she stopped, and began to rub my bottom instead, feeling my hot cheeks. I lay still, breathing heavily, my bottom glowing hot, my bumhole pulsing slowly on the intruding plug, my pussy dribbling juice down between my cheeks and around the slim wooden shaft in my anus. She continued to caress me, soothing my smacked bottom and occasionally brushing pussy to tease her, until I’d begun to arch my back in pleasure and need.

  Seeing the state she’d put me in, she took hold of the rubber stamp and began to ease the handle in and out of my bumhole, pulling it free only to penetrate me once more, and again, and again, until I was whimpering with ecstasy and my fingers were locked tight on the sides of the desk. I was so well buggered my bottom hole had begun to stay open even when the plug was out, before she spoke again.

  ‘I think you had better come now, don’t you? While I bring you off I want you to think about what’s been done to you, and in particular the position you’re in, as if you still wear a nappy and I had to spank you while you were being changed. OK?’

  I gave a nod, knowing full well that even if I tried I would be unable to get the awful fantasy out of my head.

  ‘Good girl,’ she said, ‘and here’s a little something to help you. Close your eyes.’

  As I obeyed her command she drew the rubber stamp from my anus, but this time it was not replaced.

  ‘Here’s a dummy for poor spanked baby,’ she said, and the handle which had just been used to plug my bottom touched my lips.

  A violent shudder of disgust ran through my body, but I opened up and in it went, leaving me sucking on the taste of my own bumhole and whimpering with shame-filled ecstasy. She laughed at me, bringing my feelings higher still as my spanking began once more, only this time not on my bottom, but on pussy.

  It wasn’t hard, just pats, but perfectly delivered, each one sending a little jolt of ecstasy through me that could only end one way. I was going to
come, and my head was already fixed on the image she’d provoked. She’d spanked my bottom, and to do it she’d put me in the same position I’d have needed to be in to have my nappy changed. Maybe she was going to put me in a nappy, and parade me around the office with the tell-tale bulge showing under my skirt so that everyone would know. Maybe she’d change me in front of the two dirty old men who shared our obsession, and spank me too, rolled up with my bumhole and pussy flaunted for them to gloat over, to toss their fat old cocks over. Maybe I’d have my bumhole plugged while they did it, with a real dummy, which I’d be made to suck on afterwards, with my mouth full of the taste of my own bottom as Maggie Phelps held me down and fat old Lucius Todmorden pressed his erection to my anus, penetrating me, buggering me, making me just one more girl on his long list of anally deflowered virgins.

  I was coming, and I couldn’t stop myself thinking about it, my thoughts fixed firmly on how it would feel to have my anal ring spread to his erection and my rectum fill with fat, hot penis. The humiliation was unbearable, but that was part of what was making me come as Maggie patted my juicy, open pussy to a steady rhythm and I sucked urgently on the tiny plug she had just that moment had up my bottom hole. It was a good orgasm, long and hard, and so emotional that the tears were running from my eyes as I came slowly down.

  There was no question about what came next. Not a word was spoken as I spat out my impromptu dummy and climbed from the desk. Maggie went to my seat, her smart black office skirt already tugged up to reveal her stockings with slices of creamy white thigh bulging a little over the top of each and her knickers, black and lacy, pulled tight over the enticing swell of her sex. I went straight to my knees, crawling to her as she eased her knickers down and off. Her thighs came wide, presenting me with her neatly trimmed pussy, the centre pink and moist with excitement, the tiny bud of her clitoris showing ready for my tongue.