Butter Wouldn't Melt

by Penny Birch

  He’d come out, and the others, staring aghast at the damage I’d done. I made to run, only to stop. They knew who I was, where I worked, everything. It was all their fault anyway, and I tried to hold that thought as I walked slowly back towards them, but I didn’t manage to express it.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m really sorry. I didn’t know it was there!’

  ‘You stupid little cow,’ Mr Mulligan mouthed.

  ‘That’s hardly fair,’ I answered him, but I could hear the whining note in my own voice. ‘You freaked me out!’

  ‘We were only having a laugh with you,’ he answered. ‘Oh for fuck’s sake!’

  Fitch and the younger Mulligan had lifted the bike. As I’d feared, the petrol tank was badly dented, along with a long, deep scratch where bright metal showed beneath the paint. I made a face, feeling sick to the stomach for what I’d done and the trouble I was in, despite the little insistent voice telling me over and over that it wasn’t my fault at all.

  ‘You’re going to have to pay for this,’ Mr Mulligan said.

  ‘That’s not fair!’ I protested, now close to tears.

  ‘I suppose you think we should?’ he demanded.

  ‘Well, no . . . yes . . . no . . . I don’t know, but . . . I haven’t very much money, and . . .’

  ‘What, a posh piece like you? Get Daddy to fork out.’

  ‘I’d rather he didn’t know,’ I answered, ‘but if . . .’

  I stopped, realising that if I told Dad what had really happened I would end up in far more trouble than I was already. He’d call the police, immediately, and Mr Mulligan would inevitably defend himself by saying I’d agreed to show him my bum and was into spanking anyway. After that it would become a nightmare.

  ‘How much will it be?’ I asked weakly.

  Mr Mulligan sucked his breath in between his teeth.

  ‘All depends. Looks like we might need a new tank, and they’re not so easy to get nowadays. And then there’s the labour. Skilled job, that. Big Mel’s not going to be too happy about it either, and I’m sure you know what Morris is like about getting a discount.’

  ‘Morris? Mel? Is it Melody Rathwell’s bike?’

  ‘Yeah. Maybe she’ll take it out on your hide, if you ask her nice?’

  He wasn’t joking. He was completely serious, sympathetic even. Unfortunately it was out of the question. AJ would never allow it, not with Melody. It was worth calling AJ though, if only to get an expert opinion on the cost of repairs, because I was sure Mr Mulligan would try to take advantage of me.

  ‘Give me a second,’ I told him, and stepped away to make the call.

  AJ grumbled a bit but said she’d come over, and I spent an embarrassing half-hour waiting. When she saw the bike she was nearly as horrified as Mr Mulligan, but she wasn’t standing for any nonsense about the estimate, and he realised she knew what she was talking about. The final figure they agreed was still far more than I could comfortably afford, and I had to promise to pay it by instalments.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked as we walked back to where she’d left her own bike.

  I could see a world of trouble opening up if I told the truth, but I didn’t want to lie.

  ‘I was collecting a cheque,’ I explained, ‘and when I came out I pushed the door open a bit hard.’

  ‘Hard enough to knock a motorbike over?’

  ‘Maybe it wasn’t on its stand properly?’

  She gave a doubtful cluck and went silent for a few seconds. ‘Mulligan’s a spanker, isn’t he? Did he try it on?’

  ‘No!’

  There must have been something in the tone of my voice, because she gave me a distinctly puzzled glance, then spoke again.

  ‘What’s been going on, Pippa?’

  ‘Nothing!’

  ‘Show me your bum.’

  ‘AJ, we’re in the middle of the street!’

  ‘Get in there then.’

  She was pointing to the arch with the graffiti. Too shallow to be of any commercial use, it had filled up with dirt and leaves blowing in from the tiny park opposite. She pushed me forward, towards the back of the arch, which was covered with graffiti in black, silver and a brilliant spectrum of reds and oranges. Nobody could see us unless they came directly past the opening, but we were still in the street, and I was shaking as I levered my knickers down underneath my skirt. They immediately fell down to my ankles, increasing my resentment and feelings of exposure as I tugged up my skirt to show her my bare bum. She bent close, examining me, then stood up again, to lift my chin beneath one crooked finger, her eyes boring into mine. I wasn’t sure if I was pink behind or not, especially as the bright sunlight pouring into the arch was sure to show up even a faint flush, and could only return her stare as best I could.

  ‘Have you been behaving yourself?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes!’ I insisted. ‘AJ, you know I would never . . .’

  ‘Do I?’ she interrupted. ‘You let that Maggie Phelps spank you.’

  ‘She is a woman, AJ.’

  Her finger stayed where it was for a moment more, before she released my chin, only to lift her hand and plant a single, firm smack on my bare bottom. I stayed as I was, spanked in the street, shaking badly. She spent a moment more looking at my bum, then spent a moment playing with a strand of my hair before finally stepping back. I quickly tugged my skirt down and pulled my knickers up underneath, following AJ out of the arch to find her staring thoughtfully at nothing in particular.

  ‘OK?’ I asked.

  ‘No,’ she answered me, ‘but I’m sorry I doubted you. I just can’t stop wondering who told Morris about your punishment.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I said, and went up on tiptoe to kiss her on the cheek.

  ‘What do you mean, don’t worry?’ she demanded. ‘Now it looks like I can’t have any fun with the girls without Morris fucking Rathwell finding out. Come on, I’ll drop you back at work.’

  I had at least got my cheque, and what had happened with the Bonneville was none of Maggie’s business. She was nowhere to be seen anyway, so I put the documents and the cheque on her desk and went up to my room, where I sat looking out of the window at the trains and sulking over the events of the morning. It really wasn’t fair that I should have to pay for the damage to the Bonneville, and it wasn’t very nice of AJ to be so suspicious either. She’d been right, or course, but that wasn’t the point. I’d also been spanked, made to show my bum and pussy to Mr Mulligan and put on display in the street, all within the space of under two hours. That gave me every right to be sulky, but I wished it hadn’t also made my knickers quite so damp, something AJ must have realised.

  She probably assumed, though, I had wet knickers pretty much all the time, which was true when I was with her, because she turned me on more than anybody else. It was a shame she’d had to go back to work, because it wouldn’t have taken long for her to turn my bad feeling around, and she could have had me in some quiet nook, or even at her office. As it was I had ended up all alone, and I didn’t even want to masturbate, because I knew full well I’d end up coming over one or another of my humiliating experiences, which would have felt like a surrender to those who’d inflicted them on me.

  Normally I’d have ended up doing it anyway, but with the repair bill looming over me I just wasn’t in the mood. I began to think about my arrangement with Clive Carew instead, and whether he’d managed to get his bet on. I went into the other room to listen, but all I could hear was a faint clicking, suggesting that there was just one person in the Blockhouse, and he or she was working at their computer.

  Presumably he had put the bet on, and I knew I should really go downstairs and volunteer to help Mr Prufrock, but I couldn’t bear the thought of being with him, let alone going down on his wrinkly old cock. If I did it at all I would have to be feeling very strong, and probably get drunk first as well. Mr Prufrock would just have to wait, and yet now I needed the money more urgently than ever.

  I felt as if I’d been staring out
of the window for hours when I heard a tread on the stairs, but the clock showed that barely ten minutes had passed. It was Steve Frost, looking smart in a new and obviously expensive suit.

  ‘Lunch?’ he offered.

  ‘Thank you, yes,’ I answered immediately, with real gratitude, because it was exactly what I needed to bring me out of my black mood, and all I could have afforded would have been a sandwich from the shop under the bridge.

  ‘Come on then, we’ll beat the rush,’ he suggested.

  ‘OK, but I have to get back by one,’ I insisted, ‘or I’ll be in trouble with Maggie.’

  He just laughed, and began to explain the case they had helped win that morning, some complicated job involving supposed financial irregularities which had involved most of the Blockhouse. It seemed to have earned him a good-sized bonus too, because at Champagne Charlie’s he ordered a magnum bottle of some frighteningly expensive champagne. I’d supposed he wanted me alone, but Mark James, Clive and Gail were already there.

  ‘I brought Pippa over, to brighten the place up a bit,’ he explained, earning both himself and me a dirty look from Gail. ‘She’s more than just a pretty face too. This morning, she managed to get old man Mulligan to pay, in full.’

  The others looked genuinely surprised, and I found myself blushing and looking at my toes in gratified embarrassment.

  ‘I better watch my back,’ Mark said, ‘or they’ll be making her a partner before me.’

  ‘It didn’t go all that well,’ I admitted, eager to let out my feelings to what I knew would be a supportive audience. ‘I accidentally knocked over a motorbike, the restored Triumph Bonneville you saw, Steve, and I have to pay for the damage.’

  ‘Ouch!’ Steve sympathised. ‘But look, maybe we can have a whip round? What do you think, lads?’

  Clive nodded. Mark began to reach for his wallet. Gail spoke up.

  ‘I don’t mean to be nasty, Pippa, but I really think you should take responsibility for your own mistakes.’

  ‘I agree, absolutely,’ I said, praying they’d ignore me, ‘I did the damage, so I should pay.’

  ‘That’s a very sensible attitude,’ Gail agreed.

  ‘Maybe,’ Mark said, ‘but you’re to let us know if you get into difficulty, Pippa, OK?’

  ‘OK, thanks,’ I promised.

  ‘At least let me take you out to dinner this evening,’ Clive put in. ‘That should cheer you up.’

  ‘No, thank you,’ I answered, my voice deliberately cold. ‘I’m busy.’

  Clive’s face fell and Mark gave a brief, dry snigger. Steve had filled a glass for me and I drank from it, the cold champagne flowing down my throat to bring a wonderful sensation of relief, for all that it made no difference whatsoever to my troubles. Another couple of glasses and I was beginning to get my confidence back, and to play a little. Andy, Den and Claire had come in, allowing me to adjust my attitude and body language to each of them; friendly and a little deferential to the two women, indifferent to Clive, cold to Den and Andy, but flirtatious with Mark and Steve. I even allowed Steve to put his arm around me as we stood at the bar, and laid my head on his shoulder for a little while, in full view of Mark.

  By the time we left I was back to my old self, laughing and joking with them as I walked between Steve and Mark, each vying for my attention. It was only just after one, but there was still no sign of Maggie and I didn’t quite have the courage to go down to volunteer my services to Mr Prufrock of my own accord, so I went up to the Blockhouse with them. Richard Montague emerged from his office as we passed, to congratulate them on their morning performance, and joined us. I could see why they thought I’d have been an easy target for him, with his looks and air of absolute confidence, but he didn’t show any particular interest, and I ended up sitting on Steve’s lap as we talked together.

  He was actually being really nice, and brought out my ambivalent feelings, so that I had to remind myself that the charming, handsome man who could make me laugh so easily had said he’d like to put his cock up my bottom and make me suck it afterwards. A little voice came back, reminding me how I’d sucked on the handle of Maggie Phelps’s rubber stamp happily enough, after it had been up the same dirty hole, but at least it was only a couple of inches long. Steve’s cock, no doubt, was three or four times the length, and he would be sure to stick it in as deep as it would go before transferring it to my mouth.

  At length Richard Montague persuaded everybody to go back to work, myself included. I knew I had a perfect opportunity to go down to the basement, but I went upstairs instead, and down again, one flight, and up again, and down again, two flights, which was where Maggie caught me as she came out of Mr Todmorden’s office.

  ‘There you are, Pippa,’ she said. ‘I understand it went well this morning?’

  ‘Yes,’ I admitted, trying not to sound sulky.

  ‘And did you?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘A little bit,’ I admitted. ‘He . . . he made me show him my bum.’

  Her expression flickered to a truly sadistic joy, but only for a moment, and then she had composed herself again.

  ‘Good girl,’ she said. ‘And I don’t suppose it was so very terrible, really, was it?’

  I made a face, unable to express my true emotions on the landing where anyone might have come past, but not wanting to claim I’d liked the way Mr Mulligan had treated me either. Maggie gave a knowing smile.

  ‘I understand,’ she said. ‘I was the same once, but believe me, it’s best to get over your bad feelings and not to be too prissy.’

  ‘I’m not prissy,’ I answered, but I could hear the sulky tone in my voice, and she just laughed.

  ‘You are a little bit prissy, Pippa, but I dare say you’ll grow out of it, with experience. Speaking of which, I want you to go down to the basement and help Mr Prufrock this afternoon, and this time, do be nice to him.’

  ‘Nice?’ I queried.

  ‘You know very well what I mean, Pippa,’ she said impatiently. ‘Just don’t make a fuss if his hand should happen to stray to your bottom, or anything of that sort, and be prepared to show him little courtesies, the sort a gentleman might like.’

  I began to protest, only to shut my mouth again, my outrage tempered by what I knew full well I was supposed to be doing.

  ‘OK,’ I answered.

  ‘Don’t sulk, Pippa,’ she told me. ‘It’s very unbecoming. Just think of it as a charitable act towards a lonely old man, and do stop making those faces. Try and act like a lady.’

  ‘A lady wouldn’t let Mr Prufrock touch her up.’

  ‘A true lady never makes a fuss over such things, but unfortunately true ladies are very rare indeed, these days. Now run along.’

  She was talking rubbish, not only about ladylike behaviour, but about being charitable too. There was more to it, I was sure. For one thing she kept calling me ‘prissy’, a word Mr Prufrock also used, and they’d both used the phrase ‘little courtesies’ in just the same way. He wasn’t a spanker, or at least not according to Mr Montague, but perhaps he and Maggie had some sort of arrangement. In any event, I was going down to the basement.

  As I descended the stairs I was trying to tell myself it was what I’d decided to do anyway, but that did nothing for the weak feeling in my stomach or the trembling of my hand as I knocked on the door. It opened, and Mr Prufrock’s face appeared, his little dark eyes twinkling in the light as he took me in, his toad mouth twitching with pleasure.

  ‘I was told to help you this afternoon,’ I announced.

  ‘Come in then,’ he said, moving aside as he opened the door to place himself in the perfect position for applying a pat to my bottom.

  I knew he’d do it, and couldn’t help but wince as I came close. Sure enough, out came his hand and I winced a second time as I was given a gentle pat to steer me through the door. This time I kept my feelings to myself, swallowing my shame and resentment. Mr Prufrock closed the door with what seemed a horrible finality and I was alone with him.

/>   ‘What should I do?’ I asked.

  ‘Now there is a question,’ he answered. ‘I can think of some very interesting things a little popsy like you might do, were she rather less prissy than she is, and in return she might find a gentleman really quite generous.’

  I wondered if he was offering to pay me for sex, which made me feel sick.

  ‘You . . . you don’t need to be generous,’ I told him. ‘I’ve spoken to Maggie.’

  ‘Ah ha, have you indeed,’ he replied, ‘and what did she have to say?’

  ‘She said . . . she said I wasn’t to make a fuss if you asked for any little courtesies,’ I answered him.

  He sat down in his chair before answering, looking up at me with a little doubt and a great deal of lust.

  ‘You made a fuss last time you visited me,’ he said, ‘a most unladylike little fuss.’

  ‘I won’t this time,’ I said, and hung my head.

  ‘I’m very glad to hear it,’ he replied, ‘but after your behaviour, I’m sure you’ll understand if I’m a little doubtful. Come a little closer, and turn around.’

  I did so, forcing myself to take a step towards him and turn my back, just as I had for Mr Mulligan. Obviously Mr Prufrock had something similar in mind, only more intimate still. My trembling had grown hard to control as I waited for his touch, and when it came my stomach lurched.

  He’d begun to explore my bottom, his short, podgy fingers stroking my cheeks through the material of my skirt, to feel out their shape, tracing a slow line down the gentle valley over my crease, following the contours where my cheeks tuck under, and again, a little more firmly, and this time pushing in to feel where my bum meets my thighs, directly over pussy. A sob escaped my lips as I felt a knuckle press in towards my pussy hole, making me think of penetration.