Butter Wouldn't Melt

by Penny Birch

  ‘You can if you like,’ I sighed, ‘but let me get myself open first. Have you got any lubricant?’

  I was blushing as I said it, for having to ask to lubricate my own bottom so he could insert his penis, but that only added to the thrill. He had jumped up as I spoke, and began to rummage urgently in the wall cupboard above his sink, quickly pulling out a tube of mint-flavoured toothpaste.

  ‘Not toothpaste, it stings,’ I told him.

  He nodded and pulled out a slim silver canister, shaving foam, with the words ‘For Sensitive Skin’ written below the brand name.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I admitted. ‘You could try.’

  I reached back, to tickle my bumhole and rub a little pussy juice in, which felt nice and helped me to get my head around what I was about to do. He sank down once more, clutching his cock as he pressed the nozzle between my cheeks, and squeezed. My mouth came wide in shock as the chilly foam squirted in up my bumhole, and I quickly began to rub it in. As I popped the very tip of my finger into my now slippery anus I was wondering if the tiny hole could possibly accommodate his cock, but what came out was sometimes just as thick, and I knew that Clive would stop if he began to hurt me.

  ‘More?’ he asked, and I nodded.

  Extracting my finger, I held my cheeks wide for him, showing off my slippery bumhole. I felt the nozzle touch and cream squeeze out up my bottom for a second time. A second squeeze and he’d laid a fat blob onto my anal star, a bit like the top of a meringue, which gave me plenty to play with. It stung a little as I pushed my finger back up, but it was really no more than a pleasant warmth.

  He was watching me intently, and nursing his erection as I pushed my finger deep, right up into the hot, mushy cavity of my rectum. It felt good, and my hole was beginning to loosen, so I pushed a second finger in, holding myself open to make my ring stretch and slacken. Clive reached out with the spray can again, holding it to my now open hole and squirting it up inside me, to leave me feeling loose and urgent.

  ‘Try it,’ I said, ‘but gently.’

  I pulled my fingers free, allowing my bumhole to close slowly and to squeeze out a fat worm of shaving foam onto pussy. Clive’s cock touched, in my slit, and lower, pressing to my slippery little hole. A long sigh escaped my throat as I gave myself up for buggering, my ring already taut on his cock head as he pushed. It didn’t hurt, my well-lubricated anus opening really quite easily as I pushed out to take him, just as AJ had taught me when I accepted dildos in the same dirty passage.

  ‘I’m nearly in, Pippa,’ he grunted. ‘I’m nearly up your bottom.’

  ‘Do it,’ I told him.

  Again he pushed, and again my ring spread to the pressure, wider this time, until my mouth had come open in sympathy. He was up though, his helmet wedged in my open hole, and even if he gave up now, or came in me, I was no longer an anal virgin. One more good shove and he was in me properly, my bumhole taut around the neck of his cock, and he’d begun to wank into my rectum.

  ‘No . . . deeper,’ I gasped. ‘Put it right in, all the way . . . bugger me properly.’

  ‘Say if it hurts,’ he puffed, spreading my cheeks between his thumbs and began to jam himself further up.

  I felt my bumhole push in and forced myself to relax, allowing another inch of cock to be stuffed up my bottom. He pulled out a little and pushed again, lubricating his shaft with the foam and my own slime. I knew he could see everything, the full bare spread of my bottom, my empty, dripping pussy and the taut pink ring of my buggered anus, bringing my feelings of humiliation up to an unbearable peak.

  Not that it mattered how I felt. He was in me and he was going up, all the way up, getting faster now, and sticking a little more cock shaft up me with every thrust. I felt as if my eyes were going to pop out of my head as he worked himself slowly deeper, until at last I felt the wrinkly sack of his scrotum press to my empty cunt and I knew he was in me up to his balls.

  I reached back, because I had to come again, but he’d begun to pump in my rectum, bringing me to the very edge of control. My fingers found pussy and I tried to frig, touching my empty hole and the junction of his cock and my straining bum ring, snatching at his balls to rub them on my clit. He got harder, and I just couldn’t do it anymore, my hand slipping away as I gave in to my buggering.

  He began to grunt and pant, now pumping so hard his belly was slapping against my meat, knocking the breath from my body and jamming me against the lavatory. I clung on, out of my mind with ecstasy, so high I didn’t even care when the toilet lid fell on my head. My head was in the bowl, inches from the water stained yellow with my own piss and the loo paper I’d used to mop up my puddle.

  ‘I’m coming,’ he gasped, and rammed himself deep one last time.

  His fingers locked hard in the flesh of my hips as he gave me his full load deep in my rectum, and with the same hard thrust my face had been pushed down the loo and into the mess of pissy water and half-dissolved paper. I came up gasping, my face dripping piddle, my hair full of bits of loo paper, only to have my head jammed in again by a last, unexpected shove, this time with my mouth wide open.

  A second later Clive was stammering apologies, but I didn’t want them. I wanted his cock up my bum and my head down the loo while I came, and I was going to. He’d began to pull out, but I snatched for his balls, ignoring his gasp of pain as I slapped them to my cunt. My face went back in the water, blowing bubbles in my piss, and as I found my clit I was snatching at the handle, to deliberately flush my own head down the lavatory as my orgasm exploded in a tearing, wrenching ecstasy that lasted until my vision went red and my muscles were so slack I could no longer keep my hand pressed to my greedy cunt.

  Eight

  WHATEVER ELSE HAPPENED at Morris’s party, I was not going to have my anal virginity taken by Lucius Todmorden.

  Jemima was determined to be collected in Morris’s Rolls Royce, as he had promised, but I wasn’t having it turn up outside our house, and Penny was equally reluctant in case Granny saw and wondered what was going on. In the end we agreed to meet at The Fox on the Reading Road, which was far enough away to feel safe. I’d been dithering over what to wear all day, and it was not an easy choice. Morris expected me to look sexy, but I didn’t want all the dirty old men homing in on me, while I did want to be attractive for Melody.

  I needed to speak to Penny, to ask her to take the hopefully shell-shocked Jemima home so that I could play with Melody, so I went over first thing. She also gave me some advice on what to wear, which was to make myself up as an animal girl. Melody apparently had a thing for pony-girls, which Penny was into herself, and she had a beautiful tail, which plugged in up the wearer’s bottom with a spine between her cheeks so that the hair hung down realistically. There was an elaborate leather harness that went with it, and I was intrigued, but couldn’t handle the embarrassment of men seeing me with a plug up my bottom, while I was also concerned it might tempt them to bugger me.

  The other choice was very simple, to be a piggy, with a pink-rubber snout and a curly tail above my bum, both of which could be stuck on with gum arabic. Otherwise I would be stark naked, which would have been quite appealing but for two things. The first was that I’d feel horribly uncomfortable effectively in the nude with men around, and perhaps even more importantly, Jemima would never let me live it down.

  In the end Penny persuaded me to put the piggy-girl stuff in my bag and go as I was, in tight blue jeans and a skinny top, which apparently the majority of men preferred to exotic costumes. She was doing the same, which made sense if she wasn’t going to stay long, so after a quick shower and a little playful spanking on each other’s wet bottoms, we were ready.

  I was already getting nervous as we drove over to the pub, and things got rapidly worse. Jemima was already there, and dressed, exactly as she had been most days for several years, in her school uniform, except that she had made one or two alterations. The jacket and blouse were as usual, as were her long white socks and even the scholar’s tie fastene
d neatly around her collar. Her skirt was not as usual, but had been cut down so far that as she sat sipping bottled orange juice through a straw the full, long length of her legs was on display, and even a tiny white triangle where her panties showed.

  ‘You can’t go like that!’ I hissed as I sat down beside her.

  ‘Why not?’ she asked. ‘I look all right, don’t I?’

  ‘All right!? They’ll eat you alive!’

  She just giggled, and I threw my hands up in despair. Obviously she needed to be confronted with the likes of Lucius Todmorden and Mr Protheroe.

  ‘Anyway, your knickers are showing,’ I went on, hoping to embarrass her, but she merely made the tiniest adjustment to her skirt and went back to her orange juice.

  Penny had gone to the bar, but before she could get the attention of the barman I saw Morris’s gold Rolls Royce pull up in the car park.

  ‘Shall we just go?’ she suggested.

  ‘We may as well,’ I agreed, eager to get Jemima out of the pub before any of our highly respectable neighbours came in and got treated to a flash of her knickers.

  We went outside, with Jemima still sucking orange juice through her straw, until she saw the car and ran over to inspect it, crying out with delight. The driver was Harmony, Melody’s twin sister, but much the gentler of the two. She was in a tight, bottle-green chauffeur’s uniform, complete with peaked cap and a skirt so short that she was quite obviously sitting bare bottom.

  ‘Climb in,’ she offered, grinning.

  The three of us got into the back, Jemima excitedly examining the TV and miniature fridge as Penny made the introductions. Harmony was always friendly, and very good at making people feel relaxed, which was exactly what I didn’t want. Melody would have probably had Jemima terrified before we even got to the party. As it was, she and Harmony barely shut up for a minute all the way to London.

  Morris’s house was a huge mansion in the most expensive part of Highgate, with a high wall built around the garden and tall gates to keep out both intruders and the gaze of curious passers-by. He had always boasted that it was safe to walk naked anywhere on his property, and aside from the risk of the occasional helicopter, it was true.

  Jemima was awestruck, gazing about her in rapture as we got out of the car, and pretty excited too, giggling as Harmony swung her legs out of the car and gave a brief flash of bare black pussy. There was no sign of Morris, but we were greeted by Annabelle, Melody’s personal slave and plaything, whom I’d met once or twice when she was let off her leash to go to clubs. Now she was on it, literally, with a tight black leather collar encircling her neck, from which hung what was obviously a real dog lead rather than a piece of custom-made SM kit. Otherwise she was nude but for high heels, stockings and a tiny black corset that left her breasts bare and her bottom only half covered by a puff of lace. She was completely exposed at the front, with the tattoo marking her as Melody’s property clearly visible on her pussy mound.

  That really had Jemima staring, and looking shocked, so my hopes began to rise as we were conducted indoors. Morris was in the huge hallway, along with a lot of other people and a buffet table laid out with glasses and bottles of champagne in buckets full of ice. Melody was there, and cast me a cool look, but she was speaking to an enormously fat man I took for Mr Enos. Annabelle fetched us drinks, and Morris began to perform introductions.

  Mr Montague and Mr Todmorden were there, both smiling and nodding to me, then leaning together to share a whispered remark as they glanced at Jemima. Maggie was with them, looking less than happy in an abbreviated sailor suit that left her bare bottom cheeks peeping out from under the rim, and also Helen, dressed the same except that she had been allowed to wear panties.

  There was another girl, calling herself Toy, in a pretty evening gown of green silk set off by an elaborate peacock-feather mask, which made nine women in all. There were also nine men, which seemed to imply a girl each, and I found myself very glad I’d accepted Mr Montague’s invitation, as while he was one of the oldest, he was also the most attractive.

  Mr Mulligan was there on the opposite side of the room, admiring the turn of Annabelle’s bottom as she bent to serve drinks to Hudson Staebler, a huge man in a white-leather suit complete with cowboy hat, which he’d neglected to take off. There was also Mr Protheroe, a fleshy, balding man with a red face, no neck, and massive, flabby buttocks spilling over the edge of his chair.

  He’d been talking to Mr Judd, who was fifty or so, and very average, a bit flabby maybe, and with his hair slicked back around a bald spot. Standing alone and eyeing the girls in turn was Mr Spottiswood, a small, compact man, thin on top and really quite ordinary except for a pair of bright, beady eyes that seemed to bore right through my clothes. He had what appeared to be a pair of girl’s panties hanging half out of one pocket.

  I’d known more or less what to expect, but was still taken aback. Never had I seen such a collection of obviously dirty old men assembled in one place, and they weren’t just there for the conversation. They expected to spank our bottoms, and probably more, a lot more. I glanced towards Jemima, expecting to find her looking as horrified as I felt, just in time to see the little tart drop a curtsey to the big American, Staebler, then twirl around to make her school skirt rise and show her knickers.

  She was giggling too, and quite obviously enjoying herself, but there was nothing I could do save console myself that she obviously hadn’t realised what she was letting herself in for. Every pair of male eyes in the place had turned to watch her little display. Melody was looking too, making me wonder if a good spanking followed by having her head sat on for a lick of the black girl’s pussy and bumhole wouldn’t teach Jemima a valuable lesson.

  Obviously I couldn’t let anything of the sort happen to her, even if it meant taking the same myself, but with the way she was behaving the thought was certainly tempting. Even as I pictured Jemima’s expression as Melody’s ample black bottom was lowered onto her face, Morris had started towards me, bringing Mr Spottiswood with him. I forced a smile and took a badly needed swallow of champagne.

  ‘Ah, Pippa,’ Morris addressed me, ‘I’m delighted you’ve come. This is Ken. I thought I’d put the two of you together. Ken, this is Pippa, who is an absolute delight as you can see for yourself.’

  ‘What colour panties are you wearing, darling?’ Mr Spottiswood asked without further conversation, bringing the colour to my cheeks as I hastened to answer.

  ‘White,’ I told him, ‘but Mr Rathwell . . . Morris, how do you mean put the two of us together? I thought it was Ladies’ Choice tonight?’

  ‘Just for the time being,’ Morris assured me. ‘We’ll play later, don’t worry.’

  I drew a sigh of relief, very glad indeed that I wasn’t going to be stuck with Mr Spottiswood all evening, although Mr Enos or Mr Protheroe might have been worse, or maybe not, if my companion’s conversation was anything to go by.

  ‘I adore white panties,’ he was saying. ‘I spanked the most delightful little thing a few weeks ago. June, she was called, fat little thing with big round titties and a bum like a peach. She was in school uniform, with a pair of white panties perhaps a couple of sizes too small, so that her cheeks bulged out around the leg holes, giving me plenty of bare flesh to smack as well as her panty seat. I pulled them down in the end, of course, because you have to, don’t you? But I do like to leave the panties up for a while, and then whip them down just when the girl thinks she’s got away without going bare bottom. I did that with June, and of course it’s always that much more embarrassing when the girl has a fat bottom, don’t you think?’

  I nodded vaguely. He’d been making gestures with his hands as he spoke, to indicate the shape of the girl’s bottom and how he’d exposed and spanked her, with me listening in growing alarm. When it came to sheer smut, Mr Spottiswood could have given Mr Prufrock lessons. He wasn’t finished either.

  ‘I mean, it’s bad enough for a girl to be bared without the man who’s going to spank her see
ing how overweight she is. Not that June’s panties hid much, but she was so big I had to pull her cheeks apart to make sure she knew she had no secrets left from me. I like to do that. It shows a girl who’s boss when she knows I’ve seen her cunt and bottom hole. Now a skinny little thing like you, I expect you’d be flashing it all from the start, wouldn’t you, fanny adams and brown eye too?’

  I tried to say something, but all that came out was a little whimper, and as he went on I was wondering if he’d have seen my cunt and bottom hole before the end of the evening. It was an awful thought, but as usual, pussy seemed to disagree, and I was already getting sticky down my panties.

  Morris finally saved me by calling us all into a different room, in which the centre had been cleared but for a single straight-backed chair stood in the middle of a large and expensive-looking rug. A couple of sofas and various other chairs had been set around the room, clearly for the audience, while the central one was obviously for the girls to be spanked over.

  I’d managed to detach myself from Mr Spottiswood, and sat down next to Jemima on the sofa. She was bright-eyed with excitement, and hadn’t even bothered to adjust her skirt, so that she was showing a triangle of white panty material again.

  ‘Pull you skirt down a bit,’ I urged.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ she replied. ‘Annabelle’s stark naked, and Harmony’s got no knickers. Who was that man you were talking to?’

  ‘Mr Spottiswood. He’s obsessed with girls’ panties, so watch out for him, as you seem determined to show everybody yours.’

  ‘He looks creepy . . .’

  It was the first thing I’d wanted to hear from her all day.