A Taste Of Amber

by Penny Birch

  I stopped dead. I had been expecting the lithe, dark-haired figure of the woman who had been so keen to seduce me. Instead the woman doing the washing up was extremely slender, had skin like alabaster only heavily freckled, and a tumble of red curls falling to her bottom; her bare bottom.

  My first thought was that Miss Campbell had changed her accommodation, but that only lasted a fraction of a second. I knew those red curls and I knew that tiny, round bottom and those long, coltish legs. It was a girl, Caroline Gibson, who had been in the hockey team with me. If she was doing Miss Campbell’s washing up, and dressed in nothing but a frilly pinafore, it could only mean one thing. Miss Campbell might have failed to get me as her lover, but she’d succeeded this time.

  The first emotion to hit me was jealousy, which was completely unfair. The second was lust and a craving to have another peek at Carrie, especially to see if her pretty bottom had felt the sting of Miss Campbell’s quirt. I put my eye to the crack again, finding her as before. She hadn’t been punished, or at least there was no evidence of it. Her naked bottom was as smooth and pristine as one could possibly want, red curls hanging over the upper surfaces of her cheeks, a few freckles highlighting her sweet curves. Her hair was touching her skin in one place just above the little hollow where the crease of her bottom began. This obviously tickled, because every now and then she would give her bum a little shake, making her cheeks wiggle.

  It’s strange, because I must have shared showers with Carrie dozens of times and never particularly wanted to jump on her. Watching her was a very different matter, and my hand was quickly down in the V of my crotch, massaging my pussy through my jeans. As I watched she dropped a tea spoon and bent to retrieve it, showing me the tight, pouted lips of her pussy and the tiny pink spot of her anus. I swallowed, rubbing harder between my legs and willing her to drop something else. Instead she turned to reach for a drying-up cloth and I had to move quickly back.

  The question, of course, was what to do. Having Carrie there made things more complicated, but I hadn’t driven two hundred miles to back out at the first sign of a hitch in my plans. Feeling deliciously wicked, I again peered in and then knocked on the kitchen door. Carrie scampered away in a flurry of hair and pinny that sent a chuckle to my lips. For a minute there was absolute silence and then I heard the sound of heels clicking across the floor inside. The door opened, revealing Miss Campbell looking both puzzled and annoyed, her expression quickly turning to surprise.

  ‘Amber!’ she gasped.

  ‘Hi, Ehen,’ I managed, determined to establish myself as an equal. ‘May I come in?’

  ‘I … I suppose you’d better,’ she answered. ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘It’s a long story,’ I said as I stepped inside. ‘How about asking little Carrie Gibson to make a coffee and I’ll explain.’

  ‘Carrie Gibson?’ she started and then realised that it was hopeless. ‘Yes, well, that’s rather personal, but I’m sure you of all people will understand.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ I assured her, waiting until the door was closed before calling out. ‘You can come out now, Carrie. It’s only me, Amber.’

  Carrie emerged from the bedroom, now clad in her blouse and panties but blushing absolutely crimson and with her hands folded nervously in front of her. She looked so sweet that it made me want to ease her down across my knee on the spot and spank her lovely little bottom to a glowing pink. I resisted the urge and gave her a kiss and a friendly hug instead.

  Of course, as Ellen Campbell’s girlfriend Carrie knew the truth about my expulsion and quickly got over her initial embarrassment. Her main question was how I had resisted Ellen, whom she absolutely worshipped and had allowed to tease her into bed without the slightest resistance. She had also been made a prefect, which was what enabled her to stay out of her house so late.

  I could see little point in beating about the bush, and so told the entire pony-carting story from the beginning, leaving out only the dirtiest details and the bits were I had been really submissive. They listened in awe – even Ellen – which did wonders for my confidence. Occasionally they would ask questions, which I answered with what I hoped was a casual pretence at considerably more knowledge than I actually had.

  ‘So, that’s why I’m here,’ I finished. ‘I need one super-fit pony-girl to race for me during half-term.’

  ‘Can I come?’ Carrie asked, interrupting whatever Ellen had been about to say.

  ‘Sure,’ I answered, only to catch a dirty look from Ellen.

  Carrie was bubbling over with excitement, and I think that if it hadn’t been for her I would have had a lot more difficulty in persuading Ellen to race for me. As it was she raised a few practical objections which were quickly overcome and then went to the window, opening a crack in the curtains and staring thoughtfully out at the college. Carrie was chattering away at a great rate, so I held my hand up to make her be quiet and let Ellen think. I could see Ellen was tempted, but supposed her indecision was prompted by the thought of the risk she would be taking if the story ever got back to the school. As it was, she was thinking about something very different.

  She stood back from the window, drew the curtains carefully and walked briskly from the room, never saying a word. Carrie looked at me and shrugged, then I turned as Ellen reappeared in the doorway to her bedroom, carrying the quirt and beckoning me with her finger.

  Carrie’s mouth opened in a little O of shock, and I don’t suppose I looked much more composed myself. The sight of the vicious little implement put a lump in my throat and a tingle between my legs. I could see from Carrie’s expression that she knew the quirt was used to discipline unruly seductees. Whether she’d tasted its sting herself, or whether she knew I’d used it on her lover, I didn’t know, but it was plain that she found the idea of it being used on me both exciting and shocking.

  ‘May I?’ Ellen asked sweetly.

  There was only one answer. If I wanted her to be my pony-girl I could hardly refuse her. I nodded and hung my head, excited yet also shamed at the prospect of being punished in front of Carrie.

  ‘Very well,’ Ellen purred with all the satisfaction of a cat contemplating a bowl of cream. ‘Carrie, help her to shower once she has stripped.’

  I began to undress, taking it slowly and passing each item of clothing to Carrie. Ellen watched from the bedroom door with an expression of haughty amusement. Only when I was completely naked did she indicate the direction of the bathroom with the quirt.

  ‘Run along,’ she said quietly.

  I scampered into the bathroom, stark naked and feeling very vulnerable indeed. Carrie followed, giggling at my naked body. When I had turned the shower on she stripped and came in with me and began to soap me. Ellen followed, standing outside the shower and instructing me to put my hands on my head. I obeyed, but it was too much for me. Carrie’s hands were all over me and slippery with soap, not just washing me but exploring my body. I stood it for as long as I could but when she started to soap my breasts I couldn’t take it any more and grabbed her, pulling her to me with my hands on her bum. She squeaked but her mouth opened under mine and we were quickly kissing and touching each other without restraint. I heard Ellen laugh from outside the shower curtain – a wicked, musical sound that told me my bottom would very shortly be smarting under her quirt.

  ‘Come out before you two get carried away,’ she ordered.

  I pulled away from Carrie reluctantly, but knowing who was in charge. We dried each other, again paying more than a fair share of attention to our most sensitive areas.

  ‘I suppose, Amber, I should have you wash me,’ Ellen continued after watching us for a while. ‘You were my favourite for a long time and being rejected by you really hurt. Now …’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I answered, interrupting her because she did sound genuinely hurt and I felt the need to justify myself. ‘You just didn’t play it very well and, in truth, I’ve always wanted to be the one in charge.’

  ‘So I discovered,’ she went
on, ‘but if you want me now, and are prepared to be my plaything, then I’ll come to Hertfordshire and be your pony-girl.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I answered.

  ‘Good,’ she said, the softness in her voice gone as fast as it had appeared. ‘Then you’d better get into Caroline’s uniform. When you’re dry, of course.’

  Carrie giggled and my cheeks went red. I’d done it for Francis and Susan without a qualm. Doing it for Ellen was somehow more personal – no, nothing could be more personal than the experience Susan, Francis and I had shared – but with Ellen the uniform branded me as specifically submissive. It was also far too small and made Carrie giggle, which was really humiliating. The panties were stretched tight across my bottom and cut into the flesh of my hips. The bra was a joke but Ellen made me go without instead of allowing me to use my own. The blouse was almost as bad because, although I could get it across my shoulders and even do it up, the buttons over my chest were stretched to breaking point. The skirt was a better fit, but it was really the mental effect of the whole outfit that began to bring out my submissive side. When I’d pulled the overtight panties up and Carrie had laughed at me, I’d felt the urge to put her across my knee. By the time I was finished I was more tempted to crawl across hers.

  I was ready, waiting for orders and expecting to be made to adopt some suitable position. Instead Ellen took hold of me by the ear and dragged me over her lap on the bed without bothering about the ritual I was used to as preceding a girl’s punishment. She twisted my arm up my back and pulled up my skirt, baring me in a brisk, workman-like fashion. I had started to squeal as soon as she caught my ear, and continued as my straining panties were pulled down and she started to spank me. She did it hard and I was bawling and kicking in no time to the sound of the resonant smacks on my bottom and Carrie’s laughter.

  ‘This is what I call a brat spanking,’ she told me as I started to sob, ‘and it’s what you’ve always deserved.’

  My bottom was hot and sore, and the lovely contrite feeling that comes only from having been well spanked was starting to come. I had to admit I deserved it, and said so, apologising again and again for being cheeky, sulky, rude, disobedient and anything else I could think of that Ellen might possibly ever have found fault with me for. Carrie thought it was hilarious and was laughing her head off at the state I was getting in. There was a mirror to the side and I could see what I looked like, bent over Ellen’s knee in school uniform with my pants around my thighs and my chubby bottom pink and bouncing under her stern slaps. There were tears streaming from my eyes and my face cheeks were as red as those of my bottom. The blouse had burst and my boobs were showing, bare and wobbling in time to my spanking.

  When she finally shoved me off her lap and on to the floor I was completely contrite and crawled to her feet to kiss her shoes. I made no effort to pull up my knickers or rearrange my skirt, instead sticking my hot, bare bottom in the air and begging Ellen for the quirt to be used on me. It was, mercilessly, first Ellen and then Carrie, flicking and teasing my bottom, thighs and even my fanny with the cruel, snake-tongued end. It stung every bit as much as I had imagined. The ones on my fanny were incredible and, when they flicked against my clitty, it was like a burst of fire each time. I realised I was coming only as it started to happen and began to beg to have my fanny whipped more. Carrie had the quirt and showed no surprise at my request, instead starting to use it directly on my clit with little, firm flicks, each of which stung crazily and each of which brought me closer to orgasm.

  My head was trapped between Ellen’s ankles, my whole rear a burning, throbbing mass of exquisite pain, my head dizzy with both the effect of my whipping and the overwhelming feeling of utter, abject submission to her. I came again and again, drumming my feet on the floor and begging Carrie for more until it just became all too much and I screamed out loud.

  That put a fairly abrupt stop to our play, as it seemed certain that somebody would have heard. Nothing happened, though, and after ten minutes we once more began to relax. To my alarm it turned out that just because I’d come didn’t mean that Ellen had had her fill of me. After all, she hadn’t come and, as she was mistress, that was what mattered. My bottom was a mass of fire and my fanny more than a little sore. My feelings for Carrie – which had started out as pretty much pure lust – had also come to include a strong element of vengeance because, throughout my punishment, she hadn’t once stopped laughing at me. So when Ellen told me to strip and get back on my knees I obeyed and then hung my head and asked very politely if I could deal with Carrie.

  Carrie laughed and told me not to be cheeky, only to have her words turn to ashes in her mouth as Ellen calmly gave me the necessary permission. I didn’t waste any time, hauling her across my knee, twisting my arm into her long red hair and setting to on her neat little bum with a will. I had appreciated the effect of what Ellen called a brat spanking and wanted to give Carrie the same treatment. The only trouble was, that where it had had me bawling and kicking, she just laughed, and the harder I spanked her the more she laughed. Her bottom was unreasonably firm, too, and my palm had quickly begun to sting, while she showed no signs of proper contrition or apology whatsoever. Finally I gave up, leaving Carrie’s apple-like bottom completely red but also with my own hand smarting.

  ‘Right,’ I panted, determined to get some more suitable response out of her. ‘Get on your knees.’

  ‘Yes, Miss Amber,’ she replied mockingly.

  I stood over her, twisting my hand into her hair. I was nude and her face was inches from my fanny. I pulled her head into me, an action which finally got a squeak out of her.

  ‘Lick me,’ I ordered.

  She hesitated and then her tongue poked out and she began to lap at my clitty, slowly and uncertainly. I let her do it for a while and then pulled her head back. She looked up at me, eyes big and moist but defiant. It seemed odd to me that she took a spanking so well but found fanny licking so humiliating. Still, everyone’s different and it boded well for my next intention. I turned, rubbing her face against my bottom, and this time she really squeaked.

  ‘Kiss it,’ I ordered.

  Her lips touched my skin, gentle against my sore bottom, sending a delicious thrill of dominance through me.

  ‘Between my cheeks, Carrie,’ I told her, keeping her face pulled into my bottom and sticking it out as well.

  She pulled back and I could hear her breathing hard.

  ‘Oh, Amber, do I have to?’ she begged.

  ‘If you want to at heart, you must do it,’ I replied.

  She gave a little whimper but made no effort to resist as I pulled her face between my bum-cheeks. Then she kissed my anus, gently, delicately but definitely, giving me my favoured gesture of submission.

  ‘Again please, Carrie,’ I sighed.

  This time she put her tongue out and dabbed the tip against my bumhole, then started to lick ever so gently. I was moaning in seconds, only to be brought out of my trance by Ellen.

  ‘Is that your favourite thing, Amber?’ she asked.

  The instant she said it I knew that she’d make me do it to her. It was the tone of amusement in her voice, mixed with desire to have me do to her the very thing that pleased me most. There was no point in denying it, either, especially after all the times I’d come over doing exactly that. Now I was going to have to and, even better, in front of a girl who I’d just made give me the same treatment. I nodded and let go of Carrie’s hair.

  ‘On your knees, Amber,’ Ellen said gently.

  Carrie gave my anus a final, lingering kiss and pulled away, leaving me to get into the same position she had been in. Ellen stood up and paced slowly towards me, commanding and elegant in her crimson silk dress and heels. I swallowed hard as she turned. This was it – a submission more abject and more meaningful to me than anything else. I might have sucked Henry’s cock and swallowed his come. I might have grovelled at Rathwell’s feet and meekly offered my pussy to his cock. However, as a gesture of submission, none of that ca
me close to kissing another woman’s anus – kissing it willingly in my role as plaything – as I knelt naked with her bottom pushed into my face.

  Ellen hitched her dress up, revealing sheer black stockings encasing her long, muscular legs, a suspender belt with the straps taut against her flesh, and lacy black panties full of soft, womanly bottom. I watched entranced as she slipped her panties down around her thighs and pushed her hips back to offer me her bottom to kiss. That was what made it so emotionally strong – the fact that it was offered and I had to do it of my own accord. Being beaten or letting a man come in my mouth is something that’s done to me; now I had to perform the act myself. Neither act is so deliriously rude, either. Even allowing a cock up one’s bottom is less rude, less dirty, less humiliating than kissing an anus. That’s why I liked girls to do it to me, and ultimately why it was what I so often came over having to do myself.

  I moved forward, putting my hands on Ellen’s beautiful bottom and opening her cheeks. I could see some of the rear of her pussy, moist and pink, squeezed between her closed thighs. Above it her anus was a neat dimple in a nest of black fur, the wrinkles of brown flesh meeting in a dark valley. I puckered my lips and then hesitated, unwilling to do what I had made Ginny, Susan, Melody and Carrie do to me. I’d done it for Susan, but that had been in play. This was different. Susan had done it for me first, Ellen hadn’t, and doing for it Ellen was going to be submission, abject and absolute.

  ‘Come on, Amber, kiss,’ Ellen said, sounding gentle but firm.

  ‘Kissy, kissy, Amber, right on her bumhole,’ Carrie teased.

  I swallowed, shut my eyes and leant forward. My lips touched her, the ring of her bumhole firm against my lips. I’d done it. Carrie gave a little giggle and a squeak of disgust. I felt my tears start and gave in completely, starting to lick. Ellen sighed as my tongue touched her anus, Carrie giggling in delight as she watched me. I took hold of Ellen’s hips and pulled her to me, licking and pushing my tongue into her. She moved back and together we sank slowly to the floor until she was seated on my face. Her bottom was spread over me, making it hard to breathe. Her knickers were stretched across my neck, her legs wide over my torso. All I could see was the soft swell of her bottom and the deep red silk of her dress as she sat up straight and put her finger to her fanny, just as I had done to Ginny, Susan and Melody.