by Penny Birch
I wasn’t at all sure if I approved. After all, it seemed pretty mean to go around pinching clothes from hardworking professional women. He was also seducing them under false pretences, which I didn’t feel happy about either. Not that I was all that worried, because I couldn’t actually see him being very successful. He had the front for it, and I could see him offering a pretty traffic warden or nurse fifty quid to flash her bum and a hundred for her uniform. That wouldn’t have been in the spirit of the game, though, and I knew how important that was to him. When I explained my reservations he just laughed, telling me that my generation were far too soft.
That was it, and our conversation drifted onto other topics. By then I was feeling mellow, and pleased that our relationship was as open as ever. That’s important to me, because he had helped me come to terms with my own sexuality, and I would hate to lose any of the intimacy that had built up between us. Not that we have sex or anything like that, but he knows me better than my parents, and I sometimes think he understands me better than I do myself.
I never even met him until I was nineteen, fresh out of school and away from home for the first time, at art college in London. Naturally I’d been given his address, as the only person even vaguely related to me in the city, but not without some hesitation. He wasn’t even a proper uncle, just the son of my mum’s step-brother, which I suppose made him a cousin of sorts. What he did have was a serious streak of rebellion, moving to London as soon as he was old enough at the end of the seventies, as bass guitarist in a punk band. The band had flopped, arriving too late, as he explained, but probably just crap. Since then he’d done well, becoming head buyer for a major coffee concern, and very cultivated, but I’d never heard his name mentioned without a hint of disapproval, even despair.
Not surprisingly, I’d been fascinated, and had arranged to visit him almost as soon as I’d got off the train. We’d got on well from the start, with his laid-back lifestyle and total lack of respect for anything that smacked of authority was just what I wanted to emulate. He had supported me when I’d decided to give up college, after two failed relationships with boyfriends, and when I finally decided that I preferred girls. He’d even stood next to me while I phoned my mum to tell her I was a lesbian.
That had been a year previously, and by then I’d had a spare key to his house, which I could use as long as I respected his wishes and privacy. I was good about his wishes, as I had no intention of sharing my secret place with anyone else. I wasn’t so good about his privacy, investigating his library and his bedroom, and shocking myself quite badly.
It had been hard to take at first, not so much his obsession with the naked female form, but his clear, uninhibited delight in girls’ bottoms, and in spanking them. Perhaps, fortunately, I’d had my first CP scene a few days before my discovery. I’d been very drunk at a club, one where fetishists hung out, and leather dykes, which made me feel it was a cool place to be. After watching a girl whipped, I’d let two big, butch dykes talk me into trying it. They’d been careful, warming me until I was nearly coming, and only really laying in when I was actually at climax. Afterwards I’d been taken into the toilet to lick them, one at a time, but I was used to that by then. What did surprise me was the state of my bottom the next morning, with long, dark bruises across both cheeks. I’d had no idea they’d done it so hard.
So it wasn’t so shocking to learn that my kind Uncle Rupert was a secret spanker. I knew that girls could like it, and it seemed reasonable to assume that the girls in his pictures were either into it, or being well paid. I’d swallowed it anyway, because by the time I’d been browsing his huge collection for an hour I was too turned on to care. I’d masturbated, right there on his library floor, with my jeans and panties around my knees and my top and bra pulled up.
Having done it once, I couldn’t hold myself back. Just knowing that the collection was there was too much for me, just the same way I used to be unable to resist climbing up to the cupboard Mum kept the sweets in. It became a compulsion, and I’d do it at every opportunity. The thing was, unlike ordinary dirty pictures, each spanking picture seemed to tell a story. One or another could always be guaranteed to trigger a fantasy, with me as the victim.
Eventually Rupert noticed – or, rather, eventually he felt he had to say something, because he probably noticed fairly soon after I’d started. He spoke to me about it, very casually, one day when I was visiting for tea. I was hideously embarrassed, guilty too, and upset, because I felt I’d betrayed him. I would have run from the house, but he quickly made it plain that the only reason he hadn’t wanted me to know was because he felt sure I’d be down on him for it.
We talked for hours that night, until the birds had begun to sing. When I finally went up to his spare room for some sleep, I found an album of spanking pictures laid discreetly by the bed, underneath the latest Metropolitan. I read it, and masturbated over a wonderful fantasy about being spanked in a girls’ dormitory, in front of all the others. He knew, I’m sure.
It never occurred to me for a moment not to trust him and, sure enough, he never tried anything on, or even asked to watch. Over the next few months it became a regular occurrence, not always happening, but as often as not. Meanwhile, my sex life grew wilder, with my reputation for enjoying punishment spreading rapidly among those who liked to dish it out, until the day I got myself thrown out of Whispers.
Two
After a couple of months I’d put Uncle Rupert’s uniform collection to the back of my mind. The two mannequins were still there, but he’d failed to add any more to the collection. I’d had other things to think about as well, like how to carry on enjoying my sex life without being able to go to my favourite baby dyke bar. Everyone seemed to know about my accident too, which was well embarrassing. I got teased mercilessly whenever I went out to clubs, and made to do it on the toilet while some of the butch girls watched.
I’d moved on to a new job, and I didn’t see Sam again until I went to a festival out near Farnborough. It wasn’t really a gay thing, but there was a dyke band playing, and I’d been given a spanking by the drummer once, so I went. It was good, in a huge field, with everyone drunk or high or just really chilled out. I knew lots of people, and was wandering through the crowds, just chatting and kissing and knocking back bottles of Bud.
Sam was with a group of friends, all dressed much the same: polished boots, tight leather trousers, skinny tops or leather bras, along with plenty of body jewellery. I could just have ignored them, but there’s a self-destructive impulse in me – or, rather, a self-chastising impulse. So I threw myself to the wolves.
‘Hi, Sam,’ I managed, trying not to sound too cheeky.
They turned to look at me, all five of them, all taller than me, all cool and poised and dominant.
‘This, girls,’ Sam announced, ‘is the one who pissed herself when I had her on a cross. Say hi to the girls, Jade.’
‘Hi,’ I said, smiling weakly as Sam’s arm came around my shoulder.
‘All I did was tickle her,’ Sam went on, ‘and she lost it. Such a baby. I was going to use a tawse across her fat thighs, maybe her boobies. What would you have done then, Jade, shit yourself?’
I went scarlet as they answered her with laughter. My tummy was starting to knot, and I felt terribly helpless with Sam’s arm around my shoulders, far too helpless to try to pull away.
‘She pissed on your boots, didn’t you say?’ one of them asked, the tallest, a girl with cropped hair dyed almost white.
‘That and spilled beer on them,’ Sam answered her.
‘She spilled beer on your boots?’ the blonde demanded. ‘What did you do about it?’
‘Nothing,’ Sam answered. ‘She got thrown out of Whispers –’
‘You should have made her lick them,’ the blonde cut in.
I could see how it went. Sam sounded a lot less confident talking to the blonde girl, who was obviously someone they looked up to. I wasn’t surprised. Her body was really hard, with long, smooth
muscles showing under her skin, even across her tummy. She had some serious tattoos as well, stark black-and-white designs, and plenty of piercings, with a big silver female symbol on a chain around her neck.
‘You’re right,’ Sam said. ‘I should have.’
‘Do it, then,’ the blonde told her.
‘Here?’
‘Why not?’
They were all looking at Sam, and I knew she was going to do something. I could have run, maybe, but a moment later she’d tripped me and I was sprawled on the muddy ground. Sam squatted down, taking me by the hair as the others moved into a ring around us. Nobody else made the slightest effort to interfere as my head was dragged close to her boots.
‘Lick,’ she ordered.
I did it, without hesitation, poking my tongue out to taste the leather and polish, then kissing, one toe cap, then the other. One of the girls standing over me gave a little snort, of contempt, of amusement. Another kicked my bottom.
‘Pull out her tits,’ the blonde ordered.
It was done, hands reaching down to snatch my top up, then my bra, the cups jerked off my boobs to leave them hanging in the warm mud. I scrambled into a kneeling position, with my bottom swelling out my green combats, stuck out right at the blonde. I was being bullied, badly, but all I wanted was to have my bottom smacked, right there, in public.
Already it was good, licking Sam’s boots while they laughed at me and prodded at my body, kicking my thighs and buttocks, even my breasts. All it needed for perfection was to have my combats pulled down, along with my knickers, showing off my big bottom to everyone. Then they’d have spanked me, hard, taking it in turns, until I was grovelling, red-bottomed in the mud, sore and punished, my pussy gaping to the crowd as I rubbed myself to climax . . .
They didn’t have the bottle. People were starting to stare, and not all of them in approval. Sam announced that I’d been put in my place, and I was told to get up. I struggled to my feet and ran, frantically trying to cover my muddy boobs, full of confusion and arousal. Only when I was well away from anybody who might have seen me degraded did I stop, to sit panting on a bank.
I was so turned on that my head was spinning. I didn’t know what to think, at all. Part of me was wishing they’d punished me properly, but another part just wanted to burst into tears over what had been done to me. Again, part of me wanted to get as far away as possible, another to go back and ask Sam if she’d like to take me into the bushes, or all five of them for that matter.
They’d really humiliated me. I’d licked boots before, and nude, not just topless, but always at clubs or in the back room at Whispers. This was different, in broad daylight, somewhere that people had come to listen to music, not for sex, and worst of all, with men watching. Beforehand, only five men had ever seen my boobs bare. Now it was thirty or more, six times as many, in the space of seconds.
In the end I went to get another beer, which helped to calm me down a bit, although I was still shaking. I was a bit of a state too, with mud on my trousers and in my bra, which was really uncomfortable. One or two girls were topless, but none with boobs like mine, and I knew that to do it would just make my arousal worse, and my feelings of vulnerability.
What I did do was take my bra off under my top, which left me looking pretty rude, but not so bad. People still starred, and my nipples were showing really badly, but that tends to happen anyway, because they’re so big and they go hard so easily. People stare anyway.
Three Buds later I was back on the bank, and drunk enough to be seriously considering going off into the bushes for a sneaky frig, or else trying to pick someone up to share it with. That was when I saw her, walking towards me out of the crowd. She had no piercings, no tattoos. She didn’t need them. Just in boots and combats she was as butch as they come.
For a start she was huge, and I mean huge. No taller than Sam’s blonde friend, but twice the weight, easily, and most of it muscle. She was shaved too, or nearly so, with no more than a millimetre of black stubble covering her scalp. That, and her strong, broad face, gave her a look to put Sam’s leather dyke friends to shame, and it wasn’t all. Her legs were huge, but still looked long, rising to massive hips, but without an ounce of fat. Her torso was better still. The camouflage vest she was wearing hardly covered anything, with her great solid boobs sticking out, firm and high under the thin material, with a massive bra to support them. That was enough to have me staring, but it was her arms that really made me gape. I’d seen less muscle on girl’s legs, on some men’s legs.
She wasn’t coming over to ask me the time. I was smiling and blushing before she even reached me, not sure where to look. She showed no such uncertainty, sitting down beside me and passing me one of the beers she’d been carrying.
‘I saw you,’ she said, ‘getting made to kiss that girl’s boots. Nice.’
‘She was . . . she was punishing me,’ I stammered. ‘For . . . for spilling beer on her boots.’
‘I heard. Pissing on her too. You do that on purpose?’
‘No! It was an accident.’
She gave a grunt, halfway to laughter. Her voice was really deep, masculine, but the rich, hormonal scent of her body was anything but. I could feel myself melting.
‘Would you . . . would you like me to lick your boots?’ I asked.
‘I’d like you to lick my cunt,’ she answered. ‘Come on.’
She stood up, taking me by the hand. I went, mesmerised. I was expecting to be used, thoroughly used, right there in the bushes at the back of the field, probably where other people would see. Instead I was taken to the car park. She had a jeep, genuine old-style army, with a cover over the back. I was lifted in, just so easily, and she followed, doing up the flaps behind us.
It was cool and dim under the cover, a soft, brown-green light, with bright patches where the sun shone through the eyelets. There were sacks of clothing or something, soft anyway, which I lay against, watching her. She didn’t waste time, kneeling up to undo her trousers and pushing them down, taking her huge blue knickers with them. The scent of her sex became suddenly stronger as her pussy came on show, the plump mound shaved to stubble, just like her head, but with a triple chevron of bare skin. I giggled at the sight, wetting my lips.
‘Like it?’ she said.
I nodded.
‘Well, I’m a real sergeant, if that makes it better for you,’ she said. ‘now get licking.’
That was it. No preliminaries, no foreplay. She hadn’t even told me her name. Her trousers came down to her ankles and she leaned back against the tailgate of the jeep, her massive thighs spread wide. I crawled over, pulling out my boobs on the way, and buried my face in her sex. She was musky, and already wet, with a slight tang of pee, which I quickly licked up.
She held me by the head as I licked at her, pulling me in and moving me to make me pay attention first to her pussy hole, then to her clit. That was big, a firm bud of flesh, poking out from under a fleshy hood. I kissed it, sucking it in between my lips, nipping gently with my teeth. She moaned, pulling me in harder still as I fed on her clitoris, sucking and mouthing until she came with a grunt, her thighs locking firmly around my head.
‘Nice,’ she said. ‘You’re a good cunt-licker. What’s your name?’
‘Jade.’
‘Mo. Well, Jade, seeing how you lick so well, I’m going to give you what you want. Well?’
‘I . . . I like to be spanked.’
‘Spanked? What, across your backside? Pervert, are you?’
I nodded, with the blood rushing into my cheeks. She just laughed.
‘So you like your backside slapped?’ she went on. ‘What with? My hand? A belt?’
‘A belting might be nice.’
She gave a shrug, and a look that suggested I was mad. I was, because for all my arousal I could just imagine how much it was going to hurt, with those huge arms and the great, thick leather belt which had been holding her trousers up.
‘Get them down then,’ she said, nodding to the sack
s, ‘and over those. There’s enough room in here, I reckon, just about.’
I went, trembling hard as I undid my combats and pushed them down over my hips. My bum felt huge. Well, my bum is pretty huge, I suppose, though I tell myself that’s just the way it looks because my waist is so slim. As it came on show, she reached out, taking a big pinch of one meaty cheek, to make me squeak.
‘Soft,’ she said. ‘You need to tone up.’
I didn’t deny it, pulling two sacks out of the pile and putting one on the other, with my hands shaking as I did it. She watched, fingering her belt, which she had pulled free, as I laid myself over the improvised spanking horse, to leave my boobs hanging down, squashed out on the cold metal floor, and my bum right up high. She chuckled at the sight.
‘Modest, are we?’ she said, taking hold of the waistband of my knickers.
‘No,’ I answered. ‘Pull them down.’
She did, immediately, just tugging them casually off my bum, as if it was no big deal at all. It was, for me, the intimate exposure of my bottom for punishment. I knew what I’d look like from the rear as well, with my pussy wet and puffy between my thighs and my cheeks far enough apart to hint at the dark crevices of my bottom hole. It felt rude and exposed, stripped of my modesty, ready for whipping. I could even smell myself, hot and urgent, mixing with her scent, a greasy smell and the tang of sweat from the bags. I looked back to find her grinning down at my nude bum.
‘Would I like to get a few of the girls like this,’ she said, and brought the belt around.
It landed on my bum with a crack, jamming me forwards, squealing, my meat shaking to the blow. It stung crazily and I was panting immediately, but I held still, just whimpering a little as I waited for the next. She gave it, lower, a hard smack right on my sweet spot, sending ripples of flesh across my bottom and leaving me gasping with shock and pain.