Uniform Doll

by Penny Birch

  Her boot settled on my back, squashing my boobs out on the cell floor. I turned my head, opening my sticky eyes to find her towering over me, the woman who’d just beaten me up, the steel-grey dress, the tight bun of her hair, the look on her face, amused, contemptuous, merciless. I locked eyes with her, rubbing at my clit and sticking my bum further up, to make the fat cheeks open and show her my busy fingers and the wet dimple of my bumhole.

  She reached down, to the bed, pulling something out from beneath the covers, a whip, short, thick, the single lash made of braided leather. I gave a little whimper, genuine fear, and rubbed hard, waiting. She lifted the horrid thing, sneering, her eyes bright with pleasure, and brought it down, with all her force, full across my sweet spot. I screamed, my whole bottom jerking in agony, a line of hot fire springing up immediately. My flesh was burning, heavy and rough, my head dizzy with pain. A second cut caught me across the first and I screamed again, coming, through the pain, in agony and ecstasy as cut after tearing cut exploded across my naked cheeks, beating me into pure, grovelling, craven submission . . .

  The orgasm lasted so long, on and on as she flogged my poor bottom, so, so good. It didn’t stop until she did, her boot lifting from my back as the last cut bit into my bottom. I just collapsed, exhausted on the floor, my whole body burning, sweaty and sore, my fingers still in the wet mush of my pussy. Above me, Andrea began to hitch up the grey skirt, exposing her stockings, the bulge of soft flesh at the top, her panty crotch. It was wet, showing the outline of her pussy, the lips bulging out the white cotton, damp with her juice.

  Her hand came down, gripping my hair. I was pulled up, roughly, struggling to my knees. Two of her fingers hooked into her panties and she tugged them aside, exposing the moist, ready flesh of her sex. I caught her scent, my mouth coming open even as she pulled my face in. I touched, tongue to pussy, and I was licking, in absolute, wonderful gratitude, lapping urgently at her clitty, determined to at least try to give her the same pleasure she had given me.

  She held me there, so stern and strong, cruel too, making a girl she had just beaten up and forced to masturbate lick her pussy for her. With the grey skirt held up, just visible to me, the cell around me, and everything just so right, it was impossible to resist. I began to masturbate again, feeling my well-smacked boobs as I flicked and rubbed at my pussy. She let me, and came in my face just as my orgasm was building up, stepping back so that I finished with her juice running down my chin as I looked up at her in absolute worship. She spat in my face.

  I was left, Andrea turning away without a word, slamming the door and locking it behind her. My orgasm was still tailing off, and I closed my eyes, just letting the pleasure slowly fade, aware of every sensation. I could feel my bruises, dull and aching, the prickle of sweat on my skin, the tension of my lifted dress and bra, the cool damp where her spittle was running down my cheek.

  Finally I shook myself and smiled up at the camera. Nothing happened, not surprisingly, so I crawled to sit on the bed, to nurse my bruises and wait for them to let me out. She came, after about ten minutes, but with water and a plate of instant cottage pie, soggy cabbage and boiled spuds, which she put down on my chest of drawers, leaving without a word.

  I ate it, wondering just how real they were trying to make it. The beating had been a punishment, and I was now confined, eating alone. I was exhausted, and my body hurt all over. What I needed was a cuddle, but I was also wondering just how far the fantasy could be taken, and I needed to get Andrea’s dress. So I didn’t call out my stop word, and when Andrea came back to collect my tray I was curled up on the bed, facing away from her, pretending to be beaten and miserable.

  I was left, lying on the bed, just staring at the ceiling and jumping at every tiny noise from outside. It was hard to know what they were up to, but they obviously wanted something to happen. I made a big show of going over my body, nude and with the camera in mind, looking sorry for myself as I inspected my bruises. I was in a fine state, with big, dark ones all over my bum and thighs, red and black, while the whipping had made a real mess of my cheeks. My boobs were bruised, quite badly, and I was sure my face would be too, although my climax had been so good I couldn’t even find it in myself to resent Andrea for doing it.

  By the time I’d finished I was ready to masturbate again. I did it on the bed, with my ruined bottom stuck out at the camera, to really give them a good look at what Andrea had done to me. It was good, if less so than the other two. When I’d come I dressed and collapsed on the bed.

  I meant to work out the best way to pinch Andrea’s dress, but I was asleep within minutes.

  When I woke up it was late afternoon. I felt a bit silly, awkward really, also stiff, sore and dry. Andrea had left the water, and I drank the lot. I needed to pee, and was going to call out, only to realise that it might be exactly what they wanted me to do. After all, there was the big potty under the bed, and they hadn’t put it there for nothing.

  I wasn’t really in the mood, but I didn’t want to spoil Andrea’s fantasy either, or break the scene. Still I hesitated, only for a truly brilliant inspiration to hit me. I’d pee in the pot, and I’d make sure I was holding it when Andrea came in. I’d spill pee on her dress, accidentally, or even as part of the scene. It would have to be cleaned, and afterwards it would go on their clothes dryer, which was in the tiny garden. When I left I’d stay in Stevenage, returning at the dead of night to pinch it, a bra and panty set too, maybe even her stockings if I got lucky. It was perfect, and wonderfully mischievous.

  Putting on a sour face, I pulled the potty out from under the bed. It was big, and porcelain, the real thing, and by the look of it about a hundred years old. Thinking of just how many bare bottoms must have been lowered onto it over the years, I pulled my dress up and pushed my knickers down to my ankles, bum to the camera. I squatted, lowering myself onto the pot with my rear stuck well out to give them the rudest possible view. For a moment I held on, thinking of them watching, then let go. My sigh was genuine relief as my pee squirted out into the pot, tinkling on the china, then bubbling as the pool deepened. I let it all out, relaxing completely, and only just stopping in time as my bumhole began to pout.

  I glanced back at the camera, feeling embarrassed and wondering if they’d noticed. I hadn’t realised I was so urgent, but I could feel the weight inside me and knew I’d have to go soon. I was sure they didn’t want to watch that, so I gave my bottom a quick wiggle to shake the last few drops away and stood, pulling my knickers up.

  That was enough. It had been a great fantasy, and I’d given them their pee shot, but I needed to use the proper loo, wash, and have Andrea rub some cream into one or two important places. I waved to the camera, called out my stop word, and went to the door. It was locked. I called out, but nobody answered, so I did it again, telling Andrea I needed the loo properly. Again there was no answer.

  I began to get worried, wondering if they had seen I was asleep and gone to the shops or something. Banging hard on the door, I yelled out my stop word again, loud, with the first feelings of genuine unease as I felt the pressure in my bowels rise suddenly. I called again, telling Andrea to stop mucking about. She didn’t answer, and I realised that they really weren’t there. After all, if they’d wanted to torment me they would have come to the door, to taunt me and peep in through the spy hole. At the least I’d have heard a footfall. There was nothing.

  At last I stepped back, wondering what I ought to do. I was beginning to get really urgent, but doing it in the potty was going to be horribly embarrassing, with the camera presumably still on. They’d realise too, even if it wasn’t, when they came back, from the smell. It didn’t bear thinking about.

  I even considered trying to break the door down, as it was only plywood, for all that it looked like a genuine cell door. Unfortunately I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Smashing other people’s doors down just isn’t on, not when you’ve only just met them. So I stayed still, sat on the bed with my knees pressed together, trying t
o ignore the growing pain in my tummy. I kept hoping they’d come back, sure I could last, my ears straining for the sound of their return.

  Finally I realised that I had no real choice except for the potty. I was going to have to do it, on film, that or fill my panties. Still I struggled to hold it back, knock-kneed with desperation, clutching my tummy. The pain became abruptly worse. I gasped, gritted my teeth, clenched my bottom-cheeks, fighting it back. It was no good, it was coming. Desperately, I snatched for the pot, pulling it out to slosh pee over my sleeve. I didn’t care. My skirt was half up, right up. There was a truly awful, utterly helpless feeling as I went, but my knickers were down, my bum on the pot as it all came out and a wave of utter, blissful relief swept through me.

  I had come so close to filling my panties, so close. If I hadn’t had a plump bottom I’d have done it. For a moment I didn’t even worry about the camera, just happy not to have soiled myself and overcome with the sense of relief it gave me. It was when I heard the purr of its motor that I looked up, finding the lens pushing out into a close-up. The blood went straight to my cheeks, sending them flaming to crimson, smacked as they were, and my mouth came open in horrified realisation. They were there, and they’d watched my wriggling desperation, my panic as I struggled to get my knickers down, the look on my face as I did it. They had a prime view too, with my thighs well apart towards the camera. I hid my face in my hands, unable to cope with the thought of Mark watching me do my potty. They’d made me do it, and they were probably masturbating each other as they watched, and laughing. It was just too humiliating, too rude.

  That was my undoing. I was shaking, sobbing too, close to tears. It didn’t stop me. I pulled my dress up, and flopped out my boobs, increasing my exposure and vulnerability. I shut my eyes, and caught them up in my hands, feeling their weight and the roughened flesh where Andrea had smacked them. My nipples were hard, sensitive, urgent. I petted them as I finished off into the potty, the burning shame in my head slowly giving way to arousal.

  One hand slipped down, to my pussy, and I was doing it, masturbating on my potty as they watched. It was good, with my little prison uniform pulled up, showing it all off, abused, punished, tricked, and now showing what it did to me. I knew there was a man watching me, a man with his ugly great cock in his hand, wanking it over one of my most intimate moments. There was Andrea too, as I pictured her, austere dress pulled up, hand down her knickers, her face set in amused contempt as she watched me.

  My pleasure rose, quickly, my last inhibitions slipping away as I approached climax. I put my other hand down, under my bum, feeling the full cheeks, the skin rough from my punishment. Moving down, I touched my tuck, fuller still, no, fat, embarrassingly fat, my big, bouncy bum, which the girls always seem to want to beat, or to make me show off the wrinkled hole between my cheeks. I had to touch, and I did, despairing at my own dirtiness as I let my finger move to my slimy little bumhole. My face screwed up as I tickled it, in delight and disgust. I couldn’t stop. My finger went up, poking into the hot, wet cavity of my rectum as I came to orgasm in blinding, dizzying bliss.

  As I came I heard another cry of ecstasy, Andrea’s, giving my climax a last, lovely nudge as the thought of her masturbating over me. There was silence, my mind and body coming slowly down from the peak as reality flooded back in. I had no loo paper, my finger was well up my dirty bottom and I wasn’t at all sure I could get up without spilling the potty.

  ‘Clemency!’ I yelled. ‘Andrea, help!’

  She came to my rescue immediately, in just her underwear, giggling and holding her nose as she passed me a roll of loo paper. I managed to clean myself up, eventually, and emptied the potty before joining Andrea in the bathroom. She was already nude, in the shower, grinning at me as she soaped an arm.

  ‘Thanks, that was great!’ she said. ‘I had a lovely orgasm watching you!’

  ‘Thank you, mine was good too. Why no dress?’

  ‘Mark made me take it off to suck him, after the first time. I took it in my mouth while you were masturbating with your backside in the air. He loved that!’

  ‘I bet he did. Where is he?’

  ‘He got beeped, poor man, right in the middle of it.’

  ‘Beeped?’

  ‘He’s a doctor, didn’t we say? He’s on call.’

  ‘So he didn’t see me on the potty?’

  ‘No, just me. He should be back soon. You can watch me suck him off if you like?’

  ‘Well . . .’

  I was going to decline, but I had to keep the scene going. Otherwise I would lose my chance at her uniform. I had it worked out too.

  ‘Come on, he’d love to have you watching. He adores his cock, and he loves girls to see it.’

  ‘I’d love to, sure, I was just going to ask a favour.’

  ‘Ask away.’

  ‘Do it in your uniform. It would be nice, to see the tables turned a bit. Maybe we could do a little scene, with Mark as the governor or something, forcing you to suck his cock in front of a prisoner?’

  ‘Maybe, if he’s into it.’

  ‘And let him come in your face and down your front, with your boobs out. I’d love that.’

  ‘So would he, believe me. There’s nothing he likes better than soiling girls with his spunk.’

  He came back half an hour later. By then Andrea was in her dress, ready, although with my own uniform wet with piddle I’d had to change into my jeans and top. As she had predicted, he was seriously randy. Andrea explained the fantasy.

  ‘Fine,’ he answered, ‘but it’s got to be over Jade’s bum. I was so close!’

  ‘She can bend over the chest of drawers then,’ Andrea said, ‘with her jeans and knicks down, as if I’d been punishing a new inmate who’d yet to have her uniform issued, or getting a last thrashing in on a girl due for release. How’s that?’

  ‘Great,’ he answered. ‘Do it.’

  ‘I know . . .’ I tried. ‘Look, this is going to sound stupid, when you’ve seen everything on camera, but I’m . . . I’m not really comfortable showing my bare bum in front of a man with an erection. I know it’s stupid, but . . .’

  ‘No problem,’ he said. ‘I’m well into girls’ bums in jeans. Keep them up, but stick it well out.’

  We went to the cell, Mark running up the stairs, Andrea and I walking behind, arms around each other and giggling at his urgency. Inside, I arranged myself over the chest of drawers, bent, with my bum stuck right out. The sight nearly had his eyes popping out of his head, and he asked if he could touch while she sucked him.

  It was only on the seat of my jeans, so I said he could as long as he didn’t feel my pussy. He agreed, taking his cock out as Andrea got down on her knees. I shut my eyes, holding the pose and listening to the little slurping noises of her sucking on his erection as he began to stroke my bottom. It didn’t take long, just minutes, before he grunted, his hand tightening on my flesh, and that was it.

  I was already picturing her with come in her face and all down the front of her dress. Unfortunately it wasn’t, not much anyway, but even with him babbling apologies it took me a moment to realise what had happened. He’d done it over my jeans, loads of it, right across both cheeks where they’d been stuck out for him to fondle, and especially in my crease. Her dress was clean.

  Furious, I went to clean up in the bathroom. A glance in the mirror showed the state I was in. There was no possible doubt that I’d let a man spunk over the seat of my jeans. There was a great, thick streamer across both cheeks, and blobs lower down, and in the crease, a real mess. I did my best to clean up, but only succeeded in making it look as if I’d had a little accident, or at the very least sat down in a puddle. That was bad enough, but now there was no reason for her to wash her dress. After all, she’d only had it on for a few minutes, just while punishing me.

  They were in the study when I came out of the bathroom, looking at the pictures from the digital camera. They were good, and I had them print several out for me, including a really heavy o
ne of me masturbating while Andrea thrashed me, which I decided was the one for the display.

  ‘One for the gallery that, definitely,’ Andrea said as the print emerged, with my beaten bottom showing in glorious colour. ‘If that’s all right, Jade?’

  ‘Go ahead,’ I said. ‘Anyone who can recognise my bum like that is welcome to see.’

  ‘Show her some of the others, Mark.’ She laughed.

  He made a few deft clicks of the mouse and their website gallery appeared. There were several series, most of different girls, some with Mark, some without, but always with Andrea, rows of thumbnails. Mark clicked on one, bringing up a picture of a pretty blonde across Andrea’s lap, outdoors, skirt turned up, panties down, her face set in an expression of total consternation. It was a classic spanking photo, the sort Rupert collected by the hundred, but it wasn’t the girl’s bum I was looking at, or the sorry expression on her face. Andrea was in a policewoman’s uniform.

  ‘You didn’t say you were in the police before you became a prison warden,’ I said, with the possibilities rushing through my head.

  ‘Don’t be silly!’ Andrea laughed. ‘I’m not really in the prison service! I’m an office manager.’

  Five

  I was not a happy bunny on the Monday morning. I hurt all over, and people kept giving me funny looks because of my smacked face. Both cheeks were bruised, and it was very obvious it had been done carefully and not in anger. I was sure everyone would guess I’d been smacked up in an SM scene, and that their response would have been angry disapproval rather than the sympathy I’d have earned if it had been for real.

  When the agency rang I told them I wasn’t well and turned down the job, although I needed the cash. I couldn’t even bear to go over to Uncle Rupert’s, not with the prospect of half-an-hour or more on a crowded bus. Not only that, but I had nothing to show him, while I was sure he’d not only have had a brilliant weekend with Sarah, but would have managed to bring off some amazing coup uniform collecting.