by John Argus
Title Page
LEARNING TO CRAWL
by
JOHN ARGUS
Publisher Information
Learning to Crawl published by
Chimera Publishing Ltd
PO Box 152
Waterlooville
Hants
PO8 9FS
Digital edition converted and published by
Andrews UK Limited 2010
www.andrewsuk.com
This novel is fiction – in real life practice safe sex
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.
Copyright © John Argus
first printed in 2000
reprinted in 2006
The right of John Argus to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Introduction
‘Have you remembered your manners?’ he asked.
‘Yes, sir,’ she said quietly.
‘Then bend over that,’ he nodded at the coffee table.
Gwen felt a new surge of anxiety at the instruction, but turned slowly and leant forward over the low piece of furniture, laying her soft breasts against the enamelled wood.
‘Now I want you to spank yourself,’ he directed.
She blinked at him in astonishment.
‘Now. If you don’t like me spanking you, you’ll have to do it yourself.’
Her bottom was still hot and tingling from his spanking, but she fought down a protest. Complaining that her bottom hurt would be too… too childish. So Gwen reached back awkwardly and spanked her own bottom…
Chapter 1
Gwendolyn Allison Pepperdine was more than mildly intoxicated. Even seated, the world appeared to her to be swaying pleasantly from side to side, much as it did on her father’s yacht on a mild summer day in the English Channel. She found this to be an interesting diversion from the young man opposite her, who, despite rakish good looks, was a disappointingly dull companion.
It was not, as it chanced, a mild summer day. It was a rather chilly January in New York, and Gwendolyn Pepperdine – Gwen to her many friends – had excused herself from dull classes in art history at Oxford for a brief swing across the ocean. Her friend Desmond was holding a party in New York, and it simply wouldn’t do to turn down his invitation.
Besides, Art History was proving to be as dull as Ancient History, Philosophy and Sociology had before it, and she considered it to be a waste of her precious time when she was probably going to change her major again quite soon. The professors were all arrogant overbearing twits, in any case, who had an anal-retentive fixation on punctuality and attendance.
Her normally soft brown eyes were somewhat glazed as she sat in the corner of the club, and her long brown hair was dishevelled, looking, as one of her girlfriends had remarked in amusement, as though she’d just been ‘had’.
She was sprawled untidily in her chair, her short skirt riding dangerously high. By the time she took enough notice of the flashes of light to turn her head to frown at their source the photographer had drifted back into the crowd. She turned her head back towards her companions, disinterested.
The photographer was quite professional and the pictures, despite the poor light, came out bright and filled with colour. That they showed Lord Pepperdine’s stepdaughter sprawled drunkenly at a table in a disreputable American nightclub, legs spread apart, her clearly shaven and panty-less groin fully visible, was not a source of arousal to him. He was a homosexual, as it happened, and only appreciated the money such a clear and revealing photograph would draw from the London tabloids.
As he developed each picture he clipped them to a rack above his counter, inspected them briefly for flaws, and gauged their monetary value. The last was clearly the best of the bunch, as Gwendolyn Pepperdine was looking straight into the camera. Her dress had a plunging neckline, and due to her position the top had fallen forward sufficient to give the camera a full and unchecked view of her right breast. It was a lovely breast, he thought, smiling pleasantly. It was full and creamy white, with a petit pink nipple. The shot of her groin would have to be blacked out in the family papers, but the breast could be shown in all its glory.
He smiled happily, and then reached for his phone.
Gwen hung up the phone, wincing and holding her head with one hand. Her stepfather had been furious, if the matter could be understated to such a degree. It was bad enough she had buggered off from school yet again when he was paying so much to gain her the education she ‘needed’, but to publicly humiliate him before his peers in such a fashion was beyond forgiveness.
Had she not been more than a little hung over she might have been able to placate him. Unfortunately, she’d been in a bad mood to begin with. Instead of apologising she had reminded him that ‘his’ money was, in fact, her mother’s, that he had squandered ‘his’ money on a stock scheme which had gone into receivership shortly after she was born, and that had it not been for his good fortune in marrying her mother he would, in all probability, be making his employment as a shop clerk. As a result he had cut her off completely, or so he said. She’d get not a single penny more from him until she learned how to act like a lady and gained sufficient discipline to behave the way a Pepperdine was expected to.
She was not overly concerned with this, at first. Her stepfather made many idle threats and she had always before managed to wheedle and cajole him into rescinding them. When she found out later that day that access to her account had been cut off and all her cards cancelled she was less alarmed than angry, but a second conversation with Lord Pepperdine produced considerable invective on both ends, spoken with far more volume than thought behind it.
He wouldn’t give her a pound until she begged him, actually begged him for his forgiveness. She must do so meekly, while admitting her utter inability to take care of herself. And she must accept his conditions for a return to the fold. These included no more drinking, no drugs, no partying, no wearing of ‘revealing’ clothing, and no more absenteeism from the law school he intended to enrol her.
The gall of the man!
Especially since it wasn’t even his money! Of course, her mother was an absolute puppet to him and always had been. Her father had died when she was very young, and his cousin moved in quickly to ‘help’ her take care of things. The wedding followed as soon as decently possible, and he had been ruling the roost ever since. Gwen had long since given up trying to get her mother, a very weak-willed and fluttery woman, to ever disagree with any pronouncement of ‘Lord Pepperdine’.
Gwendolyn was an intelligent but somewhat indolent young woman. Growing up in the lap of luxury left her disinclined towards manual labour. Furthermore, as a fortune awaited her the moment she turned twenty-one – a gift from grandfather – she had never felt any great urge to waste away her youth in mouldy classrooms listening to dried up old men and women lecture her on uninteresting topics, and was therefore without any academic credentials necessary to obtain any other kind of position. She promised her stepfather however, that it would be a cold day in hell before she came crawling to him for a thing, that she would have no difficulties, as an intelligent young woman, in supporti
ng herself. He, in turn, promised her she would soon be on her knees begging for money.
For the first several weeks Gwen managed to secure lodging with various friends and acquaintances, but as time passed this became more and more difficult; people stopped returning her phone calls. She was annoyed to find how many of her ‘friends’ lost interest in her once she no longer had money to spend, and had no intention of trying to phone across to her real friends in the UK and beg money from them. The very idea was simply too humiliating.
Imagine the gossip!
She then made some effort at obtaining a position, but even if she’d had the skills she quickly found she was not legally permitted to work in the United States. She had no money for a return trip to the UK, and most certainly was not going to call her stepfather to ask for some. In fact borrowing money, as opposed to lodging, from anyone struck her as a demeaning activity, and one with which she had no experience whatever.
Finally, with nowhere to lay her head, Gwendolyn Pepperdine stuffed her clothing into two lockers at Grand Central Station and tried to keep warm by wandering through the shops during the day and the clubs at night. She found herself getting more and more footsore and dispirited, and growing more desperate in her efforts to find lodging not accompanied by rats or insects.
The only beds she had been able to garner for herself had been those shared with men who were far more interested in parting her from her clothing than providing her with shelter.
She was growing weary and starting to feel more than a little frayed around the edges. Much of the confidence she felt when she boldly told off her stepfather was now gone and she had to wilfully suppress a growing feeling of being dirty and, what was more, cheap.
Her desire for a warm bed caused her to considerably lower her standards in the men she took as lovers.
It wasn’t that she was terribly inhibited when it came to sex. She was, after all, or at least considered herself to be a sophisticate, a well-travelled cosmopolitan girl who was not subject to petty and culturally backward concepts about virginity or chastity. If she wanted to sleep with a handsome man there was no reason at all why she should not.
Still, sleeping with men in hopes of cajoling money or lodging from them made her feel like a cheap tart and beggar.
Gwendolyn was twenty years old. Her softly formed face was lovely and elfin sweet. Her small mouth was full-lipped, and with her snub nose gave her a delicate childlike look instantly denied by the piercing intelligence and sophistication in her large grey eyes. Her soft, chestnut hair fell across her shoulders like strands of silk, the curving bangs dancing just above her eyes. She was tall, with long, exquisitely formed legs. An artist could have sculpted her buttocks, and her breasts were high, firm, and only slightly oversized for her slender frame.
She had been aware since the age of sixteen that she could have virtually any man she wanted, and had long taken it for granted. She had not, of course, taken advantage of her attractiveness to the degree she might have liked. It would not do to get a reputation. She knew too well what contempt and scorn was heaped upon the girls who did not meet the proper standards of taste and discretion as established by… well, her peers.
Still, she was experienced sexually. Even before coming to New York she’d had at least half a dozen lovers, and that, she was sure, was more than sufficient to initiate her into virtually every aspect of sexual conduct and behaviour.
She was trying a new club this night, and groaned in relief as she stepped in from the cold, her beauty buying her entrance where money would not have. Once inside she removed her long leather coat, fighting a small ripple of embarrassment. She was wearing a very short black velvet mini. It was little more than a wraparound square of material some twenty-nine inches in length. As her hips were thirty-four inches around the opposite ends of the strip of cloth were held together over her right hip by a stylish golden chain – at least at the top. The bottom remained dangerously loose under the intense scrutiny the scanty garment received.
Above her skirt Gwendolyn Pepperdine wore a short tight halter which was open at both sides, giving tantalising views of the soft creamy skin of the full young breasts thrusting outward against the material constricting them. That material was immodestly thin, and the delicate outlines of not only her small nipples, but the surrounding areolas were perfectly and clearly outlined to the casual viewer.
It was a daring outfit, one she had never before worn except to private parties given by friends whose sophistication and maturity could be relied upon. Wearing it at a public dance club gave her stomach odd flutters. She did not consider herself an exhibitionist, yet all those eyes, many without the sophistication to hide their lust, staring at her scantily clad body not only embarrassed but oddly, aroused her.
She was not certain why she felt as she did, and had little time for such considerations in any case. Her eyes looked slightly disheartened, and held a touch of desperation as she scanned the room. She expertly assessed and dismissed man after man as they settled briefly upon them. She had decided to search for an older man, perhaps one as old as thirty – and living alone. He would perhaps, at his advanced age, by so delighted at the prospect of touching her nubile young body that he would think nothing of allowing her to stay a few days at his apartment.
It briefly occurred to her, as it had more and more often of late, that seeking out a man who would foot her bills in exchange for sex was not far removed from prostitution, but she dismissed the uncomfortable thought. The distance was far enough.
She was looking towards the bar when a man caught her eyes. At first they passed him by, for he was far, far too old to even consider. Then her eyes were drawn back, for it was apparent he was staring at her. She frowned at him for his insolence, yet there was no embarrassment at all in him. He did not shift his eyes away guiltily as so many would have.
Instead he smiled lazily, and held up a glass in offering.
She snorted for a moment. The man had to be over forty, practically decrepit. Yet he looked very powerful standing there, with broad shoulders and no sign of a belly creeping over his belt. His clothing looked tailor-made, and his eyes held a strangely attractive strength – as well as something else. She found herself walking across the floor to him before she even recognised it.
It was danger. There was something very dangerous in this man’s eyes, and it made her shiver a little as she stepped up before him.
His eyes looked down towards her breasts before rising once more to her face, but he said nothing.
‘Like what you see?’ She’d meant her tone to be cutting but it came out almost timid.
‘It’ll do,’ he said.
She opened her mouth to respond angrily but to her surprise he brought his hand up, a finger pressing against her lips.
‘Don’t speak,’ he said.
She felt indignation and anger, and yet snapped her mouth shut, frowning at him.
He examined her lazily, eyes moving down her body. She felt a strange sense of anxiety grip her as his eyes rose once more. She felt the oddest sensation, as if he were about to attack her right there, tear her clothes off and simply… have her.
‘I have a car outside.’
She blinked in surprise, and then felt his hand on her arm, gripping it firmly, leading her away from the bar.
Again indignation rose within her. ‘Look—’
‘Be silent.’
She glared at him as he led her to the door, and then watched as he took her coat from the coat check girl and idly tossed her a hundred dollar bill. He folded the coat over his right arm as he put his left around her and guided her to the door.
She felt a rising sense of fear, yet with it was a strange feeling of respect for his strength and certainty. She had always admired strong people, people who knew what they wanted and went after it. She supposed that was partly a response to
her weak-willed mother, and partly a reluctant appreciation of her stepfather’s arrogance.
And yet this man wanted her. And she had no doubt as to why. Every step she took with him led her deeper into accepting that she was about to give him her body. A man she literally knew nothing about. Her stomach fluttered at the thought, yet her loins felt a soft throbbing arousal. What a bestial thing to do! To just let this strong stranger take her like that!
Her mind was spinning indecisively, caught between jerking back and making some kind of demand. Yet it seemed easier to simply do nothing, to let him guide her forward. His hand slid down onto her bottom and squeezed it lightly but possessively, and the soft throb in her loins grew stronger even as her anxiety rose.
The car was a large black Cadillac with dark smoky windows, and she looked nervously at the uniformed chauffeur before letting the man guide her inside.
She sat with as much grace as she could manage given her brief garments, and smiled with what self-assurance she could manage at the man twice her age as he slid in beside her. The chauffeur closed the door and hurried around to the front.
‘Wait a min—’ He put his finger against her lips again, his eyes dark and, she realised with a shiver, hungry.
God, what was she doing?!
His hand slipped along her cheek, caressing it lightly as she gaped up at him, and she felt her heart begin to pound as he leaned in to kiss her. She eased back slightly, but not much, knowing she was his, that she could not work up the strength now to push him back. She felt some instinct telling her she dared not anger him, but dismissed it. She was not afraid of him – at least, not very. She was simply looking for a strong man to give her shelter for a bit. And what had she to barter but her body?
She pursed her lips automatically, though perhaps a little shakily, her hands rising to slide over his shoulders. His kiss started softly, but not hesitantly. His lips caressed hers gently, surprising and pleasing her. Then they slid in more firmly, his tongue dancing along the edge of her lips. His body turned further in against her, pressing her back into the seat as the car started forward, and he kissed more deeply.