by Laurel Aspen
Surrounded by flashing bulbs and the whirr of motor drives Sophie lay draped passively across his knees. Red-painted fingernails and the toes of her new court shoes barely touching the carpet on either side of the upright chair he was seated upon. Her skirt had been rudely tugged up to her waist, exposing her knicker-encased rump, which to her amazement and dismay was being soundly smacked. Foolishly she’d expected nothing more than token pats, but the reality currently stinging her almost naked nates was proving painfully different.
‘I’m not sure I believe you,’ she sniffed sulkily as shutters clicked softly and Craig’s hand loudly impacted on her scantily protected rear.
‘Think about it,’ Craig said evenly. ‘A plausible picture requires movement, a blurring of my arm as it rises and falls, the impact of my hand rippling your cheeks.’
‘But my bum’s not fat,’ she complained indignantly.
‘Your bottom is beautiful,’ Craig reasoned with sincerity, ‘but as any self-respecting bottom fetishist, if you’ll permit the oxymoron, will reveal, a substantial part of what makes the female rear so desirable is the sensual manner in which it undulates and indents.’
‘Ooooh, that hurts!’ His eloquent explanation was punctuated by the impact of two further stinging slaps, searing not just the surface of her bottom but, Sophie was becoming urgently aware, also slowly stoking the fires down below. As the spanking progressed so the heat it engendered seemed to inexorably spread from the surface of her skin to the very epicentre of her womanhood. Not that she was about to share for a moment this intimate information with Craig.
For his part the previously jaded portrait specialist was enjoying his work for the first time in ages. Just as he had earlier adjudged, Sophie did indeed possess excellent legs, which went all the way up to a perfectly peachy, absolutely flawless bum. Full yet firm and, for the moment at least, partly concealed by dark green satin panties, an exact colour match for the taut suspenders holding the honey-toned stockings sheathing her finely sculpted thighs.
‘All right, let’s take a brief break.’ Craig rested his hand on Sophie’s scalded and wriggling posterior, her decently disciplined buttocks, already glowing a dusky pink, hot to his touch. The blotchy handprints would show up superbly on the colour shots, he silently congratulated himself, and might even make a centrespread.
‘Hop up and have a little rub while I change the film, then I’m afraid it’s back over for more of the same,’ he said happily. It seemed prudent to keep to himself the fact that the next sequence of slaps would be delivered upon the bare.
‘Ooh, that smarts,’ said Sophie, endearingly skipping a little from foot to foot, energetically rubbing her scalded rear. ‘You’re certainly making me earn my money the hard way, you beast.’
You’ve no idea, Craig thought sagely, you’ve absolutely no idea.
‘What? Oh, you sod, you could have warned me!’ A short time later Sophie protested loudly as she struggled in Craig’s unyielding grasp.
‘I’d have thought it was obvious,’ he responded testily. ‘Now for goodness sake, stop this stupid struggling or you’ll ruin those expensive stockings.’ Grabbing her wrists in one hand he dragged Sophie’s knickers down to her knees and resumed her spanking with the other.
‘Ow, you brute!’ she protested crossly as his palm renewed its contact with her soft flesh.
‘Don’t make such a palaver,’ he admonished, determined not to be distracted. ‘The difference is largely psychological; it’s only a thin scrap of material. Come on, we’re halfway there, don’t wimp out on me now, woman.’
Gritting her teeth, she obeyed, kicking her feet in a futile attempt to disperse the unbearable sting as his hand smacked firmly down into her tender under-curves. But unbeknown to Sophie, her mind focused solely on the pain currently assailing her belaboured buttocks, her struggles were causing her legs to involuntary part, revealing to camera, and Craig’s connoisseur’s gaze, more of her feminine secrets than, given the choice, she’d ordinarily want to reveal.
‘Methinks the wench doth protest overmuch,’ he mused, unable to avoid noticing the engorged lips of Sophie’s labia and the damp, dewy bush of her pudenda peeking out at the apex of her thighs.
‘Oof!’ A slap to Sophie’s thighs brought a particularly animated response, causing her cheeks to part and the puckered rosebud of her anus to peek at her tormentor. While the hurt in her bottom became ever more difficult to endure, so the yearning ache in her increasingly aroused loins became ever more insistent. Surreptitiously, or so she fondly imagined, she ground her pudenda against Craig’s strongly muscled thighs in search of some respite.
Her attempted deception was nevertheless only too apparent. ‘Why, you little minx,’ he said affectionately, ‘you weren’t lying; a spot of hanky-spanky really does turn you on. All right, Sophie,’ he decreed, ‘since you seem to be enjoying this rather too much we’d better take another break. My, but you’re all hot and bothered.’
‘No thanks to you.’ Sore and frustrated Sophie peered grouchily over her shoulder, her face almost as flushed as her nether regions.
‘Sorry, I really should be more sympathetic,’ said Craig. ‘Lie there for a moment and get your breath back. How about some nice soothing cold-cream on that poor, sore little bottom?’
‘Keep describing it as little and I’ll love you always,’ she groaned appreciatively, ‘and I’ll take all the soothing and rubbing you’re prepared to offer.’
One might reasonably suppose it to be inevitable, really. Craig hadn’t actually planned proceedings to unfold in such a way; that’s a far too conspiratorial view of events. Let’s just describe what happened next as a moment of unplanned spontaneity - opportunism, if you will.
You see, as Craig gently rubbed the cooling balm into Sophie’s seared seat so she squirmed and moaned with delight, causing his hand to, accidentally, you understand, momentarily slip into the valley bisecting her delectable buttocks, upon which, unsolicited by wholly welcome acquaintance, her bum jerked up in surprised delight, whereupon his fingers came into delicate contact with her supremely sensitised clitoris. Within seconds she was writhing and gasping in ecstatic response to the two fingers fucking her far too long neglected quim. Fortunately, during the whole of this encounter, Sophie’s eyes remained closed, allowing crafty Craig to wickedly snap a series of great shots of her entranced expression.
‘Oh God, this is so intense,’ she gasped, deep in the throws of sensual pleasures, more pronounced than anything she had experienced in years. Her body craved release, for a longed for orgasm; if she could somehow convince him to slide what she’d no doubt would prove to be a formidably rigid cock into her yearning cunt, then…
Life would be perfect, thought Craig, who’s mind was working along very similar lines, but not yet, for much as he was enjoying taking her to the very brink he’d one final run of shots to get in to the can if a pictorial essay was to be completed as per the brief. The denouement of the story required Sophie, humiliatingly naked but for her stockings, to bend over for a memorable tawsing.
Sometimes you just have to be tough in order to get the job done, reasoned Craig who, oblivious to her cries of disappointment, hauled the unfortunate woman to her feet. By this stage she was ready to agree to almost anything if he would just bring her off with a good hard fuck.
Self-control thrown to the winds, the room a blur of lights and clicking cameras, she allowed Craig to divest her of her remaining garments without a struggle, and at his instruction knelt obediently, bottom outthrust, legs apart on the adjacent sofa.
Dragging the tripods into position Craig was a man in a hurry. It was blindly obvious what Sophie wanted and he’d no wish to let her down. Not if he was to achieve his ambition of seeing her when this assignment was over - a liaison that, suddenly, seemed essential to his future contentment.
Head down, bottom up, juice-slicked sex exposed to the cameras’ coldly blinking lens, Sophie waited obediently. Her breath came in short gasps, her e
yes were open, every fibre of her body tingling with sensation and apprehension.
Raising the tawse Craig carefully measured the distance to her burning red buttocks, marked, he noted approvingly, with the imprint of his very own hand. Clicking on the motor drives he methodically delivered a dozen strokes across her frenetically wriggling cheeks, rapidly, unmercifully scourging the twin moons, causing her to cry out loud.
‘Aaaah!’ she howled pitifully in unabashed distress, her buttocks becoming a cauldron of volcanic heat. ‘Craig, please stop, oh my poor bum.’
Film exhausted, the cameras began to automatically rewind, so what followed, the unscripted sequence of the tale, would remain properly private. Urgently freeing his cock Craig placed it tentatively within the inviting entrance of her vagina. Feeling his presence Sophie groaned aloud, forcing her hips back as she attempted to skewer her silky slot with Craig’s ramrod thick member; permission to board granted.
‘What do you want, Sophie?’ Craig whispered hoarsely, his tongue running slowly down her spine.
‘You,’ she gasped, ‘deep inside me.’
‘Do you deserve that?’
‘Yes,’ she replied instantly, and then, remembering her manners, ‘yes please, Craig.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I’ve been good.’
‘How so?’
‘Because,’ Sophie continued breathlessly, all the while squirming her red-hot buttocks in an attempt to sink back against his steely abdomen, ‘because I let you smack my naughty naked botty without a fuss, even though I wasn’t bad.’
‘True,’ he agreed. ‘And are you going to be bad now?’
‘Very,’ she confirmed seductively. ‘You can see my bum’s terribly hot and sore, it hurts dreadfully, but if you put your big cock in me perhaps that will help make it all better.’ ‘It’s worth a try,’ Craig concurred, and obligingly thrust forward.
Sophie felt his length fill her, penetrating long-unvisited depths, stretching her almost, but not quite, to the point of pain. Slipping his arms around her waist he cupped her superb breasts as, tantalisingly slowly at first, then subsequently gaining momentum, they rocked back and forth, his penis sliding in and out of her velvety grip with increasing speed until they came together.
Some time later - how long later neither of them much cared - Craig was crouched on the floor getting the film canisters ready for the processing lab.
Above him Sophie draped wantonly across an easy chair, a leg draped over each arm, her wet sex prominently on display. ‘Thanks,’ she murmured, taking the spliff from him and drawing deeply.
‘No, thank you,’ Craig replied fervently.
‘For what?’ she enquired lazily.
‘For one of the best photo shoots Hera will ever print, for a start,’ he grinned. ‘And for a quite amazing fuck, and most of all, for being you.’
‘And what will I be next time?’ Sophie asked.
‘Probably one of the usual suspects; airhostess, nurse, French maid etc. You’re going to study English, you could always write your own part.’
‘Now that,’ said Sophie happily, is a brilliant idea.
Flatmates
‘Hi Rob, it’s Julie, happy birthday.’
‘Thanks, but it’s not turning out to be that happy.’
‘Yeah, I know, I got your message on my machine. What a drag, you having to work this evening. I guess that means our celebratory dinner’s cancelled?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘What’s happening? You can’t be the only anaesthetist at the hospital, for goodness sake.’
‘It sometimes feels like it. No, the health minister’s visiting next month so they’re having some waiting list blitz.’
‘Listen, lover man, let’s see if we can snatch a little victory from the jaws of defeat. I’m not rostered on today, so why don’t I swing over before you start the late shift and give you your present in person?’
‘Now that would put a smile on my face.’
‘Oh, and to make up for our disappointment, I’ve a little surprise for you.’
‘Really, what’s that?’
‘It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, now would it? You’ll just have to be patient - oops sorry, bad pun - for an hour or two.’
Julie shared a flat on the edge of town with Carly. Nothing luxurious by any stretch of the imagination, the two bedroom top floor apartment was very much a lower rung of the property ladder, but at least it was quiet and free from drunks slumbering - or worse - in the lobby. What both had intended as a cohabitation of convenience, begun by a small add in the classifieds, had soon led to the two ‘young, professional women sharing’ becoming firm friends.
Curiously so, really, because whereas Carly was neat and tidy to the point of Freudian diagnosis, Julie existed within a maze of chaotic piles of papers and clothes. Fortunately, with the exception of Julie’s bedroom, which needed a JCB to clear a path across the floor, they managed to compromise and coexist happily in the shared spaces.
Their backgrounds couldn’t have been further apart either, but their shared attributes of strong personalities, even stronger ambition, and a shared sense of humour quickly united the middle-class graduate and the working-class girl who had made good.
In little more than nine months they’d progressed from sharing shampoo to exchanging the most intimate confidences, seeking and trusting the other’s advice, laughing and looking out for each other as only good mates can.
‘Julie, are you through in the bathroom yet?’
‘Nearly, Carly, just doing my make-up.’
‘God, girl, how long have we been here and you still haven’t bought a mirror for your room?’
‘Two years and I’m so sorry, miss, please don’t slap my wrist,’ Julie said sarcastically.
‘I’ll spank your idle bum if you don’t get a move on. Come on, quick, you’ve got a day off, I’ve got to go to work.’
‘Spanking being something you’d know all about,’ continued Julie’s voice from the bathroom.
‘Been listening through the wall again, you sad girl?’ replied Carly, completely unphased.
‘Not since you dumped poor old Colin. Shame, really; he was such a nice bloke.’
‘True,’ agreed Carly, looking at her watch and impatiently pacing the hall, ‘but never likely to be any more than that. And nice alone doesn’t hack it; he wasn’t a professional like your Rob.’
‘We can’t all be doctors,’ said Julie, emerging pristine from the bathroom at last.
‘Suppose not,’ said Carly. ‘Hey, I thought you were off duty today. Why the uniform?’
‘I’m on, erm,’ briefly Julie’s characteristic confidence deserted her and, plainly embarrassed, she flushed a bright red. ‘Erm, special duty.’
‘Oh, I get it…’ Carly nodded knowingly. ‘It’s Rob’s birthday today and that’ll be his party treat. Hope you’ve got your best lingerie on underneath.’
‘Well, yes, as a matter of fact,’ Julie mumbled, avoiding eye contact. Jeez, her flatmate could be so direct at times.
Carly giggled. ‘Come on, no need to go beetroot on me. You didn’t see me blush when you mentioned I was partial to a bit of hanky-spanky, did you? Go for it, girl. A bloke as classy as Rob is worth hanging on to. Guys love a gal in uniform, although I can’t see my junior manager’s get up at the department store lighting any fires.’ And with that ultimately incorrect prediction, Carly slid past her friend and into the bathroom.
All of which previous banter went some way to explaining why, underneath her raincoat, the shapely young WPC wore her full uniform as she walked up to the entrance of Rob’s flat. Dark blue, knee-length skirt, belted tunic and crisp white blouse with a blue and white checked bow at the throat. The front door was opened almost as soon as she rang the bell; he’d obviously been eagerly awaiting her arrival.
‘Saw you from the window,’ confirmed Rob, who’d been keeping an eye out for the last fifteen minutes, for the distinctive figure of h
is striking black girlfriend. Oh yes, WPC Christie was far from being an ordinary copper. A graduate entry high-flyer she’d every chance of going far; if she could just surmount the entrenched ignorance of some of her canteen culture saturated colleagues.
‘What part of Jamaica you from?’ an old hand had asked only the previous week.
‘Dudley,’ Julie replied firmly. Two generations ago her family had left Trinidad; an island whose rich strand of Asian heritage mingled with African antecedents - hence Julie’s distinctive good looks - but there was little point in explaining such subtleties. That was one of the great things about Rob; he was sensitive to her cultural background, but more importantly, he appreciated her for what she so demonstrably was: energetic and intelligent, sexy and strong-willed. Sometimes infuriatingly strong-willed, on occasion to the point of inflexibility, expecting to get her own way was WPC Christie’s Achilles heel.
With a perfunctory peck on the birthday boy’s lips she pressed a small, beautifully wrapped parcel into his hand and sashayed sensually past him down the hall.
Oh, oh, Rob thought, immediately recognising the signs, she had a plan.
‘First your carefully chosen, shop-bought present, and now something homemade,’ she purred. ‘Moi!’ With a twirl the raincoat was discarded and there stood an unmistakeably beautiful vision of femininity, dressed in full bottle-blue uniform. Well, almost full. ‘Woops,’ she said hurriedly, remembering the one item she’d forgotten and sinking to her haunches to pull the hat from the carrier bag she’d brought with her.
Just as she had intended, Rob was gob-smacked. This was as good as all his birthdays thus far rolled into one; he’d hinted several times that it would be great to see her in her work attire out of hours. Carly’s knowing assessment was spot on, like most blokes he’d a thing for girls in uniform, but after nearly a year of their relationship such an indulgence had seemed unlikely to ever happen. As she crouched down her blue skirt rode up to showcase perfectly sculpted thighs and a delicious hint of stocking top. His heart beat faster than ever.