Bare, White and Rosy

by Penny Birch

  Nine

  I MADE A hasty, and drunken, plan, intending to tell Earle I was going out for a breath of fresh air and then sneaking across to the dormitory block. Rhiannon had been on duty for at least six hours, maybe longer, so surely had to get off soon. I’d meet her and her friends in the courtyard as if by accident, get her alone in her room, tease her out of her clothes, suck her pretty little breasts, spank her gorgeous bottom, have her return the favour, go down on her and finish off queened on her face with her tongue well in up my bumhole . . .

  ‘How about an early night, Natasha?’

  It was Earle, breaking into my fantasy and destroying it with a single remark. I could hardly refuse, and as I was led from the room I tried to console myself that at least I was going to get a good fucking. We passed a group of which Anton Yoshida was part and I stuck my nose in the air, but there was no escaping the amused disdain of his expression and I found myself blushing as we climbed the stairs. He knew Earle and I were going to bed, and it was pretty obvious we’d be having sex too. I could imagine what he’d be thinking, about me getting it the way he’d suggested, with my tits out while I milked Earle all over them – my fat, white, Anglo-Saxon breasts, as he’d called them. Exhausted, Earle would fall asleep, and I would sneak over to the Louis Quatorze suite, where I’d be made to strip nude, tied up in some awkward and humiliating position, beaten, penetrated and spunked on, before he went to fetch M. Blanquefort and a few others for the real show.

  It wasn’t going to happen, it just couldn’t, and yet I wanted it, all of it, too drunk and vulnerable to pretend otherwise. I told myself I’d go to Rhiannon instead, but suddenly the thought of her sweet, inexperienced caresses seemed inadequate beside the horrible fantasy Anton Yoshida had planted in my mind. My only hope was that Earle would keep me busy, and he was at least eager, fumbling for his fly even as he closed the door of our suite behind him. I bounced down on the bed, watching as he produced his cock and balls, just the way he had done earlier, with everything hanging out but his trousers still done up.

  ‘How would you like me?’ I teased, hoping to slow him down a little and make it last at least long enough to let me come and get some of the awful thoughts out of my head.

  ‘Wide open, honey,’ he told me, pushing his cock at my mouth.

  ‘OK, but not for too long,’ I replied.

  Just in time, I stopped myself explaining, realising that he almost certainly wasn’t the sort of man who would get off on knowing that the girl who was about to take his precious cock in her mouth had sucked so many men off during the last week that her jaw still ached. He knew I was no angel, but like most of his sex he appreciated experience while wanting innocence. I took him in as deep as I could, trying to concentrate on the cock in my mouth instead of imagining myself in tight bondage as I was mounted from the rear, with a dozen Oriental businessmen laughing at my plight and placing bets on which of my two well-lubricated holes would be used.

  ‘That’s good,’ Earle sighed, rescuing me from my nightmare. ‘You are one beautiful little cocksucker.’

  Earlier in the day, when we’d parked in the woods, his remark would have worked on me well, making me feel small and dirty at the same time; a compliment, in a sense, and yet implying that all I’m good for is my looks and my ability to get men off in my mouth. Now it was wholly inadequate, because Anton Yoshida had already made me feel tiny, while what he’d threatened me with went far beyond merely sucking cock, which just about everybody does after all. Earle was nearly stiff anyway, and I was going to get fucked, hard and rough, but it just wouldn’t be enough, or so I thought until Earle rescued me with a single question.

  ‘OK, I’m ready. On your knees with you, and tell me how your uncle spanks you while we do it.’

  It was as if he’d flicked a switch. Suddenly what Percy had said came back to me, and the full extent of my filthy fantasies earlier that day, so dirty it made me choke to think of it. Now I could get off the way I like to, over something truly filthy: not some tepid piece of sex anybody might have, but something that would make my supposedly liberated friends go pale. I bounced over on the bed, exhibiting my bottom beneath the deep red satin of my evening dress, with my back pulled in tight and my knees a little apart to make myself as enticing as possible for him.

  ‘You’re a bastard, Earle, but OK, I will, if that’s what you want. First . . . first he tells me off, when I’ve been naughty, and . . . and if I complain and tell him it’s not right he always says the same thing. He says he’s my uncle, and he has a right to spank me, and that it doesn’t matter that I’m grown up, because I’m still a naughty girl and I still need to be spanked, spanked regularly, and spanked on my bare bottom. He always get me bare-bottom, always. He bends me across his knee and he pulls down my trousers or lifts up my dress. Like this, Earle, watch.’

  He didn’t need telling, his eyes bulging as I reached back, raising one knee at a time to lift my dress, showing my nylon-clad thighs and the soft ring of flesh above my stocking tops, my straining suspender straps and the seat of my red satin knickers pulled taut over my bulging cheeks. His hand was on his cock, wanking furiously as I exposed myself.

  ‘Always bare-bottom,’ I repeated, my voice now husky with my own emotion. ‘He always gets me bare-bottom. It doesn’t matter now much I plead. It doesn’t matter how much I kick and wriggle and howl. It doesn’t even matter if I cry. He says bad girls have to go bare-bottom, so my knickers come down, every time . . . every time, Earle, at my age, a grown woman, and this is what he shows off, Earle.’

  I’d put my thumbs in the waistband of my panties and, as I spoke, I’d begun to ease them down, ever so slowly exposing my bottom, the top of my crease, the fullness of my cheeks, the rude, dark star of my bumhole, the pouted shape of my pussy lips and the wetness between, and, of course, my cane welts.

  ‘Jesus!’ he breathed.

  ‘I know,’ I sobbed. ‘The last time he caned me. He took me across his knee and pulled my panties down the way he always does, and spanked me, spanked my bare bottom until I was all pink and hot, and crying too. But he still said it wasn’t enough, so he made me touch my toes, still with my bottom all bare, and he caned me, my own uncle.’

  I burst into tears, overcome by my own story, for all that it was completely made up. He should have felt guilty, maybe he did, but that didn’t stop him. He was growling curses as he climbed on to the bed, his cock in his hand as he got into position behind me. I felt his helmet push at my flesh, against one thigh, then on target and up me. The breath was driven from my body as my pussy filled and he began to pump into me, furiously hard, and as he rode me he slapped my bottom.

  ‘Christ, what a bastard!’ he gasped. ‘What a bastard, but you know . . . you know, I can’t say I blame him, not with a niece like you, ’cause if ever a girl needed spanking it’s you, Natasha . . . spanking and fucking, and, by God, am I the man to do it!’

  All the while he’d been pushing into me so hard that it took all my concentration to brace myself and take it, but I needed to come and what he’d said was just right. If I’d been his niece he’d have spanked me and fucked me, which was exactly what he was doing. I imagined myself as before, his innocent niece, only not seduced into taking his cock in her hand and then fucked when he got carried away, but spanked for being a naughty girl and then mounted on her hot bottom because he couldn’t resist her.

  It was perfect, or it would have been if he hadn’t suddenly paused to grab his hat from the side table where he’d put it earlier. He began to beat me with it, slapping my hip and bottom as he thrust into me, breaking my fantasy of a hand-spanking over his knee followed by a rough, uncontrolled fucking. I’d still have made it, as soon as I’d got my hand to my pussy, but he went off at a tangent, shrieking and slapping my bottom with his hat as he fucked me.

  ‘Ride ’em cowboy!’ he yelled. ‘Oh yeah, this is the way, on your knees and whupped like some crazy bronco!’

  My fantasy disintegrated, and I’d
have burst into giggles if he hadn’t been jamming himself in and out of me so hard I was fighting for breath. I reached back, still determined to try and get myself off, but his next thrust knocked me sideways. His cock slipped out, was very nearly jammed up my unlubricated bottom hole, slid between my cheeks instead and erupted a fountain of spunk all over my expensive satin evening dress. I collapsed on the bed, feeling thoroughly put upon as he finished himself off over my bottom and into my knickers, still whooping with delight and gibbering about cowboys and broncos.

  I suppose I should have found it thoroughly humiliating, both to be referred to as a horse and to have my clothes spunked all over, but I’d been too focused on my own fantasy. Unfortunately, he was straddling my legs, pinning me to the bed, making it impossible for me to masturbate. By the time he got off I’d given up, intending to wait until he’d recovered and have him spank me while I brought myself off.

  He wasn’t going to do that while my bottom was sticky with spunk, and I was keen to save my dress, so I skipped into the bathroom and quickly cleaned up. As I did so I was sorting out my fantasy in my head, wondering if it would be best to carry on as before or try and mix in his cowboy fetish, perhaps imagining myself as a girl spanked by her uncle at a rodeo, perhaps in front of the men she’d been flirting with to earn her punishment.

  It would have worked too, but when I came out of the bathroom Earle was in bed, snoring gently. I threw my dirty knickers at him in frustration, but they fell short, leaving me standing there boiling with frustration and rising worry. Earle had come over me and immediately fallen asleep, just as Anton Yoshida had predicted, except that it was my bum rather than my tits he’d spunked over. Now all I had to do was walk across the passage to the Louis Quatorze suite and I’d get what I needed: roped, abused, fucked . . .

  I was not going to do it, but I was going to get my fun, with Rhiannon. With my jaw set firm I pulled on a fresh pair of panties and my coat and slipped my mobile into my pocket in case I was locked out. Then I let myself into the passage. People were still up and I could hear a faint buzz of voices and laughter coming from the direction of the stairs. I had no wish to be seen, especially by Yoshida, who for all I knew was still up, and going into his room to wait for him would have been even more humiliating than finding him ready. I went the other way instead, along the passage to where a smaller staircase led me down to the ground floor. I came out near the kitchens, and let myself out of the scullery door into the main courtyard.

  The night was cold, and my breath showed in the air where an old-fashioned lamp illuminated the back door. My shoes crunched on the frosted gravel. Doubts had begun to assail me. Maybe she didn’t want me at all, at least not sexually, and while she had told me where she was staying she hadn’t actually invited me to come over, especially not around midnight. If she did want me, maybe she’d be horrified by the sort of filthy fantasies I need to explore in order to get off. Yet I had to try.

  Her dormitory block was easy to locate, a modern two-storey building next to the château’s cellars, or chai, and half hidden by trees. Some of the lights were still on, but as I approached the door I saw that not only was it covered by a CCTV camera but it opened to a code pressed into an intercom panel. I hesitated, wondering if a late-night visit from a guest would get her into trouble. On the one hand they’d had her running around half the night showing her legs off to a load of middle-aged businessmen, who were sure to make passes at her, and she had invited me to come over. On the other, Southern and Allied seemed to be pretty strict with their employees and I knew she wasn’t supposed to talk to guests while at work. More importantly, if I was caught on camera M. Blanquefort might find out, and possibly even Anton Yoshida or Earle.

  I decided not to risk it and went around the back, carefully avoiding the camera. The windows were quite high, out of my reach, the curtains closed, so I couldn’t see in at all. She’d said she was in room two, which was probably the first window on the right, so once again I hesitated, before deciding that if I got the wrong girl I’d just have to ask. I picked up some gravel and threw it at the window, and after a moment of agonising suspense the curtain was drawn back and a face appeared. Rhiannon.

  ‘Hi,’ I whispered, my voice thick with embarrassment. ‘It’s me, Natasha. Can I come in, please?’

  She glanced down, more nervous and shy than ever, then shook her head. A rush of disappointment hit me, so strong it made me feel sick, but then she spoke, in an urgent hiss.

  ‘I wish you could.’

  She wanted me. I tried not to giggle as my sick disappointment vanished under a wave of euphoria.

  ‘We’re not allowed visitors after six,’ she explained, ‘and there’s CCTV over the front door and in the passage.’

  ‘What is this, Colditz?’

  ‘Something like that, and my contract says I’m not to do anything that might bring Southern and Allied into disrepute, which includes shagging.’

  ‘I’m not going to shag you, although I would if I had the equipment.’

  She giggled, removing the last shred of doubt from my mind.

  ‘Help me up,’ I demanded, reaching up.

  ‘I can’t, I share my room! Evaline’s in the bathroom.’

  ‘Will she mind?’

  Rhiannon burst into giggles.

  ‘Of course she’ll mind!’

  I shrugged, more than happy to accommodate Evaline, who was presumably one of the other waitresses. Rhiannon spoke again.

  ‘I’ll come down. She won’t tell on me.’

  I was going to object, but she was already climbing out and I saw that she was still in her waitress outfit, allowing me to see all the way up her skirt as she swung one pretty leg out of the window. I tried to help, and the thrill as I touched her flesh made my throat tight with desire, especially when I tried to take her weight and her thigh and the curve of her bottom pressed to my face. At that moment she lost her grip and dropped the last couple of feet. I tried to catch her, fell over and we collapsed in a giggling heap on the frost-covered grass. The feel of her in my arms was too much and I kissed her, my hand slipping down under her tiny skirt to cup one resilient bottom cheek as our mouths opened together. I would have had her, right there, but she pulled away, speaking in a hoarse whisper.

  ‘We’ll get caught, Natasha, and it’s bloody freezing!’

  ‘Well, if you were dressed properly,’ I joked and slapped her bottom.

  She gave a little purr, and after that I’d have had her even if Anton Yoshida, M. Blanquefort and the Great Dane had all turned up together. I tugged her bodice down, baring small upturned breasts, her nipples straining to erection in the cold air. She squeaked and giggled but pulled away once more, protesting.

  ‘Natasha, not here! Let’s go to your room.’

  ‘We can’t . . . unless you fancy letting Earle Hayes join in?’

  ‘You’re with a man?’

  ‘Yes,’ I began, and stopped, embarrassed to admit my companion was almost twice my age. ‘Never mind him, though, it’s you I want. I don’t know, maybe he won’t wake up, or maybe he can watch?’

  She gave me her shy smile and shook her head. Like me she was drunk and horny, but not enough to go for what might be her first lesbian encounter in front of a strange man.

  ‘We have to go somewhere,’ I pointed out.

  Her response was an urgent nod and to set off along the side of the dormitory block, beckoning me to follow. We came to a gateway, let into the high stone wall of the chai. The rusty gate stood open, and a pathway led among old stone buildings, creating a confusing patchwork of angular shadows and splashes of dim light. Rhiannon took my hand and drew me to one of the buildings and in at a door. As it closed behind us she switched on a light, revealing a windowless room, evidently a disused part of the chai, to judge by the rusty, cobwebbed wine-making equipment at one end. Nearer to us were chairs and a table with an empty mug, a used ashtray and a French magazine on it. An old-fashioned gas stove warmed the room.

&
nbsp; ‘Some of us come here to cadge cigarettes off the lorry drivers,’ Rhiannon explained in a whisper. ‘And other things.’

  I could well imagine it. The air was warm and smelt of strong cigarettes and male sweat. No doubt the drivers were more than happy to entertain the girls from the dormitory, and to keep their indiscretions secret. I was already picturing the two of us kneeling on chairs, kissing and playing with each other as half a dozen men took turns with us from behind, something I very much doubted she could have coped with.

  ‘What if they come back?’ I asked.

  ‘No lorries, no drivers,’ she pointed out.

  I was going to ask why the stove was on, but she was smiling and beckoning me forward again. At the other end of the room, half concealed by the old machinery, there was a door, and beyond it a storeroom, empty except for some old bottles and cans and a big, stained mattress. She closed the door, slid a bolt home and we were alone.

  ‘Neat, huh?’ she giggled. ‘A lot of the girls come here to . . .’

  She went suddenly quiet and looked down, once more unsure of herself. All we had to see by was the faint light coming in through a big keyhole and under the door, but I could imagine her pretty face and the shy look that turned me on so much. I took her in my arms to guide her gently down on to the mattress, kissing her and stroking her skin. She responded as before, unsure what to do but making no effort to stop me as I gently eased her bodice down over her breasts and tucked up her skirt to get her bare behind. I could feel her shivering, no longer with cold but with apprehension, but her mouth was open under mine and she had allowed one hand to sneak down to the curve of my bottom.

  I needed more, far more – urgent, rude, filthy sex, with fingers and tongues up pussies and in bumholes – but I forced myself to hold back, kissing and exploring until she’d begun to sigh and cling to me in her rising pleasure. Only then did I take down her knickers, easing her out of them and gently spreading her thighs. She gave a little, abandoned sob as her legs parted, perhaps as much in surrender as in pleasure, but there was no doubting the ecstasy of her sigh as my tongue found her pussy. I added a pair of fingers, meaning to penetrate her while I licked her out, but she went suddenly stiff.