Over the Knee

by Fiona Locke

  The website was englishvice.net: ‘a celebration of spanking al fresco’.

  ‘These are incredible,’ I said, clicking on another set of pictures. This one showed two girls bending over a railing with their bottoms bared. The white sails of the Sydney Opera House gleamed behind them.

  ‘I’m rather proud of that set,’ Peter said. ‘The ferry terminal was swarming with tourists.’

  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Some of the photostories were in everyday outdoor settings, but most were in highly recognisable locations – Westminster Abbey, the Arc de Triomphe, Charles Bridge in Prague.

  ‘So which one are you? The headless spanker or the photographer?’

  ‘Usually the spanker. But some were sent in by other people. I buy the really interesting ones for the website, especially if there was clearly some risk involved in getting the shots. My customers like the iconic location shots best. It’s what we’ve become known for.’

  I scrolled through the thumbnails, marvelling at some of the images. ‘Good heavens, is that Chatsworth?’ I laughed.

  ‘It’s remarkable what you can get away with in a few seconds. Though you’d be surprised at how deserted these places can be. Sometimes you can only get a single shot.’

  He stood up, offering me the chair. ‘Here, why don’t you sit down?’

  ‘No thanks. I think I’ll be more comfortable standing.’

  His eyes glittered. ‘Then I definitely want you to sit.’

  With a wince I lowered myself into the chair, the hard wooden seat making my stripes throb. I hadn’t changed out of my school uniform and the skirt was itchy and unkind to my tender skin. I could tell he enjoyed my reaction. ‘Don’t you have anything softer?’ I complained, secretly loving the sensation.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, not sorry a bit.

  ‘Where did you get the idea for the site?’

  ‘Well, I always enjoyed taking spanking pictures in interesting places. And I know a few girls willing to risk it. I travel a lot for work, you see.’

  ‘One might suspect you use the university’s travel opportunities to subsidise your pervy hobby,’ I said archly.

  ‘Quite. I’ve no doubt that’s how my employer would view it. That’s why I don’t show my face. I can’t afford to have some first-year with nothing to lose stumble on to the site and recognise me.’

  ‘Scary thought.’

  ‘Someone introduced me to a fetish photographer at a spanking party and we started the website together. His girlfriend has modelled for us a few times – Courtney.’

  I turned back to the screen, admiring a photo of a girl in school uniform touching her toes in front of one of the New York Public Library’s stone lions.

  ‘Have you ever been caught?’

  ‘Oh yes. A few times. But it’s generally just some unsuspecting tourist who blunders on to the scene. They’re usually too embarrassed to say anything. We did some nude pictures once in Yellowstone and a Japanese tour group just thought it was a glamour shoot. The men watched for a while and then started taking their own pictures.’

  I could just imagine the scene and the stories the Japanese men would be telling back home. I suppose if it looked artistic rather than pornographic most Brits or Americans would let it take its course, and watch rather than report it.

  ‘I’ve been asked to leave places too,’ Peter continued. ‘There was a pretty stroppy security guard at Downing Street with no sense of humour.’

  I laughed. ‘Does your photographer friend ever show his face?’

  Peter clicked on a group of photos taken in a vineyard. ‘That’s him – Shaun.’

  The man spanking the redheaded girl among the grapes was in his mid-thirties, with mischievous blue eyes and dark-blond hair.

  ‘You’ll like the name of the wine,’ Peter said, scrolling down to another picture, a closeup of a wine bottle.

  I couldn’t believe it. The label showed a boy bent over a man’s knee, being spanked on the bare. The name read ‘Kröver Nacktarsch’. I blinked at it and looked at Peter for help.

  ‘Bare bottom in Kröv,’ he translated. ‘Though some people claim it’s a corruption of “nectar”.’

  I shook my head in amazement. ‘How do you find these things?’

  He stood behind me, so close I could feel his breath on the back of my neck. ‘The same way I found you.’ He reached around me and opened another set of pictures. On the screen a corsetted goth girl presented herself, knickers down, against a familiar ruined abbey.

  ‘What – stalking?’

  He kept his right hand on the mouse, scrolling through the images, his arm pressing into my side. The sleeve of his schoolmaster’s gown hung nearly to the floor. ‘No. Research.’ He leant in close to me. ‘Single-minded, meticulous research.’

  It was as though he’d been out there all my life, tracking me, waiting for the right moment to catch me. The girl at the abbey arched her back as a hand connected with her bottom.

  I closed my eyes as Peter’s hand lifted from the mouse and settled on the nape of my neck. He slid his fingers up into my hair. I lowered my head, relaxing as his other hand moved around me to slip between the lapels of the blazer and squeeze my breast. I moaned a half-hearted protest and shifted in the chair. He fisted his hand in my hair and firmly pulled my head back.

  ‘I wonder …’ he mused, letting his other hand wander to my lap. ‘What is it about authority that so pushes your buttons?’

  He lowered his lips to my throat and kissed me softly, barely a touch. I shivered, but didn’t resist.

  ‘Is it the power an authority figure has over you?’

  I arched my neck into a deeper kiss and felt his teeth graze the soft skin of my neck. Trying to control my breathing, I gripped the edges of the chair.

  ‘Is it knowing you’re completely at his mercy?’

  His hand crawled over my thighs, slipping in between them. With a squeak I pressed my legs together, trapping the hand.

  ‘Perhaps,’ he continued, his lips travelling down to my shoulder, ‘it’s the security of being subject to discipline, of knowing that any naughtiness or disobedience will be punished. Severely, if need be.’

  I sucked in a breath, feeling weaker with each trigger word.

  ‘Part your legs,’ he said.

  After a moment’s hesitation I inched them apart. His hand slid up along my inner thigh and stopped at the gusset of my knickers, barely touching the cotton.

  My breathing sounded loud and laboured in my ears. He was right about the authority; I was helpless before it. I desperately wanted him to touch me, to take it further.

  He drew little circles over the damp white cotton with his fingertips, making me jump and gasp at the stimulation. With my bottom still tingling from the cane, my sex was alive in a way it had never been before.

  Peter released my hair and I bowed my head, inviting him. Both hands found their way into the blazer, peeling it open then pinning my arms with it halfway off. He dragged the crisp school shirt up out of the waistband of the skirt and began to unbutton it from the bottom. He was deliberate, exposing my skin with slow precision, inch by inch.

  His gown whispered like a co-conspirator as he exposed me, leaving the top button fastened. My tie hung absurdly over my white bra.

  ‘Of course,’ he said, his voice low and sonorous in my ear. ‘Not all authority figures are so honest.’

  With deft hands he unhooked the front closure, releasing my breasts for him to play with.

  ‘There are some who might take advantage of an innocent girl. Or a not-so-innocent girl. A prison guard, perhaps. Or a warder in a reformatory. Or even just an unscrupulous schoolmaster.’

  His fingers teased my nipples, plucking them into eager points.

  ‘A girl at the mercy of such a man might find herself across his knee for the slightest infraction. Or perhaps for no infraction at all. He might invent excuses. And he might take other liberties as well.’

  I made a hoarse little s
ound – part protest, part encouragement.

  Peter guided me up on to my feet and led me across to the bed. I sat down and sank back on to my elbows. I gazed up at the menacing schoolmaster standing over me.

  ‘Ah, yes,’ he said, his voice barely a whisper now. ‘I always wanted a girl of my own. To examine and explore. To play with and to punish.’

  Self-consciously, I pulled my shirt closed around me.

  The severe expression on his face chilled me and I looked away.

  ‘Now, now,’ he said in a tone of unsympathetic reproach. ‘I was told you were a good girl. An obedient girl. But you’re not being co-operative at all, are you?’

  Blushing furiously, I released the folds of the shirt. They fell open, partly revealing one breast.

  ‘That’s better. But I think we’ll have it all the way open, girl. Unless, of course, you want a spanking.’

  The shame was exquisite as I complied, displaying myself to him. I felt more exposed this way than if I were naked.

  ‘See? You can be a good girl when you try.’ Then, with a menacing smile, he began to unbuckle his belt. ‘And now we’ll have your knickers off.’

  I gave him a pleading look. I wanted it. I was ready. But I didn’t want it to be consensual. I wanted him to force me. ‘Please, no,’ I whispered.

  Holding it by the buckle, he drew the belt slithering through the loops. It slapped free and he dangled it threateningly above me. ‘Knickers off, girl,’ he growled. ‘Unless you want a dose of this.’

  I melted into helpless submission, my tremulous fingers barely able to accomplish the task. I slipped the soft white cotton down to my knees and hesitated. Peter raised his eyebrows and began to double the belt. Hurriedly, I kicked them off and stared up at him, fearful and exhilarated.

  He unzipped his trousers and pushed them down, revealing his hard cock. With the loop of leather he gestured for me to move further back on to the bed. I complied, knowing I didn’t want to feel the sting of his belt over the still-aching cane strokes. I lay back, staring wide eyed at my tormentor, the evil schoolmaster who was about to take me.

  His lips curled in a cruel grin as he lifted my skirt and knelt above me. The gown fell about him like a cape and I felt trapped, as though in the thrall of a vampire. Peter nudged my legs apart with his knee and I opened myself to him, as I covered my face with my hands.

  But he wasn’t letting me off that easily. ‘Hands above your head, girl.’

  I obeyed the soft-spoken command, gripping the wrought-iron bars of the headboard. He never raised his voice.

  He stared at the smooth pale skin above my sex with approval. Then, with surprising roughness, he thrust his hand between my legs, making me gasp. His fingers probed and explored me proprietarily and I was scarlet with shame at the copious wetness I couldn’t hide.

  ‘My, my,’ he said. ‘Such a dirty little girl.’

  In a husky voice I barely recognised as my own I offered one last feeble protest.

  But he merely laughed – a low throaty villainous laugh. He withdrew his hand and pressed the head of his cock against my sex. He kept it there, pushing gently, but not penetrating me. The tension was unbearable. And he knew it. He wanted to torture me. But not by making me ask for it.

  I couldn’t stand it any longer and I abandoned myself entirely to the fantasy.

  ‘No, please,’ I begged, pushing him away. ‘Stop!’

  He caught my wrists and pinned them down on either side of my head. I struggled, using all my strength to yank and pull. But he was too strong. The realisation made my sex throb with desperate excruciating need.

  ‘Oh no,’ he said in a gruff voice. ‘You’re not going anywhere.’

  I strained against him to reassure myself of my defencelessness. He could do anything he wanted to me.

  At last he plunged himself inside me, making me cry out. I continued to fight him, but I knew I could never escape.

  He lowered his mouth to my ear and whispered threateningly as he thrust into me again and again.

  ‘You’re here to be punished, girl, and I’m going to see to it that you are. Severely. I have all the time in the world. And as soon as I’ve had my fun with you I’m going to put you over my knee and smack your bottom.’

  I melted into aching compliance at his words.

  ‘Or perhaps,’ he continued. ‘Another caning is what you need to teach you a lesson. Or a sound paddling. No, it’s no good resisting. That’s only going to earn you more punishment. You’re going to be a good girl and do whatever I say. Unless you want to feel my cane across your tender little bottom.’

  He moved inside me with rough slow strokes, and each deep thrust wrenched a gasp from me.

  ‘I’ve heard stories about you, girl. Always trying to get special treatment. I think I’ll throw a little party and let the guards take turns whipping you. And when your bottom and thighs are a nice shade of red we’ll pass you around. You’ll be our little plaything, to use as we want. And, if you’re naughty and you disobey us, we’ll punish you again. Oh yes, we’ll teach you some discipline, my girl.’

  I had never been so aroused in my life. The fantasy made the physical stimulation almost irrelevant. My breathing grew rapid and frantic as his thrusts became more violent. The hands that gripped my wrists were trembling with the effort of holding me down and my arm muscles were beginning to ache. I wrapped my legs around him tightly, urging him deeper, harder, rougher, until I felt the spasms inside me begin to grow and swell. The pleasure expanded until it consumed me and every nerve in my body was screaming for release. I clamped my legs tighter as the climax swept me under in a surging blissful wave and my body leapt and bucked beneath him.

  His own climax followed mine and he emptied himself into me in sharp hot jets, panting and lowering his head to my heaving sweaty chest. I didn’t think I would ever stop tingling.

  I moved in the next week and he introduced me to Shaun and Courtney. Of course, I’d already met Courtney. In a way.

  Ten

  THE NORTH CAROLINA night was intolerably hot and sticky. It was definitely a night to be inside drinking and watching half-naked girls writhing on brass poles.

  Courtney Somerville’s ID claimed she was twenty-one, but she was only seventeen. The club would never have hired her if they’d known, but they were unlikely to find out until after she was legal. Her birthday was only a few days away, after all. What was the big deal? She couldn’t wait to be an adult, to be free of the stifling rules and restrictions. All her friends had tried to talk her out of it, but Courtney had stuck to her guns. It was the nicest club in Durham and she would be perfectly safe. She’d have a blast and make some money and celebrate her birthday in style.

  She checked her reflection for the hundredth time, fluffing her frothy mess of auburn hair and debating whether she needed more lipstick. She’d never worn so much makeup in her life and she couldn’t be sure if she was overdoing it. She frowned at her chest and bent forwards, moulding her breasts into a more satisfactory cleavage. The red sequinned bustier was slightly too big for her and it kept slipping down. Probably no big deal, since she’d be taking it off soon enough. But she didn’t want to fall out of it before it was time. The matching thong and hotpants were incredibly uncomfortable and she was sure she’d have a rash from all the scratchy sequins.

  ‘You look fine, sugar,’ Celeste said. ‘Quit fussing already.’

  ‘But I’m so nervous,’ Courtney protested. ‘Can’t you get me a drink?’

  Celeste sighed. ‘It’s just stage fright. You’ll be fine once you’re out there.’

  ‘I know, but I need something now. Just a shot of tequila?’

  ‘You don’t want to go on stage drunk.’

  ‘Oh, please, it takes more than one shot to get me drunk!’

  Tutting to indicate that she was going against her better judgement, Celeste gave in. ‘All right. But just one. That has to be the worst fake ID I’ve ever seen and there are a million other waitresses who ca
n take my place if I get fired.’

  ‘Oh, thank you!’ Courtney gushed, throwing her arms around Celeste.

  While she waited for her drink she listened to the pounding bass as Tori danced to Nine Inch Nails. Courtney peeked through the curtain to watch. This girl had obviously been dancing for years. Swinging around the brass pole, climbing it and clamping her thighs around it to hang upside down … Courtney wasn’t going to attempt anything like that. Not until she got some experience anyway. Celeste had assured her that her youth and good looks were far more important than any artistic talent, but it was still a performance to Courtney and she wanted to do her best.

  Celeste returned with her drink. ‘Here you go, girl. It’s a double, so go easy. Dan’s in a good mood tonight.’

  Courtney gratefully took the glass. Then she downed half of it, grimacing as the liquid fire scorched its way down her tender throat to smoulder in her stomach.

  Celeste shook her head. ‘Girl, if you kill yourself in those heels, don’t come cryin’ to me.’

  ‘I won’t,’ Courtney said, rolling her eyes. The five-inch stilettos were a challenge, but she was used to dancing at nightclubs and parties.

  ‘Well, good luck to you,’ Celeste said, leaving the girl alone in the dressing room.

  Tori came off the stage, her sleek toned body gleaming with sweat.

  ‘You were amazing,’ Courtney said. ‘I wish I could dance like that.’

  Tori grinned as she plucked dollar bills out of her thong. ‘Thanks, kid. Be sure and play to the frat boys on the right side of the stage. They’re wasted and feeling very generous.’

  ‘Thanks!’

  Suddenly the DJ poked his head into the room. ‘You Courtney?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’re up. You got a stage name?’