by Penny Birch
It never hurt, my bottom warming to the point at which I was pushing it up for more, long before she’d started to use any real force. Even then she kept her pace steady, bringing me gradually higher until my glowing cheeks and the heat in my pussy had become the focus of my existence. Only then did she swap hands, slipping one between my thighs to cup my pussy and using the other to spank and to touch, pinching me and tickling my bumhole until I was wriggling with excitement and sobbing with pleasure.
She never said a word, concentrating on my bottom and pussy until at last her careful touches tipped me over the edge. I felt my orgasm building up, wave after wave of pleasure to the same rhythm as the smacks on my bottom and the rubbing of her fingers on my clit, faster, and faster still, finally exploding in my head so hard it made every muscle in my body lock tight and force a scream of ecstasy from my lips. And in that instant, nothing else seemed to matter but being over my auntie’s knee with my bottom well smacked, followed by the sense of blissful wellbeing as I came down, purring with satisfaction and completely happy.
I stayed in that position for ages, until she finally eased me upright and into her arms, holding me as I sat straddled across her knees, still bare-bottomed as we hugged and kissed. When her tongue pushed at my lips I let it happen, telling myself it was no worse than letting her spank me or lick her pussy. But with our mouths open together and our tongues entwined I felt I’d revived the intimacy that had grown up between us in America.
Chapter Six
Penny’s visit left me feeling a lot happier about myself but a lot less sure about what I was doing. She’d repeated her offer for me to come and live with her, and I could see the sense in her argument. On the other hand I was enjoying being a maid, especially the prospect of lots of money and lots of male attention, female too. She was still there when Morris rang to say that Mr Morozov wanted a one-to-one with me and was prepared to pay handsomely. I couldn’t resist the offer and accepted, but the look on Penny’s face left me burning with guilt. She’d never been able to accept the idea of sex for money, which always seems to me to be just like any other service, so it was no use trying to explain. Knowing what I’d be doing that evening didn’t make her kiss any less warm when she said goodbye either, but she did try to persuade me to come with her. I declined but promised to think about it, but even the lump in my throat as I watched her little red car disappear up the drive wasn’t enough to change my mind.
Mr Morozov was due at six and I was to be his personal maid for the evening, dressed in my kinky uniform and serving in the Honeymoon Suite. I knew more or less what to expect, but he had been very cruel with me, taking no nonsense when I was on his cock and utterly indifferent to my plight both while Mel was paddling me and afterwards in the bathroom. That was frightening, because until I’d lost control and stuck my hand between my legs, he couldn’t have known I was enjoying myself. Also, Morris had told me only to use my stop word if I felt I had no choice, and that my pay would depend on my performance.
Mr Hegedus knew what was going on and I could tell he was jealous, but it was his wife who was in charge, hustling me to get ready and making sure none of the ordinary guests saw me in my sexy uniform. She even took me up to the room, holding me by my arm as if she was sure I’d try and make a break for it, but the really scary moment came when we were inside the Honeymoon Suite. It was already immaculate, with flowers and a bowl of fruit set out, a bottle of champagne chilling in a wine bucket and two glasses beside it, making me wonder if he wanted to spank me or seduce me, until she spoke up. ‘This won’t be easy, Jemima, but you must do as you are told and everything will be OK. Make sure you are busy about the room when he comes in, and address him respectfully, as Mr Morozov, or sir. Now give me a hug.’
She folded me in her arms as she spoke, crushing me to her massive breasts until I was sure she was going to crack my ribs, then kissed me and let me go. I was sure she had a tear in one eye as she hurried from the room, and she’d never shown me any affection at all before that moment, so I was left wondering what Mr Morozov was going to do to me. After all, this was the woman who had watched her husband give me a public, bare-bottom spanking with contempt, and now she was behaving like an exceptionally emotional brothel madam giving a virgin to a client.
I still had a few minutes to wait, and spent them searching the room in case he had any sinister devices. There was nothing more suspicious than a tube of lubricating jelly in the bathroom cupboard, but I found that more puzzling than reassuring, although I was sure there were plenty of things he could do with his hands and his cock. When I heard footsteps in the corridor outside I only just managed to get into position in time, standing by the door with my feet together and my hands behind my back. He came in, looked me up and down, then shrugged off the enormous fur coat he was wearing; not like the sort of thing you might expect to see in a fancy shop, but thick and shaggy.
‘Brown bear,’ he explained. ‘I shot it myself. Hang it up.’
‘Yes, Mr Morozov, sir,’ I answered and hasten to obey.
‘Good. Serve me champagne.’
He sat down in one of the armchairs, waiting patiently while I dealt with the coat, opened the bottle and poured a glass. I made an effort to bend properly, showing off my froufrous behind and what little cleavage I had, but he took no notice whatsoever, sniffing at the champagne and taking a reflective sip before addressing me again.
‘I am told you are an obedient girl?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘But you disobeyed Mrs Rathwell, why?’
I’d thought he was playing a game with me, and didn’t expect to be asked anything more complicated than whether I liked it up the bum, so took a moment to reply.
‘Um ... I wanted her to punish me ... to have something to really punish me for, that is ... sir.’
‘And did you feel that her punishment was fair?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Truly?’
‘Um ... no, obviously not. I mean, come on! Sorry, sir.’
He made a harsh sound from somewhere deep in his throat which might just possibly have been a laugh. ‘But you accepted it?’ he asked. ‘Why?’
‘It was what I wanted,’ I told him. ‘No, not that exactly, but for her to push my limits.’
‘For her to push your limits. I see. And you enjoyed what she did?’
‘Yes ... yes, sir.’
‘But not just because it gave her pleasure?’
‘Not just, no.’
‘So you are not a natural slave?’
‘No.’
‘But you are a natural slut?’
Even with him about to use me for some peculiar kink the question gave me a jolt and there was a catch in my voice as I answered. ‘Yes, I suppose so. Yes, sir.’
The hard line of his mouth flickered into what might have been a smile. ‘Go to the bed. Climb on and place the bolster in the middle.’
‘Yes, sir.’
I obeyed, making sure he got a good show of the seat of my froufrous and I crawled across the huge bed to pull the bolster out from beneath the covers. It was long, and so thick that once I was over it my bum would be stuck high in the air, the perfect position for a whipping, but as I put it in place he spoke again. ‘Along the bed, not across. Now climb onto it.’
An expression I’d heard came to mind as I adjusted the bolster, “kissing the gunner’s daughter”, an old naval term for a whipping delivered with the victim straddling the barrel of a cannon. My tummy was fluttering badly for the thought of what I was about to get as I climbed onto the bolster, my knees well apart, my pussy spread onto the firm, rounded surface, my skirts puffed up at the rear to show off the seat of my froufrous.
‘A little further back, until your cunt is sticking out over the end of the bolster.’
Again I obeyed, wriggling down the bed a little way to make myself available not just for whipping, but for fucking as well. I was wondering what he’d use, some vicious little whip maybe, or a riding crop, but
there was no doubt in my mind what he was going to do: thrash me and fuck me doggy style with my hurt bottom showing to his cock.
He stood up, and pushed a hand into his jacket pocket to pull out a hank of coloured rope. Coming to the bed, he ordered me to stay still and began to tie me in place, attaching one trembling limb after another to the four solid posts until I was helpless, strapped in place with my arms stretched out and my legs wide open. I could kick and wriggle, which was probably something he would enjoy, but I had no way of protecting my bottom or of closing my legs.
With one swift movement he tugged my froufrous down as far as they’d go on my spread thighs, leaving my pussy agape and my bumhole showing. I turned my head, to find him watching me thoughtfully, his cruel mouth now twisted up to one side, his grey eyes fixed on my open bottom.
‘A very pretty bottom. A very pretty cunt too. Yes, you will do very well. Are you naturally bald?’
‘Yes, sir,’ I lied, sure he’d prefer to think of my hairless pussy that way.
‘A very pretty cunt,’ he repeated. ‘A picture, I think.’
‘Like this?’
‘Of course, why not?’
‘Well, I ... OK, but can I have copies please?’
He laughed, his icy reserve finally giving way at the thought of me wanting images of my own humiliation and punishment.
‘Yes, why not,’ he said. ‘It will be amusing for you to see, later.’
It seemed an odd way of putting things, but then he was Russian. I pulled my back in as he extracted a small digital camera from the pocket of his bear skin coat, sticking my bottom up to give him a good show. He took several pictures, including close-ups of my spread pussy, popped my tits out of my bodice and pinched my nipples to make them stiff, then took several more. When he finally put the camera down it was to pull the case off a pillow, which he put over my head and tied off behind my neck, leaving me unable to see. Again the camera began to click and my excitement and apprehension was rising fast as I thought of how I’d look, tied and hooded, mounted on the bolster with my hips stuck high, my uniform interfered with to leave my tits and bum and pussy flaunted and vulnerable.
I was scared too, of the pain of what I was sure would be a severe whipping, but I wanted it, and to be fucked. That was what I was going to get, for certain, because when he’d finally had enough of photographing me he went into the bathroom, and a moment later I felt the cold, slippery sensation of lubricating jelly as he squirted the contents of the tube all over my pussy and up my hole. I felt it go in, and squeeze out again, dribbling slowly down my sex and falling into my lowered froufrous, but there was still plenty left; enough to ease my passage for something a lot bigger than a man’s cock, a thought which had me wriggling in my bonds.
He took a few more photographs, mainly of my lubed-up pussy, and then simply left the room, or at least pretended to leave the room. All I knew for certain was that he’d opened and closed the door, so I couldn’t be sure that he wasn’t standing behind me, perhaps with some vicious little implement in his hand, watching my cheeks twitch and my anus wink in rising fear, before finally lashing me across my naked, helpless bottom. Nothing happened. Gradually my feelings of panic and insecurity began to ebb, leaving me with an odd sense of peace, almost detachment.
His entry into my cunt was so sudden, so unexpected, that I didn’t realise what he’d done to me at first. I felt a tongue between my cheeks, lapping at my bumhole; an instant later his weight was on my back, squashing me down onto the bolster as he thrust his cock deep up me. They must have heard my scream of shock downstairs, and I jerked backwards, but it was too late. His cock was already up me, right in, and it felt too good to resist, too dirty. I was helpless anyway, being fucked at a furious pace, his erection jamming in and out of my open, slippery hole so fast and hard it knocked the breath from my body; set me gasping and panting, my fingers clutching at the coverlet and my feet kicking in the ropes that held me so firmly in place.
I just took it, because I had no option; was fucked hard with his fur tickling my back and his belly slapping on my bottom. It felt weird too, not like a normal fuck, with his balls slapping on my open sex with every thrust, like having my pussy spanked, and the moment he’d got his rhythm I knew I was going to come. I couldn’t help it; not solely for the sensation of his cock in my hole and his heavy, leathery scrotum slapping on my cunt, but also for his weight on my back, the way he was holding me by my legs, the tickling of his fur on my bum and my thighs, even his rhythmic panting as he fucked me. All of it came together to produce a long, hard orgasm, making me cry out once more, only not in shock and horror, but in shame-filled ecstasy.
As I came down I managed to call him a bastard. But he took no notice, still pumping away merrily up my hole, but slower now with his meat withdrawing to the mouth of my sex after every thrust. I was too slippery and too far gone to even try to stop it happening. Then up it went deep again, the full, fat bulge; bloating my cunt to make me scream into the pillow case covering my head. The pumping stopped, and the full bulk of his meat was held in deep, the mouth of my pussy agape on thick, hard, male flesh.
I’d barely come down from my orgasm and I was still panting from being so full, and from shock too. So was he, and he’d begun to move again, his meat tugging the mouth of my straining cunt, back and forth, to set me moaning and sobbing. I could guess he was coming, his spunk pumping into my body with every short little thrust, and I wondered just how long he was going to stay on my back. It was only then that I heard the faint click of the camera and realised we were being photographed.
‘You bastard!’ I repeated, my voice weak with reaction. ‘You utter bastard!’
‘It’s good though, isn’t it?’
I could only nod in response, unable to deny the truth, not when he’d seen me come. He gave his harsh little laugh and his hand touched the knot behind my head, loosening it to allow him to tug the pillow case up a little, uncovering my mouth. Something firm and round pressed to my lips, his cock. I took him in, sucking willingly enough as I imagined how I’d look in the pictures, only for the motion of my head bobbing up and down to dislodge the pillow case. Then I’d found for real exactly how I would look.
The rush of shame and excitement was so strong I’d have come again with just a touch to my pussy. I began to suck more eagerly, taking him deep and nuzzling my chin against his balls, now keen to say thank you for what he’d done to me. He took me by my pony-tail to force himself deeper still, his knob wedging into my throat to make me gag and jerk as he had before. I tried my best to accommodate him, even as he began to wank on what little of his shaft was still sticking out of my mouth with his hand knocking on my nose and lips with every tug.
My eyes had started to pop and I was sure I was going to be sick on his cock when he suddenly jerked it free, pulling frantically at his shaft and calling me something in Russian that had to be filthy. I gaped wide, deliberately offering him my mouth to spunk into, but when he came it was so violent that most of it went in my hair, with two thick streamers down my face as well. Only then did he stick it back in my mouth to make me suck and swallow what was left.
Finished, he gave a long, happy sigh and stood away from the bed, grinning openly. Picking up his camera once more, he took a few more shots, laughing at the sight of my spunk-soiled face and sulky pout, before he went behind for some close-ups of my rear view. At last he sat down, poured himself another glass of champagne and relaxed back as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
‘What about me?’ I asked.
‘Nature must take its course,’ he said.
I made a face, trying to look as if I was resigned to my fate, but really quite enjoying myself. It was just so unspeakably rude; a defiance of everything prudish and boring and dull, to be lying there, tied and helpless, my face smeared with my tormentor’s spunk and my pussy stretched to the limit from my humping. I was even wishing he’d had a go up my bum, although for some reason that didn’t feel as bad, as if it
had to be my cunt for my violation to be complete.
‘And now, I think, we are done,’ Mr Morozov said, and it was over, as suddenly as it had began, my empty pussy now dribbling a mixture of lubricant and spunk into my froufrous.
He came across to me and smacked my bottom, not hard, but just as if to give me a gentle admonition for my behaviour. I’d have happily taken more, still horny and high on rude, inappropriate sex, while if ever a girl had deserved a spanking it was me. He began to undo the knot at my right wrist instead, but as my arm came loose the sense of disappointment had become too much for me.
‘Go on, smack it,’ I said, sticking up my bottom. ‘Please.’
He said something in Russian, but plainly expressing surprise.
‘Please,’ I repeated. ‘I need a spanking. I deserve one too, don’t I?’
‘Yes,’ he admitted and I could hear the astonishment in his voice.
I slipped my free hand back and down the front of my froufrous. They were full of spunk, more than I’d have believed possible, and it was all over my thighs too, between my cheeks and in my pussy. I began to rub, revelling in the slippery, soiled feeling of my flesh and the still gaping mouth of my well fucked hole. He was staring, open-mouthed, as if he couldn’t quite believe was he was seeing, but then his hand had settled on my bottom. I gave a happy purr as he started to spank me, quite hard right from the start and with a purposeful, almost mechanical motion.