by Penny Birch
‘Spank you! Oh my God! Penny, that’s not a little thing: that’s awful! The bastard! How dare he! How could you bear it?’
‘He used to hold me over his lap, with my arm twisted up behind my back. Then he’d pull up my skirt or take my trousers down, leaving my knickers showing and hold me like that for a bit so I could really feel the humiliation of it, held down with my panties on show and knowing they would be coming down too. That was the worst bit, having my panties pulled down and not being able to do anything to stop it. He’d always do it really slowly, too, letting what was happening to me sink in.’
‘Bastard!’
‘Once everything was showing he’d take them down properly, but only as far as my knees. That was because he liked to see them on me, especially the way they stretched taut when I kicked about during the spanking.’
‘What a pervert! That’s men all through, obsessed with panties! Do you know why? It’s because they’re scared of what’s underneath!’
‘Mark wasn’t; he loved me to have my pussy showing . . .’
‘Don’t say that, Penny, it’s an awful word, one that’s been forced on women by the patriarchal society in order to sexualise us. Say privates.’
‘OK, he’d have my panties down with my privates showing, not because it hurt much more on the bare skin, but just to humiliate me.’
‘The bastard.’
‘Then he’d spank me, hard, so it really stung!’
‘Oh you poor thing, it must have really hurt!’
‘Like crazy, but he didn’t care. The more I kicked and struggled the more he liked it. I’d lose control with the pain and thrash like crazy, sticking my bum up so the cheeks opened and everything showed, and I mean everything. He loved that and would tell me what I was showing to make me feel worse. Sometimes he’d feel me between the legs to see how wet I was getting, because you do, you can’t help it . . .’
‘I wouldn’t.’
‘You would. It’s just a physical reaction; it doesn’t mean you like it, although he always said it did.’
‘Typical man.’
‘By the end I’d usually be crying. He always tried to make me cry, because he liked to see the tears running down my face while I sucked his cock afterwards.’
‘He made you do that?’
‘Nearly always, with me kneeling on the floor in front of him so he could see my red bum.’
‘Typical male power fantasy, wanting a girl kneeling at his feet. Why did you let him do it to you?’
‘I couldn’t help it. Like I said, I was in love with him, and it did make me wet, and after a while I got to like it . . .’
‘You’re joking! No, you’re not, are you, and I understand. There was an article about it in Metropolitan last month, no, the month before. If a victim is abused enough she will come to regard the abuse as normal, even to accept it. That’s what must have happened to you. Oh, poor Penny!’
‘It got worse too. At first he would do it occasionally, maybe once a week, and only at bedtime. Then he started to find excuses for punishing me, such as telling me I hadn’t done the housework properly, or that there wasn’t enough sugar in his coffee. He made it more humiliating, too, doing it in the living-room so that a passer-by might see me getting my spanking, and even on the beach once, bikini pants down and everything, with some other people no more than a hundred metres away!’
She was speechless, which was just as well, as it had been really hard to get the story right when she kept interrupting. I went on, now cruising neatly towards the crucial line.
‘He took me into the dunes after that and made me suck him, knowing full well there was a chance we might be seen. Normally he’d make me swallow his stuff, but not this time. He came in my face and made me walk back to the car like that, with his mess in my hair and all over my nose and chin. I’ve never been so humiliated, but he loved it and started to invent ways of making it worse for me. That was when it started to get really bad.’
She was still holding my hand, in between taking nervous gulps of her Chablis. I’d certainly horrified her, although I wasn’t sure if I was turning her on or not. I was turning myself on in any case, as my story was basically my favourite spanking fantasy tailored to the circumstances. All I could do was hope she didn’t notice the way my nipples were straining against the fabric of my top, or that if she did she wouldn’t put two and two together. I finished my glass, asked a passing waiter for another bottle and went on.
‘He was really pleased with himself over the way he’d got me, and he wasn’t content to keep it to himself. I didn’t know he’d been boasting to his mates, not until a whole load of them came back from the pub with him one evening and started teasing me about how I liked a good spanking. I was so cross, and when Mark told me to get some beers from the fridge I answered him back. That was a big mistake. He did me in front of them, panties down, everything, across his lap with my bare bum wobbling about and all seven of them laughing at me and making dirty remarks. I really fought, kicking and screaming and scratching, but it just made them laugh all the more. He put a finger in me and showed them I was wet, holding it up so my juice glistened in the light.
‘The spanking went on a bit more, just to subdue me before he pushed me on the ground, got out his cock and demanded a suck. I did it, Beth; I sucked his cock in front of his friends, and when he’d come in my face he said I’d turned them on and ought to show some respect by sucking them. I did that, too, Beth; I sucked seven men, one after the other, and to make a joke of it they all came in my face. I was covered in it by the end. It was in my eyes and my hair; my mouth was full of it and so was my nose. It was all down my front and on my neck, even in my ears.
‘After that night things started to get weird. It was as if whatever happened he needed more. He started to make me wear humiliating clothes, school kit with a skirt so short my panties showed when I bent, a ridiculous little nylon nurse’s outfit, even a Girl Guide’s uniform! I remember that one, serving dinner to him and another couple in my little baggy green shorts. I knew he’d do me afterwards, and I was trembling so hard I dropped a plate. He spanked me then and there, hauling down my little shorts and the tight white panties he’d made me put on underneath to get me bare. The guy did it, too, sharing me and laughing at me as I kicked and wriggled in my pain. The girl tried to help me and her boyfriend threatened to spank her too if she didn’t shut up. Then . . . then they made us do this little act for them, striptease together, then down on the rug in front of the fire, all the way, and I liked it, Beth; I liked it, being made to kiss and lick another girl . . . Do you think that’s bad? Do you think I’m a pervert?’
‘No, no,’ she answered instantly, ‘gay sex is OK; there’s nothing wrong with it at all. It’s a life choice a woman should be able to make without criticism from society. For the men to force you to do it, that’s what’s wrong.’
‘Thank you, Beth,’ I answered, squeezing her hand and forcing a weak smile while fighting down the urge not to grin like an idiot.
‘Go on,’ she said, and I’ll swear there was a catch in her voice.
‘From the uniforms he got into this business with animals, no real ones, thank God, although I wouldn’t put it past him. He’d got the idea from a picture in a dirty book, of some wicked-looking guy driving a little buggy pulled by naked girls. We bought the gear in a sex shop, which was embarrassing enough, but nothing compared to wearing it. I had to go nude, in a little leather harness, bridle and reins, with nothing covered at all. He’d run me around the living room on the reins and use a long riding-whip on my bum, then put me on all fours and have sex with me while I still had the harness on. That kept him busy for a couple of weeks, but then he got bored because he didn’t think it was humiliating enough for me. That’s what really turns him on, you see, sexually humiliating girls.’
‘That’s a sign of sexual inadequacy,’ she cut in. ‘I’ve read an article on it. Did he have trouble getting . . . you know, hard.’
�
�Never,’ I told her, ‘even in front of other people. You see at first, before the kinky stuff started, we were really passionate together. Anyway, the thing with the ponies lasted a bit, only he decided I was getting used to it, so he made me do it outdoors where we’d get seen. Not just the pony-stuff either, but sucking and fucking, even going into a pub in a thong bikini with my bum all red from spanking. Then there was the pig fantasy, with me in nothing but a little rubber snout and a curly tail, rolled in muck, beaten with a stick and mounted from behind. Even in the car I would go nude under a thin cotton dress, with my snout and tail on so lots of people saw, the first time anyway. The second time he brought me this little pink bikini and I thought he was being nice until I realised it was just so that he could show me off in public without actually being arrested. He took me into the woods, made me roll in dirt, whipped me, fucked me on my knees and left me there, miles from home! That was just too much; I left him.
‘He wouldn’t have it though, and started threatening me and telling me what he was going to do to me . . .’
‘You’ve got to tell the police, Penny,’ she said suddenly. ‘He ought to be locked up!’
‘I can’t! If it all came out my family would find out, and at work! My life would be unbearable!’
‘No, Penny . . .’
She stopped, because the waiter was approaching with the Chablis and our plates. As the conversation had been going exactly where I didn’t want it to I was grateful for the interruption.
The pause was welcome anyway. I was tipsy and aroused and had been starting to let my fantasy run away with me. I knew what mattered, that she wasn’t actually against girls having sex together, and with luck I had turned her on, even though I was sure she would be hating herself for it.
I meant to go on over dinner, but by bad luck an elderly couple took the table right next to ours, despite there being several others vacant. They could hear every word we said, so I could hardly expect Beth to express herself and stuck to small talk as we drank our wine and nibbled at prawn salads.
She did most of the talking, which was just as well, as my pretence couldn’t have survived any searching questions. One thing came out very quickly, and made me realise where she had picked up all the girl-power tag lines. She was an avid reader of women’s magazines, Metropolitan in particular, the editorial line of which she followed with almost religious devotion. She was Portuguese-Irish, as her name suggested, and had been brought up a strict Catholic, attending a convent school in Cork. She had rebelled, and filled the gap left by her rejection of the church with millennial philosophy, as preached in the glossy pages of her magazines.
She now felt herself to be the last word in liberated, free-thinking femininity, although really she had just replaced one set of restrictive mores with another. A dozen times during the conversation I could have argued back, but I held my peace, sure that I’d never get my wicked way unless I stuck to my role of worshipful little mouse. Inevitably she was obsessed with diet, although she was slim by any reasonable standards, and she picked at her food, but punished the wine until by the time the bill arrived she was giggly and bright-eyed.
I paid, assuring her that it was the least I could do after the way she had helped me, and we set off for her flat with the sun sinking behind the downs in a blaze of scarlet and egg-shell blue. There’s always something wonderful about a sunset before a night of good dirty sex, and I couldn’t help but smile, with my excitement rising at the prospect of playing with Beth; also my apprehension, at the prospect of making a pass at her. As we crossed the road I took her arm, which seemed safe enough, and she didn’t try and pull away.
‘Do you want to hear the rest of the story?’ I offered.
She nodded, eager now that the drink had dulled her inhibitions, as she fumbled the key into her door-lock.
‘So what happened with the fox thing?’ she asked. ‘You said you left Mark.’
‘I did,’ I answered. ‘The fox thing was when he caught me, but I still don’t really know if he did it to hurt me or to try and get me back. You see, he really thought I liked all the dirty things he did. Sometimes I did.’
‘No you didn’t,’ she said. ‘It’s important to remember that.’
‘Oh I don’t know. I don’t even know what to think any more.’
We walked up the stairs, which were steep, leaving my face at the same level as her bottom. She flared beautifully from her trim waist, and the cheeks looked so inviting under her dress, full and round and girlish, spankable, kissable and just so lovely that it took a real effort not to reach out and take a handful.
It wasn’t the right move, not with her, so I held back, but I knew that now was the time, and as she steered me into her living room I was steeling myself to make my pass. She began to play the hostess, setting coffee up as I sat on the settee.
‘I was walking,’ I said, addressing her through the open door, ‘just trying to get my head straight really. He had followed me, and I never knew he was there until he grabbed me. I saw it was him, and I suppose I could have struggled more, but I don’t know, I just felt so weak. He dragged me into the bushes and stripped me. I thought he was just going to fuck me, and I don’t suppose I even minded that much, but instead he held me down so that he could put that mask thing on me. When it was stuck on he rolled me over on to my front and put the tail in me, up my bottom. He hung me up by the hands and whipped me, on my bum and across my boobs. It hurt so much and I would have screamed like anything but I was gagged by the mask, so I couldn’t. He laughed at me as he did it, describing how I looked dancing on tiptoe in my pain with my fox’s brush bobbing about over my bare bum. Six strokes he gave me, four behind, two in front, but it hurt more than any of the spankings.
‘Then he took me down and fucked me, on my knees in the grass. I could feel the tail bobbing on my back and my whip marks really throbbing. He started to frig me, with his hand under my tummy to get at my pussy . . . sorry, my privates. I came, Beth, I had an orgasm; I couldn’t help myself . . . Oh God, Beth, it was all so utterly humiliating, hold me, cuddle me . . .’
She had come in, a cup of coffee in either hand, but she put them down and came to sit beside me. My arms went around her waist and I buried my head in the soft pillows of her chest, fighting to stop myself grabbing them. For a while she held me, stroking my hair as I plucked up my courage.
‘Beth?’ I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper. ‘When you said it was all right for two girls, did you really mean it?’
She nodded, nothing more, and I took that as assent. My mouth met hers a moment later and her resistance lasted about a second and broke, her lips opening under mine and our tongues meeting. It was a lovely kiss, gentle and soft and long, with her body pressed tight to mine, but I was still holding back, sure that I would only get what I wanted if she felt in control.
When we finally broke apart she stood and took my hand, leading me into her bedroom without a word. She didn’t turn the light on, but pulled the curtains shut, leaving the room in almost total darkness, with only the faint orange glow of a street light to see by where it came in over the top of the curtains. We began to kiss again, standing, holding each other, very tentatively beginning to explore. Her hand was on my neck, stroking the nape to make my skin tingle and send little thrills down my spine. I returned the favour and began to inch her dress up behind, keen to get her round little bottom bare.
I wanted my hands down her panties, between her cheeks and on her bumhole, but I had to hold back, letting her stay in charge. Contenting myself with pulling her dress to her waist so that her taut panties were showing behind, I let her explore me, working on my neck and back until I was in a lather of frustration. I didn’t know if she was teasing, reluctant to get to grips with me or if she normally went for endless foreplay in the dark, but before long it was more than I could stand. Stroking and cajoling is fine, but I needed my nipples kissed, my pussy touched, and most of all I needed my bottom smacked. It was the story I’d been
telling her, with the imaginary Mark punishing me and humiliating me in front of his friends, and I had to have it.
‘Spank me, Beth,’ I urged. ‘Put me across your knee and pull down my panties and smack my bottom, please.’
‘No, Penny, that’s not right; that’s what you’ve been made to want.’
‘Please, Beth, just a little spanking, please.’
‘No, Penny, that’s not how to make love. I’ll show you. Let me teach you.’
She was breathless, and genuinely turned on, but she wasn’t going to go for it. I knew that if I pushed it might break the moment, so I gave in and let her have me the way she liked. It was nice, slow and gentle and feminine, but with none of the raw energy and control I prefer. The only order she gave me was to undress, which I did, standing in front of her so that she could watch, even though we could barely see. She waited until I was bare before starting herself, and that was the only touch of dominance I got, with a subtle submissive pleasure in removing my panties as she stood by me, fully dressed.
After that it was all cuddles and kisses, with lots of attention to my hair, neck and back. When I first lay on the bed, face down in the fading hope of a smacked bum, she began to stroke my hair and neck, then to kiss, brushing my skin with her lips. She moved down my back really slowly, making my muscles jump and setting my pussy on fire as she kissed the full length of my spine, ever closer to my bottom. I really thought she was going to do it, to keep on kissing until she reached my bumcheeks, then my crease, burying her face between them to lick my bumhole and the rear of my pussy, which would have given me a glorious orgasm, spanking or no spanking.
It never happened. She just stopped at the base of my spine and gently turned me over, then began the whole process again, starting on my forehead and working slowly down my body, over my face and neck. Her mouth lingered on my breasts, sucking my nipples until they were straining with blood before going down to my tummy and finally to my pubic hair. By then I had her head in my hands, my fingers tangled in her hair and my thighs wide open, spreading my pussy for her tongue. The little bitch ignored the offer, giving me a single kiss on my pussy mound and then starting on my legs. I almost lost control and pulled her head into my crotch, but I managed to resist and went through the whole agonising process of having my legs kissed from ankle to knee, then up the insides of my thighs and finally, at long last, she began to lick me.