by Penny Birch
I found a suitable stick and slashed my way to the door, taking a few scratches and nettle stings in the process. Inside it was better still, with the male atmosphere heavy on all sides, at least in my imagination. I tried one of the mattresses, making the rusty springs inside creak as I pressed down and thinking of what might have happened to any girl foolish enough to allow herself to be lured back to such a place alone. Possibly she would have been taken into the back, to what had evidently been the washroom, perhaps with a bed. They’d have taken turns with her, one after another, mounting her, humping away and coming up her pussy or over her belly until she was soggy with sperm. Once she was too slimy for fun the cruder among them might have buggered her, making her kneel with her dress up and her big white panties pulled down around her thighs. Others would have expected her to suck and swallow their come, or done it over her pretty face until she was dripping with it, her hair soiled and her make-up running in the mess.
If all twenty of them had burst in at that instant my thighs would have come open of their own accord, welcoming the lot to their share of pussy or whatever else took their fancy. When they’d finished with me I’d have come in front of them, sat in a pool of their sperm with my thighs up and fingers in my pussy and anus, just to show what a dirty little tart I was. At orgasm I’d have stuck my fingers in my mouth and come to their chorus of lewd or disgusted remarks, revelling in the taste of my body and theirs as I frigged myself into oblivion.
I was going to do it for real if I wasn’t careful, which would have stopped me from getting my full pleasure when I was caught. Trying vainly to blank all thoughts of sex from my mind, I crossed to the door and peered out, finding only the long lines of huts and the broad space between, quiet and sultry in the afternoon sunlight. It was so tempting to put my fingers to my pussy, to bring myself to climax with just a few, well-placed touches while my army-boy fantasy ran through my head. They’d make me come anyway, even if I did, but it wouldn’t be as intense, so I held back.
A figure appeared, far down the line of huts, not Amber, but Isabel, walking fast and being decidedly furtive. She was peering into the huts as she went, and I wondered if the erotic atmosphere had not finally penetrated her prissiness. The thought of her sneaking into one of the huts for a crafty frig delighted me, and I wondered if it would be over what had happened to Vicky, or maybe the sight of the twins getting their spanking, or else some private fantasy of her own.
It was impossible not to be curious, and the thought of watching Isabel masturbate was too good to miss. She, after all, had taken the most self-righteous tone over my love of spanking, denying me the right to my own feelings. Watching her with her hand down her panties as she came over some dirty mental image would be just perfect. Doubtless she’d be guilty about it, just as I had once been, but if I caught her at just the right moment then all sorts of things might become possible.
Once more I peered from the door, keeping back in the shadows. Isabel was some two hundred yards down the line, looking into a hut window. She was in black jeans, very tight over her trim little bum, and a loose blue top that hinted at large, or erect, nipples. Doubtless she would pull it up while she masturbated; in my experience most girls do. I’d see them and watch her play with them, tweaking each to erection, stroking them as she teased herself . . .
My voyeuristic need and sense of mischief were warring with my need for submission. I badly wanted punishing, but I told myself that Amber would doubtless get me anyway. Watching Isabel was a more immediate need. She was coming closer, and moving faster, her nervousness becoming more pronounced as she rejected each hut. It seemed likely she disliked the idea of the broken glass that littered most of them, and so was likely to take one close to my own.
In the end it was the one two down from me she chose, the first with dry mattresses. As she pulled the door open she gave a last look around, her face set in an expression of unmistakable tension. Undoubtedly she was planning to masturbate, and maybe be pretty rude about it, given just how nervous she was. With luck she wanted to smack her own cheeks, or finger her bumhole, but even if she just sneaked a quicky with her hand down her jeans I was desperate to watch.
As soon as I was sure she was not coming back out I slipped from the door. Knowing full well the nervous thrill of masturbating outdoors, I could guess what she would do. First she would find a place of absolute security, where she could relax and maybe have a chance to cover herself if somebody did come. Second she would do whatever was needed to bring herself to climax, growing bolder, and hopefully ruder, as her pleasure rose. Third she would cover up quickly and leave, feigning nonchalance but probably with a pink face.
I wanted to see as much as possible, to feel her excitement and embarrassment, to indulge my voyeurism to the full. Afterwards I would admit it, if not to her, and doubtless the crime would be considered when I was finally punished. Running quickly to her hut, I peered inside. She was not in the main dormitory area, despite the presence of two mattresses she could have used. I would have used them, taking the chance of someone peeping in at the windows; not Isabel, which argued for a wonderful sensitivity and shyness that would make watching her all the more fun.
The back was better anyway, as at the front I would have been visible to anyone coming along the line of huts, and Amber was bound to arrive soon. After running light-footed to the back of the hut, I peered cautiously in at an algae-encrusted window. It was the washroom, and Isabel was standing with her back to me, apparently listening, with her hands at the buckle of her belt.
I knew the moment, the point at which decency is finally abandoned. The trousers come down, or the skirt up, the panties follow, and any chance of feigning innocence is gone. I always hesitate, feeling nervous and rude before exposing myself, and Isabel was the same. She tugged the buckle, her hands actually shaking with her emotion. It came open and she popped her button, her fingers fumbling and slipping. Her zip was down and she was struggling the tight denim over her hips, revealing a pair of tiny pink cotton panties. Down they came, jeans and panties at the same time, pushed to her ankles. One shoe was kicked off and she pulled the trouser leg clear of her clothes, leaving her legs free.
She sank down, squatting, her pretty little bottom stuck out towards me with the cheeks fully open, the back of her pussy just visible, her bumhole stretched and blatant, a view of exquisite rudeness. Rude yes, but an awkward position for masturbation, and I realised that it was only my own dirty mind that had thought playing with herself her intention.
I watched anyway, feeling dirty and thoroughly bad but unable to turn my eyes away. She began to pee, a thick yellow gush running out from beneath her on to the floor, quickly forming a big pool. It would have gone on her jeans and panties, but she noticed in time and quickly pulled them away. Her shoe went in it, though, and with her face half turned I saw her grimace at the sight.
It was hard not to giggle, and I was hoping she’d lose her balance and sit in her puddle. She kept it, pushing her bum further out as her pee died to a trickle. I felt a stab of disappointment that there hadn’t been more, only to find my jaw going loose as I realised there was more, much more. Her bumhole had pushed out as she peed and her muscles relaxed, everting as if she was expecting something up it.
She wasn’t. What she was expecting was something to come out. Her hole opened, along with my mouth, gaping, stretching, to form a taut pink ring as it all started to come out. I felt awful, my sense of intrusive intimacy stronger by far than when she’d been peeing. Not that I looked away, but stayed right where I was, my eyes glued to her bottom as piece after piece extruded from her hole and dropped to the floor beneath her. Even when she was finished I stayed still, feeling so dirty for watching that I was weak at the knees.
Only when she moved did I regain my senses. It was just too much. I had to come, and come over the thought of punishment for what I’d done, for being a dirty little peeping Thomasina. I ran out from behind the hut and back to the first one I’d been in,
throwing myself down on to a mattress. I was face down, bottom stuck up, the way I wanted to imagine myself beaten. My hands went down, one under my tummy to my pussy, one back to my bottom, feeling the swell of my cheeks and the damp crease between. After what I’d seen it had to be anal, and my fingertips found my clit and bumhole at the same time.
My anus was greasy, wet with a mixture of my own juice and the oil the twins had rubbed in. The ring felt hot as I circled it, deliberately teasing myself, but only for a moment. I popped the first joint of my finger it, toying with my hole and thinking of how I’d watched Isabel’s open. It had been such a rude thing to do, so dirty and so intrusive, especially when I could have left at any moment.
I began to rub my clit, dabbing at her and tickling the mouth of my bumhole at the same time. My mind drifted, focusing on what I had seen and what the consequences of my act should be. A punishment was undoubtedly in order, something severe, something to really put me in my place. Spanking was too good for me, although it would make a start, right after I had been made to announce my disgusting behaviour to everyone, out loud, standing on something so they could all see me. After that I’d get my spanking, in the classic position, head down across Isabel’s lap, stark naked because I didn’t even deserve the privilege of having panties to pull down.
Once I was red-bottomed and snivelling I’d be made to apologise, then to stand to one side with my hands on my head and my red bum showing. I’d need to go myself, but only when I was so desperate that my toes were wiggling and my bumcheeks clenching would I have the nerve to ask. They would laugh at me. They would tell me it was time I learned how poor Isabel had felt, that I should suffer the same sense of being intruded on, violated. They would say I was welcome to relieve myself, in front of them all . . .
I was right on the edge, holding back to make my climax as good as possible, running over and over the awful moment when I would squat down in my misery and shame. So lost was I to my surroundings that it took a second to register the creak of the door and another to stop what I was doing. I turned with a gasp, my cheeks flaring red, expecting to see Isabel standing in the doorway. She wasn’t, but Amber was, looking at me with no great surprise. In her hand she held a single, large stinging nettle, grasped in a cloth.
‘You couldn’t wait?’ she asked coolly.
‘No,’ I admitted. ‘I’m too turned on, Amber: I want to be punished. I know you can’t whack me, but sit on my face, please, now; let me lick you; make me kiss your bumhole,’
‘Patience, darling. Roll over.’
I obeyed, hastily, happy to be in whatever position she wanted, just so long as I was properly punished. She had to be told why, of course, but I found my cheeks reddening at the prospect.
‘I’m glad you’re so contrite,’ she remarked. ‘You have been a bit of a brat lately.’
‘I know,’ I answered, ‘and I’m sorry. It’s you I love, though, you know that. There’s something else too, another reason why I need punishment.’
‘Oh, yes? Who else have you had sex with without asking me? A gang of dockers? A horse or two?’
‘No, nobody.’
‘Then why so remorseful? What could you have possibly done since lunch?’
‘Did you see Isabel just now?’
‘Yes. You didn’t have her, did you? I thought she was the last one who’d let herself go!’
‘No, but I watched her. She was two huts along, in the back, relieving herself.’
‘You watched Isabel pee? That’s naughty, yes, but . . .’
‘No, not pee.’
‘Ah, and you stayed to watch?’
‘Yes. I didn’t mean to; I thought she was going to play with herself. I thought she’d been turned on and needed to come in private . . .’
‘And you were turned on by it?’
‘Yes . . . No . . . I mean, yes, but not like that, just because it was so rude.’
‘You are a disgrace, Penny Birch, a dirty, wanton little slut, a tart, a trollop.’
‘I know.’
‘The filthiest little tramp I’ve ever met, which is why I’m so glad you’re mine.’
‘Won’t you punish me?’
‘Oh I’ll punish you, be sure of that, and for real. Still, it’s a shame you didn’t have a camera. She’s so self-satisfied, more than Amy. It would do her good to have a big colourful print of her dropping her load stuck on the notice-board at their offices.’
I laughed in response as she smiled, only for her hand to close hard in my hair. She twisted and pulled me back on to the decaying mattress, holding me down as she delivered two quick, stinging slaps to my inner thighs. I yelped and closed my legs, then spread them wide, expecting more. She had put her nettle on the bed next to mine, and now moved it, making space to lay out four ropes she had tucked into her belt.
‘I shall tie you,’ she announced, ‘and tease you a little with this fine stinging nettle, just your front. After that we shall see, but at the least I think we should make sure Isabel sees your nettlerash. Now relax.’
She chose a rope and turned to me. I lay limp, my breath coming in long, deep drafts as I allowed her to do exactly as she pleased. My wrists were taken, each pulled up and roped to the bedstead, securing me. I expected to be spread-eagled, allowing her to use my face, boobs and pussy at will, but my exposure was due to be worse still. A rope was tied to each of my ankles, and each rope was led to a peg high on the wall above the beds to either side of mine. This left my legs rolled high and wide, lifting my bum, sticking it out and spreading my cheeks. My pussy and anus were gaping, utterly exposed and vulnerable, while my boobs and face stayed available. Four pieces of rope and I was utterly restrained, powerless to defend myself and sexually available in every orifice.
Amber gave a satisfied smile at her handiwork and picked up the nettle. It was useless to protest about marks. She knew as well as I that only my rear view needed to be pristine for the photographs. Besides, I deserved punishment and had no right to choose what form it took.
She held it up to me, letting me see the long stem and the jagged leaves, each with its array of tiny stings. My nipples were straining upwards, and it was impossible not to push my chest out as the wicked thing was moved closer to my skin, a foot, an inch, and touching, brushing the under-tuck of my breasts with a sharp, tickling sensation that quickly grew to a fiery stinging.
I groaned at the pain, pushing my boobs up for more. Amber obliged, laying a long trail of stings over my upper breasts, circling each nipple and finally touching them as I squirmed and writhed in my bonds. I was squealing like a pig, arching my back and gasping for air, feeling each tiny stab of pain, then the warm, throbbing ache as my whole chest seemed to swell and expand.
She kept on, heedless of my cries and pleas, stroking my belly and flanks, my inner thighs and pussy mound, and lastly, most agonising of all, my vulva. I had shut my eyes and my back was in a tight arc, straining my ankles against the ropes and pressing my hips into the mattress. My breath was coming in short, ragged pants, interspersed with whimpers as the awful hot tickling moved closer to my sex. My sense of abandoning myself, of being used, grew as each new piece of my flesh was turned to a field of angry red spots, my tummy button, the swell of my belly, my outer lips and at last my wet, swollen, puffy little cunt.
I really screamed at that, not at first, but when the poison began to work. My pussy was on fire, and seemed huge, a great, wet mass of sex-flesh burning and throbbing with the pain. I couldn’t take it, and found myself screaming out my stop word and begging over and over, then apologising, in broken sobs as the tears filled my eyes, to Amber for being a slut, to Isabel for watching her at toilet, even to Beth.
Amber stopped immediately, dropping the nettle. Her hands went to a rope but I was already shaking my head, still mumbling apologies and then begging once more for the privilege of having her bottom in my face. She answered me with a single, understanding nod and climbed aboard the bed. To mount me she had to climb over the ropes, st
raddling my body and then turning so that I could look up her legs.
Her bottom looked glorious in her army shorts, full and meaty, unmistakably feminine despite the male garment, swelling out the material in two plump balls of flesh. Her hands went to the front, just as Isabel’s had done. She tugged open her belt and stuck her bottom out, again as Isabel had, squatting as she stripped her bottom and lowering it towards my face, just as if she intended to use me as her toilet. My eyes were fixed on the plump swell of her pussy and the puckered, muscular ring of her anus, knowing I would soon be kissing and licking both with abandon. Her shorts were at thigh level, and pressed to my neck as her bottom settled comfortably on to my face, smothering me in chubby, girlish rear. My view went, from the full rudeness of her sex and bottom, to two round arcs of pink flesh, to blackness as she settled on my face.
She wiggled her cheeks to spread them across my face, rubbing her pussy on my mouth and her anus against my nose. I kissed her pussy lips, nuzzled her and began to lick, in heaven as my beautiful Amber allowed me to lick her and my bound body throbbed to the pain of nettlerash. For a while she let me lick her pussy before her weight shifted, bringing her bumhole over my mouth. I felt the motion and knew she intended to come, her favourite way, queened on my face with my tongue up her bumhole. She started to masturbate, her bottom moving on my face to the rhythm of her fingers and I probed the tight, soft muscle of her ring with my tongue, teasing, burrowing inside, licking the hot flesh.