by Penny Birch
She squirmed with pleasure, rubbing it in my face, forcing me to probe her yet deeper. It was so rude, and so right for me, with my tongue up my lover’s bumhole as she sat, poised and cool, on my face. Being tied and covered in hot, angry nettlerash made it better still, making me feel punished and forgiven, thoroughly disciplined, then allowed to apologise by licking her anus.
Had I been able I’d have been masturbating and we’d have come together, but I couldn’t, forcing me to put everything into her pleasure. She paused and I knew she had pulled her top up, freeing her big breasts to the air so that she could cup one and stroke a nipple as she frigged. Again she began to masturbate and I knew she was near orgasm. She began to grind herself on my face, rubbing her pussy against my chin and wiggling her open bumhole over my mouth. My tongue was pushed up as far as it would go, straining, deep in, so deep I could feel the hot, soft flesh beyond the ring of tight muscle.
Amber started to come, calling out my name as her anal ring tightened on my tongue and began to spasm. Her bottom was squeezing my face, pushed down so firmly that I couldn’t breathe or move, just lick and lick as she took her pleasure of me. For a moment I was lost to everything except the joy of having her come. I was her servant, pure and devoted, happy to lick her bottom or whatever else was demanded of me just for the sake of her pleasure. I didn’t even care if she smothered me, until the pain in my lungs finally overcame my servility and I twisted my head to the side in desperation.
She sighed, a sound of immense contentment, as she lifted her bottom enough to let me suck hot, pungent, but wonderful air into my straining lungs. I gasped until my head had cleared, admiring her bottom, inches from my face, her pussy wide and moist in a nest of dark gold hair, her anus a wet, open hole between the full curves of her cheeks.
‘Pop your tongue back up, Penny, it’s your turn,’ she said from above me.
I sighed in pleasure, a sound abruptly cut off as her bottom settled back on my face. My tongue found her bumhole, probing deep once more and I began to lick. Her hands touched between my legs, two fingers splaying my smarting pussy lips wide to get at my clit. A thumb entered my vagina, a finger pushed down on my greasy bumhole and in.
She began to masturbate me, so skilfully, manipulating my clit with the touch of long practice and understanding. I knew it wouldn’t take long and I let my mind drift as I licked her bottom and her hands worked my sex. She was on my face in a squat, as she often was, but not naked. Her shorts were down, pushed around her thighs to bare her bottom, just as she might have done to relieve herself, just as Isabel had done.
It was a glorious image: Amber, Isabel, any girl, bum bare, squatting, exposing every intimate detail of her sex and bottom, hasty, embarrassed as she relieved herself on the ground. I wished I’d caught Isabel, startled her, made her lose her balance, sit in it, cry out in horror and shame and embarrassment. Then I’d have really deserved my punishment, from both of them, Isabel overcoming her inhibitions through sheer outrage. They’d have put me in bondage, the same humiliating, exposed position. They’d have nettled me thoroughly, then beaten me with their belts, strapping my out-thrust bottom until I begged for mercy, whipping my pussy-lips and laughing as I writhed under the blows. Isabel would have mounted my face, made me lick her bottom clean. Then it would have been Amber, queened on me as she now was in reality, my tongue deep up her bottom. Not for my pleasure, though, but to punish me, to punish me in a way that fitted my crime, squatting over my face, and doing it in my mouth . . .
I came, every muscle in my body locking tight as it hit me in one long, glorious climax that went on and on. Although my lungs were bursting, although my wrists and ankles burned against the straining ropes, just on and on until at last I went dizzy and my filthy fantasy broke. I nearly blacked out, not quite, but as Amber lifted her weight off my face with a happy sigh all I could do was slump in my bonds.
Eleven
MY PHOTO-SHOOT WENT smoothly, with Amy and Claudia at Amber’s and the suitably neutral and domestic background of the bedroom wall. Having gone all week without more than a gentle spanking, my bottom was pristine. I’d used plenty of skin cream and powder as well, producing two soft, pink hemispheres of which I felt justly proud. I bought a new camisole to show off in, pure silk in a delicate yellow to suit my dark hair, trimmed with fine lace and two sizes too small to make my bottom look fuller and extra spankable.
Amy was impressed, going into raptures over the name tag on my camisole, although it meant nothing to me. She was more circumspect about admiring my bum, at least in front of Claudia, contenting herself with a squeeze when no one was looking, and asking first, to do credit to her manners.
Claudia used a whole film on my unspanked rear view, asking me to make endless subtle changes in my pose and adjusting the lighting almost as often. Despite this I enjoyed it, both because it was nice to have my bum the main focus of attention among three attractive women, and because I knew it would get better once it was time for my spanking.
Even though it was for the magazine I wanted it done bare, and had told Amber that she was to undo the poppers on my camisole. I knew Amy would like to see my pussy as I was punished, and it was only fair after the way I had done her. Claudia might or might not enjoy it. Even at the airforce base she had remained pretty cool and unreadable, and she gave away nothing about her underlying emotions.
Amy asked if she should leave the room while Amber spanked me, but was told it was unnecessary and that it was unimportant whether I was watched or not. She smiled at that, possibly getting the hang of my sexuality enough to know that the humiliation of being done in front of her and Claudia would greatly increase my pleasure.
That decided, I was put across Amber’s knee as she sat on her bed, bum towards the door where the girls were standing. My camisole was unpopped and lifted, exposing my pussy, and Amber lifted her knee, forcing my bum into greater prominence and making my cheeks flare to show by bumhole. All this she explained to the girls, adding to my emotions. Even as the spanking started she went on talking, explaining that she was using her fingertips to make my skin sting and bring the blood to the surface quickly.
It was a gentle spanking, and nice, making me sigh and start to moan as my bum warmed and pinked. Amber kept going, ignoring me and making sure my bottom was turned an even colour, with no blotchy areas to spoil the photo. She explained this, but to my surprise Claudia objected, pointing out that if my cheeks were too even a pink it would look as if the picture had been enhanced.
Amber suggested a long-handled hairbrush, which was resting on her bedside table for exactly that purpose. Claudia agreed, and to my surprise picked it up herself and gave me a meaty smack on each cheek. I yelped, not surprisingly, but was told not to be a baby by Amber and Claudia simultaneously. Another dozen were applied to my bottom, making it bounce and drawing further futile protests from me, until at last Claudia was satisfied with the effect.
I was allowed to look in a mirror, finding my bum pink and blotchy, quite clearly properly spanked, then photographed once more. Again Claudia made me pose in a dozen slightly different positions, and again she adjusted the lights virtually every time. Only for the last six did she change her routine, quite casually tugging open my poppers from behind. The pictures were taken with it dangling loose over my bum and with me bent enough to ensure the show of a good bit of crease and at least a hint of fur between my thighs, maybe more.
Afterwards I would have been more than happy for the three of them to take full advantage of me, perhaps completing my beating, then queening me one by one as the others watched. It didn’t happen, despite me dropping a couple of not so very subtle hints, and the only submissive thrill I got was to serve them lunch in just my camisole, all rather tame. When they left Amber took me to bed, which made a pleasant finish to the session although I would have preferred to get the others involved.
For all their acceptance of our behaviour, they still seemed to be having trouble really letting go, at least
when not alone. I said as much to Amber, who replied that I should be pretty happy to have managed to achieve as much as I had. This was true; in fact I had seldom felt more pleased with myself, barring one or two little things to mar my cat-that’s-got-the-cream satisfaction.
Beth was the first of these, because I still found it irritating that she thought she understood me better than I did myself. At the least I wanted to talk over the Metropolitan article with her and make her eat her words about the pleasures of erotic spanking. Ideally I wanted her across my knee for a while before thanking me and returning the favour, but I was prepared to go without. Unfortunately Amber had threatened to keep me in the cellar for a week if I went within ten miles of Streatley, so at the least I would have to postpone my visit.
Second was the twins, and in particular Melody, who had scared me and badly needed to be dealt with. True, Morris had spanked them in public, not for spit-roasting me, though, but for not inviting him to join in! Their argument was that I should have known full well that they wouldn’t hurt me, and it was true, I should have. After all, as Melody had remarked, if they’d really been going to cook and eat me they’d have stuck the spit up my bum. Easy to say, but hanging trussed, tenderised and basted over a fire I hadn’t felt so sure.
Had I been Vicky it would have been easy, or at least feasible, as both the twins enjoyed wrestling and made it plain that female friends were always welcome to try their luck. The condition was that the winner did as she pleased with the loser, and if I tried it I was just going to get my head sat on again. I would have to wait my chance for something more subtle.
Another irritation, albeit trivial, was Isabel, who was just annoyingly prissy. She made me feel like a specimen under a microscope, although some might have argued that this was simply poetic justice for a biologist. I had also suffered a rare twinge of guilt, for watching her without her consent, so my feelings were mixed.
As it happened, it was Isabel who gave me a chance to get my own back on Melody. From the conversations while we were at the airbase she had gathered that a fair bit more went on among my friends than girly spanking play and games of pursuit, capture and punishment. Most of all she wanted an interview with Melody, who was not only female and had an exceptionally strong personality, but was also from an ethnic minority. That made her ideal magazine material, apparently.
She rang to ask for the Rathwells’ number, but I was not allowed to give it. Isabel wheedled but I refused, promising only to talk to Melody myself. Melody agreed, happy to get a chance to put her personal philosophy across. Only when she started to tease me about getting in a temper over the roasting incident did I decide to try and use the opportunity to take my revenge on her.
I had pictured Isabel living in a smart central London flat, rather like Natasha. It would have been in an up-market yet fashionable area, airy, convenient for work, and doubtless purchased with Daddy’s money, again like Natasha. The truth was somewhat different, in that she lived in a cottage near Liphook, which she had inherited from an aunt. This I discovered when I rang to arrange the interview with Melody. She suggested it as a venue rather than the Metropolitan offices, apologising for the distance but pointing out that it would be a lot quieter and also promising lunch. After a few calls back and forth it was agreed, and a plot was beginning to form in my head.
It needed some time, so I set the date for the following week and the venue for Isabel’s cottage. On meeting Mel I was as friendly as anything, kissing her, squeezing her boobs and apologising for throwing a tantrum just because she’d put me on a spit. We chatted merrily all the way to Liphook and I told her about watching Isabel, which she found hilarious and not shocking at all.
By the time we got to Isabel’s we would have been quite happy to follow lunch and the interview with a threesome. After the interview Melody even suggested it, quite calmly, as if proposing that we open another bottle of mineral water. Isabel declined, politely but with an all too obvious unease. We left soon after, with Mel complaining that Isabel had forced whatever she said to fit her own preconceptions. I had to agree, but pointed out that it isn’t always easy for people to get over their inhibitions.
‘She’s a typical rich white girl,’ Melody snapped. ‘Full of crap about how liberated she is and how she’s in control of her own life, but when it comes down to the real thing, she can’t handle it!’
‘She might be intimidated by you,’ I pointed out. ‘Or maybe she just doesn’t fancy you.’
Melody shrugged, indicating her total indifference to Isabel’s preferences.
‘I’m game, anyway,’ I assured her. ‘How about a drink and then we can go in the woods.’
‘That I like,’ she answered.
I’d have been amazed if she’d said anything else. We found a nice pub somewhere to the south of Haslemere and shared a bottle of wine, one glass for me as I was driving, the rest for Mel. After that she was more ready than ever, and teasing me about how she was going to make me strip to my shoes and streak, or even persuade any men we might meet to let me suck them off.
I chose a wood I’d been to before, an obscure stretch of forestry land cut off from the road by a railway with access beneath a high arch of red brick. It was one of Anderson and Vicky’s pet places, but I was sure Mel had never been there. We walked in, and as soon as we were out of sight of the car I ran, knowing full well she would chase me. Sure enough, she did, and caught me, inevitably. I was made to strip, stark naked, by which time she was too excited to do more than give me a brief slapping before telling me to get on my knees. I went willingly, kneeling on my clothes as she tugged down her jeans and panties. With her seated on the thick trunk of a fallen pine I began to lick, kissing her pussy-lips and inner thighs in an attempt to tease, only to be taken by the hair and pulled in hard.
As I licked her I put my hands down, only not to masturbate. Her breathing had begun to change, getting deeper and faster, signalling her approaching orgasm as I lapped at her clit. The grip in my hair tightened; her thighs squeezed together around my head, and I snapped cuffs to her ankles and heaved with all my strength to send her sprawling backwards over the log.
I was already diving beneath the pine trunk, which was well clear of the ground, snapping a cuff on to one wrist as she struggled to right herself. A chain led back to her ankle cuff, fixing her around the log. She had recovered before I could get the other wrist cuff on, and I had to fight. Normally she would win easily, but upside down, half drunk and already restrained she was hardly at her best.
Eventually, despite a few bruises, I had her where I wanted her, lashed kneeling under the log with chains running over the top and connecting her ankles to her wrists. She had laughed at me for bringing an anorak on such a hot day, but now she knew why. The pockets were stuffed with bondage equipment.
I added a few more ropes for good measure, pulled up her top and bra to let her big breasts loose and took her jeans and panties down as far as her bonds would let me. Only then, with her helpless and exposed, did I pause to get my breath back.
‘I think that counts as a wrestling win, don’t you?’ I puffed.
‘Sure, Penny.’
There was amusement in her voice, not really the right attitude for a girl in bondage with everything showing.
‘So I shall amuse myself with you,’ I went on. ‘A good spanking would be a start.’
‘Nice,’ she answered. ‘Make it a hard one. Have you brought your little hairbrush?’
‘No, but that’s the good thing about a wood: there are so many things that can be applied to a girl’s bum.’
‘Sure, spank me good, Penny. Make me notice.’
‘I will, the question is, what with? There are twigs of all sorts for a start, and not just birch, although it might be appropriate. Hazel shoots are good, or ash, nice and heavy, that would really get you squealing. Plaited willow stings like anything. Then there are nettles. I could tickle your pussy and boobs with them, maybe whip your bottom. Now, let me see. I don’
t want to keep you waiting. What’s handy?’
Weeping willow was the answer, or at least the best. There were several just a few yards down the slope, by a piece of marshy ground. Making sure that Melody could see me, I broke off three long, whippy twigs and plaited them together, making a springy, three-foot whip that I knew would sting nicely and bring the blood to her pussy.
She kept her cool, watching as I made the whip. I recognised her attitude, taunting me into trying to break her because she knew full well she could take anything I would be prepared to dish out in the way of corporal punishment. She was right, but it would have been a shame not to whip her when I had the chance. There was amusement in her eyes as I swished my home-made whip through the air, almost contempt.
It was deserved, because the whipping I gave her would have had me howling and blubbering if it had been the other way around. All she did was grunt a little, while I ended up sweaty and flustered with a sore arm and a piece of broken willow in my hand. Her bum was marked, with long purple welts on her dark skin, but as a punishment it was pretty feeble. Not that I was going to admit my failure, and at least her pussy was even more swollen and wet than before.
‘I feel better for that,’ I declared as I threw aside the remains of the whip. ‘So do you to judge by the state of your pussy. You’re dripping!’
‘Get your face in there, girl. I know you want to.’
‘Not yet, Mel, you don’t get off that easy.’
‘Oh no, Penny, what are you going to do? I suppose you’re going to fuck me?’
‘You wish. Not that it wouldn’t be fun to slide a nice, big strap-on between your chubby pussy lips, Mel, or even up your bum. The trouble is, you would like it more than me.’
‘I’d love it. Come on, girl, get your strap-on. Fuck me. Push it up my arse. Anyway you like.’