by Penny Birch
I nodded dumbly. He might never have beaten a girl before, but he was a natural sadist, forcing me to choose my own fate and adding a touch of extra humiliation with it. I went to the table, moving the remains of his dinner carefully to avoid getting stale curry on myself, and climbed on to the chair, kneeling. I leaned forward, placing my elbows on the table and lifting my bum. He was grinning as I looked back, and squeezing the bulge in his crotch.
My shivering was getting really strong, and I hung my head as he stepped towards me, trying to calm myself down. It didn’t work and, as his fat arms closed around me, groping for my trouser button, I felt the muscles of my tummy twitch. He was right up against me, his belly pressed to my bum, his cock too, rock hard against one cheek. My breathing was getting heavy, and it was impossible not to give a gasp as my jeans button popped open and a little whimper as my fly was peeled down.
‘I haven’t even started yet,’ he said.
‘You’re going to though, aren’t you,’ I replied. ‘You’re going to beat me. Oh God!’
He had put his hands in the waistband of my jeans, stepping back as he pulled at them, tugging them off my hips, then down, over the seat of my panties. I was in white ones, the kind Percy likes, and which I’ve become addicted to, plain white cotton and just a size too small. He smacked his lips as they came on show, a disgusting, blubbery sound.
The jeans were settled down to my knees, and I pulled my back in a little more, rounding out my bum to stretch the panties taut across my cheeks. He grunted and blew out his breath, and I looked back once more. He had his hand on his crotch, massaging his erection through his trousers. I could see it, his balls too, outlined against the fabric beneath the overhang of his gut. His eyes were fixed on my panty-clad bum, really staring and, as I watched, his tongue flicked out and he smacked his lips again.
‘Pull them down, strip me bare,’ I begged.
‘You love all this, don’t you?’
‘No. I hate it. Now pull them down, show me off.’
‘Say it. Ask nicely.’
‘Pull down my panties. Please, Monty.’
‘You can do better than that.’
‘Oh God, you bastard! Please, Monty, sir, pull down my panties. Spank me. Pull down my panties and spank me like the dirty little brat I am. Come on, do it, pull them down, make me show my pussy, make me show my bumhole, then beat me, hard! Then you can fuck me, put that lovely big cock up my pussy. You can bugger me if you want, right up my bumhole . . .’
‘Shit!’ he swore.
‘Idiot!’ I cursed as a wet stain appeared on the front of his trousers, just by the tip of the bulge that marked his cock.
‘What’s the matter?’ he demanded.
‘You’ve come in your pants. That’s what’s the matter!’
‘So?’
‘Well, OK, never mind. Come on then, pull them down.’
He didn’t even bother to clean up, just reaching out to take hold of my waistband. I shut my eyes, my head swimming with blissful shame as he peeled my panties slowly down, exposing the top of my crease, my cheeks, my bumhole and at last my pussy, to leave it all showing, bare behind, utterly exposed, without a scrap of modesty left to me, the way a girl about to be punished should be.
‘Nice,’ he said. ‘I like a shaved cunt. Do you shave in your arse crack too?’
I couldn’t even answer him, the question was so humiliating, but I shook my head, letting out a sob as I did it. It was really getting to me, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before I was in tears, at least once the beating started.
‘I bet you do,’ he went on. ‘Right, let’s see how many you get.’
He rolled the die out on to the table, right in front of me. It landed on a four and I felt a sharp surge of relief, then disappointment. He gave me a wry smile.
‘Roll again,’ I demanded.
‘Reroll? Get your tits out then.’
I kneeled up, pulling my top high over my boobs before reaching back to unclip my bra. He watched, no less eagerly than he had before he’d come. I snipped my bra catch and felt the sudden extra weight of my breasts as the support went. Pulling it up, I twisted around, letting him see both of them. He grinned and nodded.
I took my bra right off and kneeled back down, now with my boobs swinging from my chest, just brushing the table. He adjusted his cock in his trousers, pushing it down. The stain was still spreading on his crotch, adding an extra element of dirtiness to what was being done to me. I liked the idea of a man who could come in his pants over the sight of me bent over in my knickers. It was a little scary, though, and the more so for the way he was gloating over me.
He reached forward to retrieve the die, treating himself to a feel of my bum as he did it. Again he rolled it, and it settled on nineteen. That was too much, with the huge spoon, and I couldn’t see him being gentle. I wanted to be spanked, not beaten black and blue.
‘Reroll,’ I said immediately.
‘That means an egg up your cunt,’ he reminded me.
I nodded, setting my knees a touch further apart to give him easy access to my pussy. He went to the fridge, bending down to take an egg from a box. Behind me again, he pressed it to my pussy and I felt the mouth of my hole start to stretch around it. It was a big one, and I really felt it, filling my hole, then popping inside. I’d half expected it to break, but it had held, round and firm in my body. I could feel it squeezing out, so I tensed myself, holding it in place, with just a little bit showing in my hole. He had began to play with my pussy, cupping my mound in his hand and rubbing at me, until I began to pant, when he stopped abruptly.
‘Now you get it,’ he said. ‘Roll.’
I took the die, shook it in my hand and rolled it, watching it tumble out of my palm and across the table, again settling among the curry cartons. It showed an eighteen, so I’d got off one stroke at the cost of having him shove an egg up my pussy.
‘Spank me then,’ I sighed.
He picked up the spoon as I stuck my bottom up as high as it would go, still squeezing to hold the egg up myself. Monty hefted the spoon and patted it against my bottom. I felt the cup settle on my flesh, holding a good share of one cheek, and I wondered just what I was going to look like after I’d been beaten with the horrible thing.
I shut my eyes, unable to look as he hefted the spoon, then screamed, my body jerking forwards across the table, my face going right into the mess of his dinner as he slammed it down across my bottom, far, far too hard.
‘Ow! Ow! Ow!’ I heard myself squeak. ‘Ow, Monty, not so hard! Please! Amber, amber!’
My face had gone in a carton and there was a blob of curry sauce on my nose, which I wiped away before getting back into position, trembling hard, my whole body shaking in reaction.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘How about this?’
He brought the spoon down again, firmly, making me jump and cry out once more. It hurt, and my instinct was to tell him to stop it, to tell him to go to hell, but underneath I wanted my spanking, and I wanted it done properly.
‘OK,’ I managed, panting. ‘A bit harder, maybe.’
The egg was still trying to get out, and I tensed my pussy, drawing it back up, only to get the third smack when I wasn’t expecting it, harder than before. Again I yelped and bucked, but he gave me another, immediately, and another, to leave me gasping over the table, with my feet kicking and my mouth wide in pain and misery.
It really hurt, so much, as he went on, whack after whack across my poor, burning bottom. There is nothing fake about the pain of a spanked girl, just because she likes it. It hurts every bit as much as it would for anyone else, and there’s always a barrier, which I have to force myself over. I was kicking madly, hammering my fists on the table, sobbing and whimpering, trying to count, ten, eleven, twelve, when the egg burst in my hole, spattering fluid across my pussy and down my thighs. Immediately it began to drip into my panties, filling the air with the stench of rot.
That was too much for me. I burst into tears, real
ly howling as the filthy, slimy mess oozed down between my sex lips. It was full of bits of shell and I could feel them in my hole, rough and scratchy as my pussy closed on the broken pieces. Monty had stopped, presumably because I was in tears, but I stayed in place, struggling to cope with my feelings, until at last I succeeded, sticking my bottom back up properly so that he could watch the filth dribble out of my hole. I was still snivelling, and there were hot tears on my cheeks and arms. My bottom felt huge, and very open, my anus wet with sweat, my cheeks hot and dry.
‘Go on,’ I sobbed. ‘Finish me off.’
He hesitated for one moment, and then the spoon smacked down across my bum, and again as once more I cried out in my pain.
‘Fourteen,’ he said, and smacked me again. ‘Fifteen.’
I was crying, openly, with my head lifted, the tears running freely down my cheeks. He gave me the sixteenth and my mouth came open, a trace of drool running from one side. I cupped my boobs, squeezing them, then put my face down, pushing the curry cartons aside with my head, looking back at him. I could smell the curry, and the rotten egg, and my own sex. He gave me the seventeenth and I reached back to masturbate, finding my pussy wet with juice and slimy, rotting egg.
‘Last one,’ he called.
‘No,’ I breathed. ‘One more hard, but keep going, gently, little pats, and do as I tell you.’
Again the spoon came down, hard, making me gasp, then again gently, patting my aching bottom, and again, setting up a slow, rhythmic motion as I started to rub at my filthy pussy. I could feel the egg, slimy and thick over my flesh, and full of bits of shell. A fibrous bit was hanging out of my pussy, and I snatched at it, pulling out the yolk, which I slapped to my clit, bursting it across my flesh. Monty kept on, saying nothing, his piglike eyes fixed on the filthy, bruised mess he had made of my bottom, then on my tear-streaked face, eye to eye.
‘Keep doing it,’ I moaned. ‘A little harder, and call me dirty names, anything you like. Oh God, I wish you hadn’t come. I wish you could put your cock up me like this, up my dirty hole, in all the mess, and fuck me, and spunk up me . . . Harder! Now beat me, you fat bastard!’
I was nearly coming, right on the edge, with the egg slimed all over my pussy, rubbing harder at my clit. The spanks got harder, and harder still, until I was gasping again, fresh tears bursting from my eyes, my orgasm building in my head, higher and higher with the pain and awful, burning humiliation of it all.
‘Less of the fat, you stuck up bitch!’ he snapped and gave me a really hard swat. ‘Look at you, with your red arse in the air and your knockers showing. I was right, you do belong in a porno video, the dirtiest sort, the sort where the girls piss over each other, the sort where they piss in each other’s mouths and drink it, or in their knickers and show it off to the camera . . .’
I screamed, really loud, coming in blind, helpless ecstasy, beaten and degraded, bringing myself off to the filthiest, filthiest suggestion, and as I came I knew full well that he’d watched one where that was exactly what happened. That was what my mind fixed on as my orgasm went through me, some young girl, with her skirt held high and her bum stuck out in pure white panties, only with the rear pouch sodden with her own pee, showing it off. That would be something to be spanked for, really spanked.
The spanking stopped as I slumped, breathless on the table. I’d made a real show of myself, masturbating with my pussy stuck out right at him, my bumhole pulsing and my legs and bottom twitching to my contractions. I half expected him to mount me, or drag me down on the floor and fuck me on my back. He wasn’t ready though, and just stood back, grinning to himself as I slowly recovered my senses.
‘Thank you,’ I managed, when I could finally speak. ‘That was good, one of the best.’
‘Don’t forget you’re going to be my sex slave,’ he reminded me.
‘Sure, but let me clean up and relax for a bit first. Then I’ll do anything you like.’
‘Fine,’ he answered.
I cleaned the decaying egg off my fingers and then went for a shower. His bathroom was as sordid as his kitchen, but there was a mirror, in which I inspected my bottom. I was in a pretty sorry state, with big, spoonshaped bruises covering both cheeks and a general, all over red colour. I knew it would be a good two weeks before I could show my bum without it being obvious I’d been spanked, but it had been well worth it, the best orgasm I’d had since getting back from France.
My panties were full of egg, so I put them in the sink to soak, making a mental note to remember to put a spare pair in my bag the next time I came to see Monty. There was even some in my jeans, so I took them off and scrubbed the crotch, leaving me in just my top. That left my pussy and the cheeky bit of my bum showing under the hem, which I was sure Monty would appreciate.
He was on the phone when I came back downstairs, with a pizza menu in one hand. He gestured to me as I came in, tapping the menu and I leaned close, pointing at one which came with capers and smoked ham. He nodded, finishing the order off as I sat down.
‘We’ll start when the pizza gets here, shall we?’ he asked, putting the phone down.
‘Whatever you say, Master,’ I answered.
My tone had been cheeky, almost sarcastic, but he didn’t rise to the bait, instead getting up and waddling into the kitchen. He came back with a pack of beers, one of which he peeled off and gave to me. It was strong ale, which isn’t really my thing, but I was thirsty, and I was sure that the experience to come would be easier with a shot of alcohol inside me.
‘Don’t bother with the Master bit,’ he said. ‘Just do exactly as I say, without question. In fact, I don’t want you to talk at all.’
‘I’ll try,’ I promised.
We talked as we waited, about Brighton, cars, drink, even the complicated fantasy games he was into, which I’d barely heard existed. It all seemed really weird, with me sat there on my freshly smacked bottom, nude below the waist and waiting for a session as his sex slave. It also highlighted the differences between us, as I don’t think we agreed on anything. Finally the bell went.
‘Get it,’ he ordered.
I was going to protest, but I remembered what he’d said and shut my mouth. The idea was obviously that I answer the door with my pussy on show, humiliating me by making me flash in front of the pizza delivery boy, and no doubt doing a lot for his image locally. I didn’t mind – after all, we were in Croydon – but I completely forgot that we’d be expected to pay for the pizzas.
That meant not just giving a brief flash of my pussy, but walking back down the passage with my bright red, heavily bruised bumcheeks peeping out from under my top. I did it though, not even bothering to close the door, which I could have done, and gave the astonished delivery boy a big smile as I took the boxes from him.
I also queried the order, because there were four huge boxes and two bags, which seemed excessive, even for Monty. It was right though and, as I walked back, I wondered if it was really humanly possible for a man to eat three family-sized pizzas and most of a fourth, because all I wanted was a slice and some of the garlic bread. I wanted to ask, but I remembered what he had said about not speaking and came to kneel meekly at his feet, holding out the boxes. I had no idea what to expect, but was hoping he might want to feed me by hand, which Percy likes to do occasionally. He took one of the boxes and opened it, revealing a pizza well over a foot across and a good inch thick.
‘Deep crust, fifteen inch, family-size Mexican Caramba,’ he said. ‘That’s spicy beef, spicy pork, fresh garlic, double green chillies, jalapeno peppers, onions.’
I made a face, it was impossible not to. He held it out, letting me sniff it and I was praying he was going to eat the lot in front of me, to torture me, only it would have been no torture at all, just gross having to watch. I couldn’t possibly eat the thing myself anyway, it would have fed me for days.
‘You’re going to hate this,’ he assured me. ‘I bet you’re really obsessed about your weight, aren’t you? Well now you’re going to have
to eat this up, off the floor, like a dog, like a bitch.’
He didn’t actually tip it on to the floor, but he put the box down. I’d been hoping for something more overtly sexual, which I could get off on as well as him, but he’d given me my spanking, and done it well, for a novice, so it seemed only fair to try to play.
With my face well down, I nuzzled the pizza with my lips. It was hot, but not unbearably so, and I took a bite from the edge. It was a bit sickly, but not too bad, and I began to eat. So did he, starting on a much plainer pizza from one of the other boxes. He was soon ahead of me, and paused, leaving for the kitchen.
He came back with a bowl, into which he poured the remains of my beer, then another from the pack. Clicking his fingers, he pointed to it and I shifted my position, lapping it up and actually quite grateful for the fluid. He sat back down again, undid his fly and raised his bottom off the chair, pushing down his trousers and underpants together to expose his cock and balls. It really was gross, because his cock was still slimy with come from the accident he’d had during my punishment.
With his genitals showing, he went back to eating, taking a single mouthful, then once more clicking his fingers as he pointed to his cock.
‘Lick it clean,’ he ordered, ‘and you forgot to kiss my arsehole.’
That was true. It had slipped my mind completely in the ecstasy of my spanking climax. Now I was going to have to do it, and even in my dirtiest fantasies I had never imagined mixing arse-licking with my dinner. I nearly used my stop word, but again it seemed unfair to deny him. I had promised. I’d even asked for it. I crawled over, quickly swallowing my mouthful of pizza and beer. His legs were far too fat for me to get my face between them, so I kneeled back on my heels, meekly waiting for instructions.
‘Kiss this,’ he said, and rolled his legs up, holding them behind his knees.
The position left his bottom stuck out over the edge of the chair, and spread. It had been dark in the garage, now it wasn’t. I could see every lewd, obscene detail, the huge, pasty white buttocks, the great, hairy sack of his scrotum, his big, flaccid cock, shiny with sperm, and worse, his anus. It was a broad, lumpy ring of duncoloured flesh, surrounded by hair and cut with little lines, running down to the hole at the centre. I swallowed and looked at his face, hoping for some sign of mercy.