by Penny Birch
‘OK, Gabby,’ I said, ‘if that’s the way you want it. Right, come here you little brat!’
I grabbed her ankle, and pulled hard. She squealed, clutching at the covers and her pillow as I dragged her down the bed, really frantic, trying to keep herself bum downwards. I took hold of her foot and twisted, forcing her over, on to her face, while she squealed and pleaded and beat her fists on the bed. She went though, all the way, and I planted a firm smack on the back of her thigh, making her squeal louder still.
Her bum was up, and I could have had her, seated on her legs or back. I wanted her across my knee though, always the best way to spank a girl. So I sat down, lifting her legs and swinging them around, before taking her by the middle and dragging her back across my lap. She fought, but ineffectually, clutching the pillow with one arm and beating on the mattress with the other, and I soon had her in correct spanking position, bottom up over my legs.
I was really enjoying myself, full of sadistic glee as I admired her rear view, with her nappy bulging out the rear of her frillies and plenty of pert pink bumcheek at either side. So I took her firmly around her waist for a feel, stroking her thighs and bum, then patting the seat of her nappy, only to realise that it felt suspiciously heavy.
‘Have you wet, Gabby?’ I demanded.
‘Oui, Bobonne,’ she said, ever so softly.
‘Well you needn’t think that’s going to stop you getting your spanking,’ I told her, ‘or having your panties pulled down. Nappy too.’
‘Non.’
It was the most pathetic little squeak, but it only made my grin wider as I took hold of the back of her frillies and peeled them slowly down. The waistband was elastic, and snapped against her thighs when I let go, making her squeak again. She was shivering, and making little mewling noises, but she had stopped fighting. I let go of her waist to unfasten her nappy, tearing the tabs loose and lifting it to expose the soggy interior and her little pink bum, with a wet patch under her cheeks. She gave a little sob as it was exposed and I took her around the waist again, hard, lifting my knee too, to bring her bum up higher.
She was a fine sight, with her frilly nightie ridden up over her tiny little boobs and the nappy turned down with the panties, in a tangle of pink frills and squishy white stuff. Better still, I could see our reflection in the mirrors, a grown-up baby about to get a spanking from nursie, from three different angles. It was an immensely satisfying sight, and after a moment admiring the view I decided that she was ready. I put my palm to her bum, flat, wobbling the little cheeks, pausing to tickle her bumhole, lifting my hand, and bringing it down across her seat with all my force.
I’m a cry-baby about spankings, but she was worse. She really howled, bawling her eyes out and kicking like anything, throwing her body from side to side and thumping the bed. I loved it, and it just made me worse, spanking away merrily, as hard as I could, with her lovely little bum bouncing and wobbling under the smacks. In the end I had to stop because my hand was stinging. Not that I was going to let her off. I was enjoying myself too much. Holding her firmly in place, I leaned across to get at the chest of drawers. I was hoping for a hairbrush, but I found something better – her baby bottle, full of milk, and a big tub of cream.
What to do came to me immediately. I tightened my grip on her, determined not to let her get up. She was still crying, and she must have realised she was in for something worse because she started to fight again, weakly, but enough to force me to cock a knee up between her thighs and curl my leg around hers, locking her in place. It also spread her legs, really wide, showing off her bumhole, just the way I wanted it.
She was going nowhere, so I showed her the bottle, shaking it. Her mouth came open, hopefully, but I shook my head and showed her the cream, at which a look of horror slowly came across her face.
‘What a clever girl Gabby is!’ I said. ‘She know’s where this is going, doesn’t she? Up her little botty, to leave her nice and clean for the night.’
‘Non!’ she squealed immediately. ‘Non, Bobonne, non!’
’ She started fighting again, for real, but I held on tight, sure that if she actually didn’t want it she wouldn’t still be talking in nursery French. It was a hell of a struggle though, but I held on, clutching her to me as I twisted the lid off the cream. I stuck a finger in, dropped the pot and snatched opened her bumcheeks, forcing them wide despite her best efforts to clench. She couldn’t do it, her thighs were too wide around my knee, and I got my creamy finger to her bumhole, and up, deep into the hot, slimy cavity of her rectum. I buggered her with my finger for a bit, just to torture her, then made a grab for the bottle, stuffing it between her open cheeks. I actually saw the teat go in, sliding up her creamy little bumhole despite her frantic efforts to keep it tight. She’d been squealing all the time, but the noise she made when her bumhole popped was like a steam whistle, and ever so full of consternation and despair, just the way I like it.
‘Non, Bobonne, non, pas le clyso!’ she pleaded.
I squeezed the bottle, and up it went, the thick, creamy baby milk squirting up her bumhole to the sound of her long wail of utter frustration. I was laughing, I couldn’t stop myself. It was just so good, to see her long legs kicking and her little tight bottom clenching and unclenching as she struggled to stop me giving her the enema. She was pleading too, and well in tears, but I took no notice, feeding the entire contents of the bottle up her bum, before pulling the teat free to leave her anus to shut tight, with just a little white fluid trickling from the hole.
‘Spankies time again, Gabby!’ I crowed, dropping the bottle.
She gave a little wail of protest, but she was too busy keeping her bumhole shut to really make a fuss. The new position had left her pussy spread over my thigh, so I pulled off her wet nappy and took her panties right down, leaving them around one ankle. Her flesh was now against mine, pussy to thigh, so that as I set to work again each slap pressed her bare sex on to my leg, rubbing it. I come that way during spankings, and I could see no reason why she shouldn’t be the same. She tried to hold back, she really did, but she was getting there, whether she liked it or not, and losing control of her sphincter too, because soon little spurts of milk were jetting from her bumhole with each smack.
It really was a pathetic sight, watching her try so hard to control herself. I knew it was going to fail too, and sure enough, her reaction soon started to get wanton, rubbing herself on my leg, sneakily at first, then blatantly, her little bum going up and down, her cheeks clenching and unclenching, all the while bouncing to the spanks. Her clit was right on my thigh, deliberately, her muscles were tightening, her cries changing tone, and she was coming.
I knew what was going to happen, and sure enough, her bumhole opened as she lost control of her muscles. Out came the milk, all of it, spurting over the bed and my thigh and the floor in one big gush. She really screamed at that, calling out my play name and suddenly kicking her legs wide, just as a second spurt erupted from her bumhole, up into the air, falling back to splash over her bottom even as my hand came down for the last time, spattering droplets of dirty milk in every direction.
She was done, thoroughly, and she lay limp, utterly submissive, snivelling faintly, her pink bottom stuck high, the milk trickling down her skin, making no effort at all to get up or to cover herself. On the other hand, I wasn’t, and my pussy was tingling. There was a patch of my own wet under my bottom and my nipples were rock hard. I needed to come, and being nurse wasn’t going to stop me making her help.
‘Right, Gabby,’ I snapped, ‘I think you know what nurse needs now. On your knees.’
I let go of her waist, rolling her on to the floor. She sat down with a bump, looking up in surprise, then shock as I caught her by the back of her neck. Sliding forwards on the bed, I spread my thighs, pulling her into me, her face to my pussy. She gave a last squeak of protest, and then I had her nose against my clit, using it to masturbate on as I twitched her head from side to side. Her feet were kicking, and she was
beating her clenched fists on my legs, but I didn’t care. Her bottom was stuck out too, the cheeks wide, with a little puddle of milk on the carpet behind her, flaunting herself, ever so rudely.
‘Stop fighting!’ I spat. ‘Lick, you little brat, on my bump.’
She obeyed, lifting her head as I relaxed my grip, her tongue lapping out to send me straight into ecstasy. I shut my eyes, picturing what I’d done: bathing her, powdering her, putting her into her nappy, spanking her. I would have come, but she transferred her attention to my pussy hole, probing with her tongue, then lower, cleaning up my bumhole with her tongue tip, ever so gently. It felt glorious, and my head was swimming with pleasure as her arms came up, around me, taking my bottom in her hands and pulling herself into me.
There was no fight left in her, she was licking not just willingly, but wantonly, with her tongue lapping on my sex, one moment up my pussy, then on my clit, on my bumhole again, up it, and at last back to my clit as I took my boobs in my hands and lay back on the bed. My eyes were closed, my head full of images of spanked, powdery female bottoms, panty crotches tight over shaved pussies, running with pee, little neat bumholes, a girl nude except for a bulging pink and white nappy, only it wasn’t Gabrielle, but me, as I came in an absolutely blinding, perfect orgasm that lasted and lasted.
Twelve
I’d been gone from my flat for two nights, but it felt like a week. In the meantime I’d got rid of the awful Damon Maurschen and had a really extraordinary sexual experience with Gabrielle Salinger. That meant two of the biggest problems in my life sorted out, and in a very satisfactory way. Not surprisingly I was in a good mood, better still after I’d played back my answering machine messages and discovered nothing from Damon.
Most were work, but Ami had rung, to say that she and some others were getting together that evening to watch old films and generally have a girl’s night in. She obviously wanted to restore our friendship to its previous footing, and it was just the sort of relaxing evening I needed, so I decided to accept.
The last message was one from Percy, typically inefficient, with a long spiel about the quality of the vintage in Bordeaux that ended in a click as the memory ran out. He hadn’t said when he was coming back, or even if he was going to stay on and watch the sweet wine grapes come in. If so it was going to be a pain, because I was missing him, and my bottom had almost recovered from the spooning enough for one of his well-judged sessions with a school cane.
I fantasised over that in the bath, masturbating lazily as I wondered how I should dress to greet him, and how it would feel pulling down my panties for him again, to take six across my bare bottom before a leisurely suck of his little cock, or riding on it, sat astride his lap with my bottomhole full.
Afterwards I managed some work, if not much, spending most of the day surfing the net until it was time to go to Ami Bell’s. Chris had gone over to Europe for some football match or other, which was why she was alone, with the flat to herself. I was a bit concerned about how we’d get on, so I waited until I was sure some of the others would be there, but Gabrielle had done her job well. Ami was completely relaxed with me, not distant at all, and if anything more friendly than before I’d seduced her. She even cuddled up to me on the sofa while we watched Silence of the Lambs. It was really cosy, and I was even wondering if the two of us might not end up in bed together again when I got the most horrible shock.
I’m not really into horror films, and I’d never seen it before, but I was well into the plot, with the victim at the bottom of a pit and the psycho, Gumb, looking down on her with the poodle in his arms. Then Gumb began to speak – ‘It rubs the lotion on its skin. It does this whenever it is told.’
It took a moment to sink in, as the girl answered, and again Gumb spoke – ‘It rubs the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again.’ It was the ‘It’ game, or rather it was obviously where Monty had got the ‘It’ game from. He’d used it on me for sex, which was just horrible.
I just couldn’t handle it, at all. I didn’t even understand why it was so upsetting, except that sex ought to be intimate, trusting, however dirty it got. In fact, the dirtier it was the more intimate it became. Monty had betrayed that intimacy, twice, in the garden and on the cliff top, and I’d forgiven him, because it had been so good, for me. This was different. He’d used our intimacy, my trust for him, putting something in my head which hadn’t been there before, something that came from a really, really nasty motif.
Not that I imagined Monty was actually a psycho for a minute. After all, I’d given him plenty of opportunity to show his true colours if he had been. What mattered was that he had used the motif, on me, but even that I might have handled, if he’d only told me first. He hadn’t, and finding out came as a real shock. It made me feel sick, and I had to leave the room.
As I stood, trembling, by Ami’s sink, with a big glass of water in my hand, I tried to rationalise it away. I was telling myself that Monty might have thought up the idea on his own, that he hadn’t meant it to freak me out so badly, that I was being silly and it was just a game, all sorts of things, but none of it made me feel any better. He had made a link between my sex play and a particularly nasty horror film, and even if he hadn’t meant to, it was an awful thing to do. I’d thought he was being nice when he made me rub cream into my skin. I’d been wrong. It was the worst thing he’d done to me, by far. Worse than fucking me while I was being sick, worse then making me suck dirty old men’s cocks, worse than pissing up my pussy, worse even than the public enema.
The next morning I was feeling a bit better about it. At least I was able to sit down and look at the thing objectively, instead of purely in terms of my emotional reaction. From Monty’s behaviour, especially the ‘It’ game, it seemed clear that he actually did want to see me as a thing, to be used. OK for sex, but still. That just was not me, and I knew that I was going to have to get rid of him.
Unfortunately, there was the uncomfortable knowledge that I was being a hypocrite. After all, most of the pleasure I’d taken in him had come from the humiliation I felt at having sex with him, and if he’d known that he would have been really hurt.
So it wasn’t like Damon, who should have known when to take no for an answer. Monty was too much for my head, but I didn’t feel right about just cutting him off. To add to that, I was going to have to do something anyway, once Percy got back, because I just wouldn’t have the time for both relationships, and there is only so much abuse my poor bottom can stand. Monty was going to have to go, but gently.
By the time I’d reached that conclusion I was sitting at my computer, in my big shirt and beach shorts, idly checking through an article and sipping coffee. When my intercom went it was quite a shock, and for one awful moment I thought it was going to be Damon, until I heard the door open. Only one person announces himself that way, and sure enough, as I opened my flat door I found Percy, puffing his way up the stairs with a huge bunch of flowers and a magnum of Crémant. Immediately I was happy, hugging him and taking the flowers, then ushering him quickly into my flat.
‘You’re supposed to be in Bordeaux,’ I said as I closed the door.
‘Not at all,’ he answered. ‘Didn’t you get my message?’
‘I had a message about vintage conditions, but the memory on my answering machine ran out halfway through.’
‘Damn fool contraptions. I crossed on Monday night, by the St Malo ferry.’
‘Oh right, well nice to see you anyway. I’ll get some fresh coffee going.’
I kissed him and gave his crotch a gentle squeeze, which he returned with a pat on my bottom. Walking into the kitchen, I bent to get milk, displaying my bright yellow beach shorts, which I’d been using as nightwear.
‘What in heaven’s name are you wearing?’ he demanded.
‘Beach shorts,’ I answered. ‘It’s a long story, and a very dirty one. I’ll tell you when I’m in the right mood.’
‘I look forward to it,’ he said, ‘but for now, there is the s
mall matter of a bottle of Chambertin nineteen forty-nine.’
‘Yes?’
‘Yes. I’d promised Louis I’d ring through my vintage report, and he tells me you were at Le Beaunois the other night, with a young gentleman.’
‘No gentleman. Damon Maurschen, an admirer, now ex.’
‘Never mind him. You drank the last bottle of that Chambertin.’
‘The second last.’
‘No, a group of businessmen drank that a few weeks ago. Now, you know you can misbehave all you like, but I really think you might have waited until you were with me to drink that bottle.’
‘Sorry, Percy.’
‘Well?’
‘Oh, all right.’
I knew what he wanted, and it was fair. With what I hoped was a look of meek resignation on my face I leaned across the kitchen table, lifting my bottom.
‘Good girl,’ he said calmly. ‘Now down with those silly shorts.’
Reaching back, I turned up my shirt-tail and pushed my shorts down over my bum, feeling that little jump of humiliation which always comes with exposing myself to him, however often I do it. I know how he likes me too, and set my feet apart without having to be told, stretching the shorts taut between my thighs and giving him a prime view of my pussy and bumhole. I knew that wasn’t all he could see.
‘Been smacked?’ he enquired, taking a casual squeeze of one cheek.
I nodded.
‘What with?’
‘A big spoon, and by hand. I think the marks are all left over from the spoon.’
‘This Maurschen fellow?’
‘No. He wouldn’t know what to do with a girl’s bum. Another man.’
‘You have been busy. Still, you look like you’re ripe for a few more, which is just as well. Right, back in, bottom up, let’s have that little hole pointing at the ceiling.’
I obeyed, making the display just one little bit ruder. He loved my bumhole showing, and it was more than likely that was where his cock would be going once he’d beaten me. I looked back at his red face, his balding head, the bulge of his gut: the perfect image for my discipline, to bring my humiliation to a glorious peak as he buggered me, then to cuddle me.