by Monica Belle
I put on a deliberately angry expression as I walked into Buzz Shack. Martin had seen me, and stopped with his bottle of beer raised in a frozen salute as he saw my face.
‘Hi, Fizz, what’s the matter?’
‘You know perfectly well what the matter is, or if you don’t you should do.’
‘I don’t. What am I supposed to have done?’
His friends had begun to exchange looks and snigger, except for Billy, who was already looking aggressive. I forced myself to go on.
‘You told everybody about the cameras, didn’t you?’
It wasn’t what he’d been expecting at all, and it took him a moment to change gear.
‘The cameras? Yeah . . . sure I did. I had to, Fizz, it was a matter of base security. Sorry.’
I just melted. He sounded so genuinely apologetic and yet confident about his decision, while I knew I wasn’t being truthful. Instead of telling him how he’d lost Black Knight Securities their contract and nearly cost me my job, I found myself stammering.
‘Oh . . . I suppose so, but still . . .’
‘Hey, I’m really sorry, Fizz, but it had to be done. Have a mixer, yeah?’
‘No, thanks . . . I . . . I’ll see you around, Martin. Bye.’
I’d failed utterly, unable to tell him what I needed to. As I walked away up the High Street I was wishing he didn’t have to be so nice about everything, because I’d have to let him down eventually, and when I did it would be all the more painful. Stephen was now the only man who had any claim on me, and that was how it should be, or so I kept telling myself as I walked rapidly up to Town Bridge and down the steps. I needed to walk, to get away from people and be alone for a while, but I didn’t want to take the route Martin and I had walked before.
The other way was better anyway, along the river and out of town past the Hattersley Estate. Our cameras were still there, making me intensely self-conscious until I could cross the river. I slowed as I started across the fields, on absolutely flat land, the same route Pete and I had come into town on after burning out Mr Phelps’ car.
I walked right out to the edge of the fens, and turned back only when I realised that my smart shoes weren’t really suitable for walking in. After a life spent mostly in trainers I simply hadn’t realised how much heels could rub, and how physically inefficient that made me, another black mark against suits. In the end I took a bus back into town, arriving at the warehouse to find Stephen drinking coffee in front of his computer screen and no sign of Paul.
‘Sorry I was so long.’
‘Don’t mention it . . . actually, do.’
He’d pushed his chair back as he spoke, making a lap. I knew exactly what that meant.
‘I . . . I’m not really in the mood.’
‘Ah, but you soon will be. Come along, let’s not have any nonsense.’
I made a face.
‘What about Paul?’
‘He’s at the council offices, dismantling the system.’
‘Oh.’
‘Over my knee, Felicity.’
I was still pulling a face, but I went, draping myself across his lap in the now familiar position with my head hung down over the orange carpet squares. After all, I was due a punishment for failing to cut Martin off and it was so easy to obey Stephen, as my boss and as my lover. Everything about him and something about the office made it appropriate for me to be spanked.
His fingers found the hem of my skirt and I closed my eyes as I was put through the little ritual of exposure: skirt up, knickers down, the way he liked to say it, savouring every word. As my bottom came bare my lips had parted in a quiet sigh, quite involuntary. All my cares seemed to be slipping away in the face of my rising excitement, and despite my vulnerability I’d never felt so protected.
Stephen began to spank me, my body limp and surrendered across his knees, my bottom bare, as a bad girl’s should be while she’s punished. And what better way to punish me, for taking too long a lunch break, for anything he pleased, over his knee in the office and smack, smack, smack on my bare bottom.
It began to get harder, stinging my flesh and making me kick a little. Stephen changed his grip, holding me in place and lifting one knee to bring my bottom up and make my cheeks come open. Now it hurt, and he could see every intimate detail of my body, as was his right. He knew what he was talking about too, because he’d taken me from a fit of the sulks to ecstasy in a couple of minutes. I needed to be spanked. I really, genuinely needed to be spanked. He stopped.
‘Hmm, perhaps a little addition, as you’re such a bad girl.’
He was playing, but I felt it was real, because of my emotions and because I’d lied to him, because I’d told Martin about the cameras and implied I’d see him again, and because of a thousand other things I’d done. Oh, yes, I really deserved to be spanked, and more, which was exactly what I was going to get.
One of the cameras they’d been experimenting with was on the desk, a jumble of wires hanging from the end. As I twisted my head around I could just about see as he detached a length of cable, his face set in the calm, cruel smile I knew so well. He adjusted himself a little, leaving me more evenly balanced across his knees as he spoke.
‘Put your hands behind your back, Felicity.’
I obeyed without hesitation. He immediately caught my wrists, crossing them in the small of my back and looping the piece of wire around them. A couple of twists, a knot, and I was helpless, not merely surrendered to him, but dependent on him. I’d begun to sob as he tucked my office skirt up under my bound wrists, hoping and dreading that with me now completely helpless he would spank me hard.
He wasn’t finished. Instead of going back to my punishment, he began to hum one of his favourite tunes, and to lever my knickers further down my legs, and off. As they came free of my ankles I was left nude from the waist down but for stay-ups and shoes, leaving my legs free to come wide and expose my sex more fully then ever. That wasn’t why he’d done it.
‘Open wide, Felicity.’
As he spoke he’d offered my knickers to my mouth. For one horrified second I could only stare at the little bundle of white cotton, and then I’d obeyed him, opening my mouth and allowing him to feed me my own knickers. Now I was bound and gagged, in the most humiliating way, taking me higher still as I waited for my punishment to start again.
I could still see, and my bottom tightened involuntarily as he picked up Paul’s design ruler, a heavy plastic thing half a metre long. It was really going to hurt, and I didn’t know whether to be more scared than grateful as he tapped it down on my bottom, cold against my already heated skin.
Then he’d begun to spank again, applying the ruler hard across my bottom, and fast too, never giving me a chance to recover myself as I was smacked into a squirming, wriggling mess, my bottom bucking up and down in my pain, my legs scissored wide to show everything between, my wrists jerking in the wire noose that held them together. It hurt so much, taking me completely out of myself, completely out of control.
I have no idea how long it went on. I was in a haze of pain, my burning bottom the focus of my entire existence, and the only even vaguely rational thought that remained in my head was that I was being punished, well and truly punished. I’d begun to cry long before he stopped, but it was what I needed, to let all my bad feelings out until I was clean.
When he did stop I begged for more, mumbling through my now soggy knickers. I got it, the ruler applied to my bare cheeks in a furious crescendo of smacks at a faster rhythm than the craziest drum beat and every bit as hard. Finally something inside me seemed to break and I was in that same heavenly state he’d put me in before, properly beaten, eager and submissive to his will, eager to serve him. He seemed to know, and gave me a last few firm swats before stopping.
‘Now that’s how an office girl should be spanked, and this is what she should do afterwards. On your knees, Felicity.’
He helped me down, guiding me to the floor and into a kneeling position, my hands still
tied behind my back, my bottom stuck out behind me, hot and bare. I knew what he was going to make me do, the obvious thing for a well-spanked office girl to say thank you to her boss for punishing her. My knickers were pulled out of my mouth, his fly came down and his cock and balls came out, offered to me to suck.
I paused just a moment to take in the way he looked, a perfect image, sat on his office chair in immaculate suit and tie save for his already engorged cock and the heavy sack of his balls thrusting rudely from his open fly. All I could do was shuffle forward on my knees to take him in, and he immediately took me by my hair, controlling the motion of my sucking.
My head was spinning with arousal, my pussy in urgent need of attention, but there was nothing I could do, only kneel there as he fucked my mouth, completely subservient to his pleasure. I still trusted him. I knew he’d let me come, maybe make me come, but he was going to be first and he was going to do it in my mouth.
Just knowing that was ecstasy, and when he did it an instant later I nearly came. I swallowed as best I could, an act of worship in itself, and I kept him in as long as possible, until he had to gently detach me by pulling on my hair. I looked up, my vision hazy as I met his eyes. He was smiling.
‘Good girl. You’re learning. Now turn around.’
I obeyed, shuffling around on my knees as quickly as I could despite not knowing what he was going to do. My bottom was already ablaze, my punishment complete, but if he wanted to beat me he could. That was his right.
‘Stick your bottom out, right out. That’s my girl, back in so your cheeks open properly.’
I’d adopted the position he’d ordered, my bum pushed out with my back in as tight as it would go. My cheeks were wide open, my bottom hole on show to him as well as my sex, nothing hidden, just as it should be. I craned back over my shoulder to find him smiling down at the view I was providing him. He’d just come, his pleasure more control than sexual, which made it even stronger for me as he spoke.
‘Now, I’m going to masturbate you.’
His words drew a sob from my throat, and another as he reached back, picking something up from the desk. My eyes went wide as I saw what he’d got, two thick marker pens, one red, one black, the rounded tips ideal for insertion into a woman’s body. He laughed to see the expression on my face, and spoke as he leant down.
‘Keep it well out, Felicity, one in each hole, I think.’
I was sobbing as I was penetrated, one pen slid deep in up my pussy before being put to my bumhole and up, the other eased into my sex. I was imagining how I’d look as he gave his low, dirty chuckle, kneeling in front of him, my hands tied tight behind me back, my skirt turned high, my bare spanked bottom thrust out, the ends of the pens protruding from my sex and bottom.
His arms came around me and he spoke again.
‘One last detail.’
I felt his fingers on my blouse. One button was eased open, a second, a third and he’d pulled my blouse wide across my breasts. A quick tug and my bra was up, depriving me of my last scrap of decency. He spent a moment fondling my breasts, which brought my shivering up to an uncontrollable peak, then he had sat back, and a moment later applied the rounded toe of his shoe to my sex.
It was a truly awful thing to do. I’d thought he would use his hand, but no, I was to be brought off on his shoe, and I couldn’t have stopped him if I’d wanted to. I was already whimpering with pleasure even as he began to rub, with what he had done to me running through my head, every awful, wonderful detail sending a fresh shiver through my body as I was brought towards orgasm. I thought of how he’d told me I was going to be spanked, not asked me if he could, but told me he was going to do it. I thought of how he’d bared my bottom, of how big his hand felt as it rose and fell on my cheeks, of how he’d tied my hands behind my back with wire, of how he’d pulled my knickers off and used them to gag me, of how he’d beaten me with the ruler, of how he made me grovel at his feet while he fucked my head, and lastly how I was kneeling for him with every single intimate detail of my body bare in his office while he brought me off on his shoe.
How I screamed when I came. They must have heard me in the other warehouses on the estate. They probably heard me in Norwich. I couldn’t help it though, and by the time he tried to jam my knickers back in my mouth it was too late. My entire body was wracked by spasm after spasm of ecstasy, unbearably strong but completely unstoppable.
I almost fainted, and when I finished I just collapsed, little shivers still running through my body, but as I came slowly down I knew that I was definitely staying with Stephen. Whatever the sacrifice, it was worth it.
12
STEPHEN AND PAUL had decided on Burston, a town to the north of Manchester. It was hardly appealing, although neither of them had any intention of actually living there, which was something. I still found myself constantly having to think back to the way Stephen handled me sexually and the amount of money I’d be earning in order to cope with the idea of leaving Hockford. It meant the end of so much, my entire life really.
The plan was for Stephen to sound out the council and, if things looked promising, to rent out the house in Brettenham and use some of his surplus cash to buy another in the Pennines to the north and west of Burston. I’d never been there, but I had images of rain-swept moors cut by valleys full of terraced houses and factories with enormous chimneys, so different to the woods and fens I was used to.
It also looked certain that the Flying Fortress would be the Rubber Dollies’ farewell gig. We’d always been on shaky ground, stumbling from one venue to the next, and getting banned so often I’d lost count, either for public nudity, being too noisy or general mayhem. Never once had we compromised, refusing to accept restrictions even if it meant not being able to play. I was proud of that, but with me gone the band was almost certain to fall apart, and that felt like a betrayal.
I was up and down all week, on a high when I was with Stephen, fed up when I wasn’t. The only thing which remained constant was that I was determined to go out in style. I’d play better, I’d dress better, and I’d be more outrageous. The dressing part meant setting off from Hockford, so Stephen drove me in on the Saturday morning. Unfortunately he didn’t leave, but accepted Mum’s invitation to drink coffee in the garden. I didn’t feel right getting dolled up with him around, so I shoved what clothes and make-up I needed into a bag and left them discussing cheese.
At Josie’s I gave myself a one-hundred-per-cent makeover, first stripping off to shower and do my hair, which she helped me tease into stiff blonde spikes, tipped in different colours: vivid green, scarlet, turquoise and black. It looked great, completely transforming me from sweet, neatly dressed office girl to naked, snarling punk. Even Josie was impressed.
‘That’s my Fizz. Safety pins?’
‘Sure, why not?’
I’d already taken my earrings out and substituted them for two chains of safety pins. Josie watched, apparently as oblivious as ever to me being stark naked, although it was hard not to think about what she knew. Determined not to change my behaviour in any way, I made a point of not putting anything on as I made up at her dressing table. She sat on the edge of her bed, explaining the order of songs to me.
‘. . . then Pretty Vacant and when I get to “oh so pretty” you can start stripping off if you want to.’
‘Count on it. It’s our last time, Josie, so I want to go all the way.’
‘What, strip naked?’
‘Yeah, why not?’
‘No reason. You go for it. But who says it’s our last time?’
I took a deep breath.
‘Stephen’s moving the company to Burston, near Manchester. I’m going with them.’
‘Shit! You’re not!’
‘I am. Sorry.’
‘Oh fuck, Fizz, what about the band? And you’re my only decent friend, now Sam spends her every waking minute with Billy.’
‘I’m sorry, I really am. It’s not an easy choice, believe me, and I’ll miss you.’
She drew a heavy sigh and went silent, staring at the floor. There was a huge lump in my throat and I was struggling not to cry, but she suddenly stood up.
‘Fuck it! Let’s make it a good one then. You do your strip. Tell you what, we’ll do “God Save the Queen”, and before you stand up and salute at the end, rip your skirt off.’
‘I’ll take it off first. Nobody will see, behind my kit.’
‘Yeah, cool, that’ll shock them!’
‘And . . . um, you can touch me up, if you want, like at the Dog and Duck that time.’
‘Slut!’
I’d sat up a little to get the outline of my lippy exactly right, lifting my bum off the stool. As she spoke she planted a smack across my cheeks, hard enough to make me squeak and leave a stinging spot as I quickly sat down again.
‘Ow! Josie!’
She just laughed and began to rummage in her wardrobe. I carried on making up, not sure whether to go for red and black or rainbow colours to match my hair. She went into the bathroom to shower, leaving me to it. With my warpaint complete I started on my fingernails, painting each one a different colour. Only when I’d finished did I realise that I’d pretty well have to stay naked until they were dry. Briefly I wondered if there was some subconscious motivation, only to dismiss the idea as silly.
Having said I’d strip there was no way I could back out. What I didn’t want to do was end up stark naked on stage with nothing handy, so I packed a pair of knickers, a skirt and a long, loose top into a bag. I’d already decided on clumpy boots instead of heels and fishnets, not only because it was easier to play, but it would be a much stronger image to be strutting around stark naked except for knee-high boots. One of my little black skirts was ideal, because all I had to do was take down the zip at the side and I could slip it off, while a couple of careful snips with Josie’s nail scissors set my top up to be ripped off. There was no point in wearing a bra, and after a moment’s hesitation I decided to do without knickers either.