by Monica Belle
‘You have got a cheek, Stephen Byrne. What, you want to show me where a woman belongs, do you?’
‘No, I just . . .’
‘Oh yes you do, and don’t give me any of your bullshit. You’d love it, wouldn’t you? What would you do, spank my little bottom all pink and then make me go down on you?’
He went red again and swallowed. His cock was getting hard under my pussy, so I gave him an encouraging wiggle and laughed at his sudden intake of breath. I wiggled again, rubbing myself on him to send a jolt of pleasure right through me. He reached out to take my hips, still a little doubtful but well turned on. I shook my head.
‘That’s what you’ve been after all evening, isn’t it? All that trouble getting me drunk and mellowed out, then the funny film which just happens to have a girl being spanked in it. You were going to suggest it might be fun to do the same, weren’t you? Yes you were, just as if you’d thought of it on the spur of the moment. And then you were going to put me across your knee, weren’t you? You were going to pull up my dress, and take down my knickers, and spank my bottom, weren’t you, Mr Stephen Byrne, MP. Admit it!’
He nodded, his face still beetroot and his penis a rigid bar in his trousers. Much more and he would come, I was sure, and if it hadn’t risked missing out on my own fun I’d have made him. As it was I gave him another little wriggle and climbed off, sticking my nose in the air in mock disapproval. If he’d had any sense he’d just have done it to me, because now he was in real trouble. He was so repressed, for all his dirty mind. It was just too tempting to make him suffer for it.
‘Well you’re not going to, at least not . . .’
‘Anything, just say how much you . . .’
‘Uh, uh, don’t be sordid, Stephen.’
‘Clothes then. Any designer you name. Or high boots. Or a corset. Do you like corsets?’
‘Yes, but you’re missing the point. The reason I’m not going to let you spank me is because it would make me feel that I was the lesser person.’
‘No, not at all, I would respect you more if anything, I . . .’
‘Shh . . . that’s how I feel, Stephen, but then, maybe I would quite like to do it to you, or something similar.’
‘To me?’
‘Yes. Why not, if you can do it to me?’
‘Well . . . no reason, I suppose. It’s just that . . . dammit, I’m a man! And how do you mean something similar?’
‘So what if you’re a man? Similar means similar, something a good girl, a nice girl, wouldn’t even think about.’
‘So, so don’t you think a man should take . . . No, I don’t suppose you do. So what you’re saying is that I can spank you if we do something you want in return?’
‘No, I don’t, if you were going to ask if you think a man should be in charge in bed. I suppose that sort of attitude’s acceptable for your generation, just about, but it won’t do with me. As for taking turn and turn about, maybe, but I have a better idea. If you want to indulge your dirty little perversion with me, you have to win the right.’
‘How do you mean? By proving my respect for you?’
‘No, nothing so soap-opera. In a game.’
Suddenly the wicked glint was back in his eye.
‘Fine. Backgammon? Chess?’
‘No. I bet you’re ace at both, and I don’t play either.’
‘Let’s toss a coin then.’
‘No, too quick, and I think I should choose, that’s only fair.’
‘Cards? Poker maybe?’
‘No. Pinball.’
‘Pinball!? What, you want us to go out to an arcade?’
He was fit to burst, and didn’t look too pleased. I laughed.
‘No, silly, on your computer.’
‘I don’t have it. I don’t have any computer games.’
‘Yes you do. I’ll show you.’
He had a PC, so he had pinball, which was one game I was absolutely sure I could win. Every time I visited home I spent hours on it, usually with my parents shouting at each other downstairs. Stephen didn’t have a prayer. He knew it too, and was complaining the moment I’d got it on screen.
‘But I’ve never played this!’
‘Good.’
‘That’s hardly fair!’
‘You’re starting to whine, Stephen. Do you want to smack my botty or not?’
I stuck it out and wiggled for him. He immediately tried to slap me and I danced away, laughing. He was red-faced with a hard bulge in his trousers. I sat down on the computer chair to protect my rear.
‘Well, are you going to play?’
He sighed.
‘OK. My side of the bargain is what you suggested, a spanking for you and then you suck me.’
I nodded.
‘And yours?’
I hesitated, not really sure what I wanted. I could whip him, and probably enjoy it, but it wasn’t really me. What I need is a setting, somewhere special, and his flat was just too mundane, too domestic. I did want something from him though, something I’d been sure he would be reluctant to do.
‘I know. You have to take me to a cemetery, Highgate or maybe Abney, and do just as I say.’
‘Just that?’
‘Just that.’
‘OK, if you’re sure, so long as you realise that I can’t afford to take risks.’
‘No more risk than shagging on Eliza Dobson’s tomb.’
‘OK . . . that’s if you’re sure. Isn’t there anything you’d like to do, some fantasy you need to express?’
‘Not that I couldn’t ask you for anytime.’
‘Fair enough.’
I put my fingers to the keyboard, feeling thoroughly pleased with myself as I cued up a ball. It was good to see him in such a state, and more than I could resist not to draw out the agony. He was watching as I began to play, and I could feel his growing frustration as my score started to mount up. It just made me worse, and I began to bat the ball on the flippers, pretending to let it fall only to send it up again. Unfortunately I was just a bit too clever for my own good and dropped it the fourth time. I had nearly two million and two balls left, so I wasn’t worried, laughing and patting his bottom for him as we swapped seats.
He made a big show of it, reading the rules, testing the sensitivity of the keys and trying different positions for control of the nudges, then flexing his arms and fingers before he started. The first ball fell without scoring, allowing him to replay but leaving me laughing so hard I could barely stand up. He cued up again, and this time managed to hit the ball, driving it straight up the launch ramp with a lucky shot. As it came down he caught it on a flipper, tapped it to try and get himself a mission, and missed.
I was trying not to laugh as I watched his desperate attempts to control the ball. He was not doing well, and it showed, mumbling and cursing under his breath every time something didn’t work as he wanted it to and slamming his fist down on the desk when he fell, at under the half-million.
‘Not bad . . . for a beginner.’
All I got was a grunt. I took his place, fully confident that he couldn’t even match my first ball, never mind all three. I was on a roll too, making up to Ensign just before I fell to an unlucky rebound. My score stood at well over three million.
He took over, and was soon swearing again, but he’d hit a lucky streak and again and again missed falling by a whisker. Not that I was worried, but I gave him an encouraging little clap when his score topped the million. He’d stopped grumbling by then, and was playing with a quiet intensity, sometimes even making the ball go where he wanted it to. It wasn’t enough, and he fell short of the two million mark.
As I sat down I was already planning out my blind communion in my head. Stephen was the right person, because he’d do as he was told without interfering, and if I dangled the carrot of his little perversion in front of him I could count on immaculate service. I should have been concentrating on the game, because I fell before I’d completed my first mission, to leave the score just over three and a half.
He had to double his score to win, and he’d been lucky so far. He was getting better though, and I watched with interest as he played, amused by the expression of tight-lipped determination on his face. He made two million, getting a fluky mission to reach Ensign. It took him past two and a half, and I started to get a bit worried. He began to whistle, some old tune from the 70s, now playing with easy skill. I was getting very worried as he passed three, three-one, three-two, now playing with cool certainty and real flair. I was biting my lip as he got a mission that was going to take him clean over my score if he completed it. My bottom cheeks had began to twitch in trepidation as he passed three-three and I realised I might actually be going to get a spanking, and my mouth came open in shock as the mission came in and his score shot up over four.
‘Shit! You bastard!’
‘Got you! The old touch hasn’t deserted me after all.’
‘What old touch? You said you’d never played!’
‘I haven’t, not on a computer. On the front in Yarmouth I was the best, the original pinball wizard. Those were real machines, of course, back in the 70s – Blue Note, Foxy Lady, Wild West, I could take any of my friends on any one of them.’
‘Oh, shut up!’
‘Temper, temper!’
‘You might have told me, bastard.’
‘Now, now, that’s no language for a young lady, not when she’s about to have her bottom warmed. Come along then.’
He let his last ball fall and reached out for my hand. I let him take it, feeling numb and seriously resentful as I trailed after him into the main room. My brandy glass was there, and I poured myself a hefty shot, downing it in one. I was going to take it, I felt I had to, but it was not going to be easy, and I was trembling badly. Stephen looked well pleased with himself, leering and rubbing his hands together in anticipation, then steering me into the bedroom with a firm swat to my bottom. That touch really brought the shame of what I’d let myself in for home and I found myself babbling.
‘Look, could we . . . could . . .’
‘Not backing out, are we?’
‘No! It’s just . . . just . . . I don’t know. I’ve never been spanked, and . . .’
‘Well, you must at least admit you deserve it, after that phone call.’
‘No!’
‘No? I was in a meeting, Angel, with the chair of my constituency party and half a dozen bluestockings!’
‘Whoops.’
‘Whoops is about right. Now come across my knee, young lady, and no more nonsense.’
He sat down on the edge of the bed and patted his lap. I swallowed, desperately telling myself that it was just a game, that I could take it, that it was not a total surrender of my dignity. For a moment I just couldn’t make myself do it, until I told myself I was being pathetic. Still I was burning with embarrassment as I laid myself down across his knees. I was also fervently wishing I’d taken him up on his suggestion of swapping kinks. That way at least I’d have been able to do something horrible to him in return, maybe bugger him like Dave in ‘The Goat of Mendes’, whip his backside so he knew how it felt or piss all over him.
‘You do realise that your knickers are going to have to come down, don’t you?’
‘Yes. I’d guessed.’
I had tried to keep the sulky tone out of my voice, but it hadn’t worked. He gave a dirty little chuckle and cocked one knee up, lifting my hips, and it had begun.
He was a real pig about it, fondling and patting my bottom through my dress for ages before he pulled it up. When he finally did, he tucked it high and began to explore my bum again, making me giggle by tickling the tuck of my cheeks and the flesh between them and my hold-ups, stroking the seat of my panties, and patting me, more firmly now. I didn’t want to admit I liked it, but I couldn’t help but react. There was no real pain, which I’d expected, but for all the indignity of my position it was making me warm and ready. Before long I was starting to push my bottom up and wish he’d take my knickers down.
Eventually he obliged, pushing a thumb down the back of my waistband and peeling them down around my thighs. Then it was back to feeling me, patting and stroking my cheeks, pulling them open to show me off behind, teasing my thighs, my bottom crease, my pussy. When his thumb slid into my body I could no longer hold back my reaction and let out the sigh that had been building in me since the beginning. He cupped my pussy, probing me and rubbing while he smacked my bottom with his other hand, more firmly than before.
I was being spanked, and it was not at all what I’d expected. In the occasional darker moment I had imagined punishment, not being spanked, but whipped in some dungeon or crypt, with evil men revelling in my pain. I had thought spanking would be a lesser version of the same, my pain for Stephen’s pleasure, not the gradual bottom warming he was giving me, dirty, but closer to worship than punishment.
He finished playing with my clit and turned his full attention to my bottom, holding me around the waist and slapping my cheeks with his fingertips, just hard enough to make my skin sting. Soon I was in a rosy haze of pleasure, not so very far from orgasm, with my whole bottom warm and open and sensitive, my sex aching to be filled, my clit badly in need of some more attention. He was going to make me come, I was sure of it, but in his own good time, at once enjoying my body and taking his revenge for me tormenting him. Until then all I could do was lie there and let myself be brought slowly, slowly higher, my dignity forgotten as I surrendered to the delicious thrill of my first spanking.
Then he laid in.
It was completely unexpected. One moment I was lying across his lap with a silly smile on my face and my bottom pushed up for his attention, in bliss and completely accepting what he was doing. The next his hand had landed across my bottom with the full force of his arm, his grip on my waist had locked and I was screaming blue murder and thrashing crazily. He didn’t stop, but just kept right on going, holding me hard to prevent my escape as he spanked me, his arm moving up and down like a piston, my body bucking wildly, my bottom burning with hot pain. I kept on screaming, begging, whining, anything to make it stop, until I was mad with pain and frustration. When finally I managed to fight my way free I slipped from his lap and sat down hard on the floor.
For a moment I couldn’t speak, but only sit there, rubbing my blazing bottom cheeks with my mouth hanging open. My smacked skin felt thick and glowing hot, and I was shaking hard with reaction, some of it anger. It had hurt, a lot, and I was not pleased with him, but I couldn’t deny the urgent need in myself. The spanking had put me on heat, there was no other way to describe it, with my hot bottom the focus of my body, my pussy at the heart, desperately needing to be filled. I wanted to be fucked. I wanted to suck his cock. I had never realised it was possible to resent my own desires. He’d taught me otherwise. At last I found my voice.
‘You bastard!’
He just chuckled, and very casually pulled down his fly. I swallowed.
‘Are you really going to make me do it?’
‘Not if you don’t want to.’
He knew I did.
‘You really are a bastard, aren’t you?’
I shuffled forward, to between his knees, taking in the rich male scent of his penis a moment before I’d opened my mouth around it. He sighed as I began to suck, his half-stiff shaft immediately starting to swell in my mouth, soon erect, and in my hand. I knew what I wanted to do, and I couldn’t stop myself. My other hand went down, between my thighs, to stroke the swollen, sensitive lips of my pussy, and between. As I started to rub I set up a rhythm on his cock, my lips working up and down his thick shaft. He took my hair, twisting his hand in to it, to pull himself deeper into my throat, and back, leaving a ring of black lipstick just an inch from the base of his erection.
My thoughts turned to my hot bottom and the way he’d treated me, stroking me, tickling me, spanking me, taking more time over me than any other man I had known. It had hurt, at the end, but that was a small price to pay for the pleasure he’d given me, see
ing to my bottom just as I was seeing to his cock, slow and attentive, unhurried, the way good sex should be.
He came unexpectedly fast, suddenly grabbing the base of the shaft to milk hot, salty come into my mouth. I struggled to take it, so close to the edge, then over, swallowing over and over with the waves of ecstasy washing over me, my body tight in orgasm, the warmth of my bottom a thrilling, delicious thing. For a long moment it was pure bliss, all the chagrin of letting him spank me gone, and then it was back as I sank down. Before I’d caught my breath I was thinking of revenge.
8
‘REVENGE’ WAS A bit strong. Return match was more like it. He had upped the stakes, taking me somewhere I had never been before, and it had left me feeling out of balance. I needed to get that back, restore a bit of pride. It was tempting to demand a return match, but I had a nasty suspicion I’d just end up getting turned over his knee again. Deep down I knew I wanted exactly that, which made it worse.
I could have slept with him, but I went back, trying not to sulk and not to play with myself as I lay in the darkness of the vestry. As I’d passed down the yew alley I’d felt the Major sniggering. Somehow he knew, and it had made me blush, for all that Michael would have said it was just in my head or the wind in the trees.
The weekend was mine: Stephen was in Suffolk and Michael off at some convention in Birmingham. I felt I needed it, to get my head together, not only because I’d managed to involve two men in my life, but because each was fucking with my head in his own way. It needed resolution, but first something to think about, just to clear my head.
Research seemed the best bet, something to concentrate on and also productive. After taking Lilitu for her walk and making my round of the graveyard I headed up west, to the British Library. If there was any evidence at all of Sir Barnaby Stamforth being involved with Satanism, then it had to be there.
I searched all afternoon, buried in tome after tome, on the computer and in the microfiche. There was plenty about him, but all of it marked with exactly the blend of pomposity and fantastical self-aggrandisement I had come to associate with him. He’d had statues put up to him. He’d had streets and buildings and charities and ships named after him. He’d even had a brand of Christmas pudding named after him. He’d also travelled the world, made a huge fortune, had eight children, done all sorts of arcane industrial things and been an MP. The only thing he hadn’t done was indulge in Satanic sex rituals.