The morning sun streaming through the windows woke Beth early. It was Saturday. No work. She sat up in bed, refreshed and happy, glad to see the day and still with the warm feeling of well being from the previous afternoon. The office had been empty when she returned; people in her business were used to getting away to the country early on Fridays. She had been quietly pleased that Richard had gone. She felt she’d taken all the punishment she could for a while, and was doubly pleased when she returned home to find it empty for the evening. Beth liked her solitude at times and the chance for the self-indulgence of mudpacks and manicures.
Celeste’s tousled head lay on the pillow next to her. What a cheek, Beth thought, to get into her bed uninvited. At the same time she was touched that Celeste felt sufficiently fond of her and at ease that she would want to share her bed just for sleeping. Beth pushed back the duvet and gazed at the younger girl who was lying on her stomach, naked.
She was truly beautiful. The word pneumatic came into Beth’s mind. There was not a wrinkle or mark on Celeste’s soft skin, it was as if the girl had been inflated like a balloon. In studying paintings or photographs of nudes, Beth had always preferred the male figure, the sharp angles and muscular planes. The female figure was too curved and rounded, and therefore uninteresting. But looking at Celeste now she could see how beautiful a female could be, and how desirable she would be to any man. Who wouldn’t want to fuck her? For a moment Beth felt quite jealous of men and their penises.
Celeste stirred and reached for the duvet. Beth leaned over and kissed the nape of her neck, where her hair brushed her shoulders. ‘You make the coffee,’ she whispered. ‘I’m going to have a shower. I want to talk to you.’
Half an hour later they were back in bed, still naked but showered and powdered, leaning back against pillows and sipping coffee. ‘Don’t you just love Saturdays?’ Celeste asked, tickling Beth’s foot with her toes.
Beth snorted. ‘I don’t see that weekends make any difference to you. You never work.’
Celeste made a moue of protest. ‘But I have you on weekends.’
‘You would enjoy them more if you had a job,’ Beth said. ‘That’s what I want to talk to you about. I think I may have found you one.’
Celeste’s ‘Oh?’ was distinctly unenthusiastic.
‘It could be a good job, a great job,’ Beth said fiercely, trying to get Celeste to snap out of her lassitude. She told her about Rybix, mentioning Kearns but giving few details.
Celeste put down her cup and turned to face Beth. ‘But I don’t have any experience.’
Beth looked at her. ‘You don’t have many qualifications either. But you have your looks, a sharp brain and an even sharper tongue. You should learn to use them.’
‘Oh pooh,’ Celeste said, and snuggled deeper into the bed.
‘You won’t get any experience if you don’t get a job,’ Beth went on. ‘You should be prepared to use whatever skills and talents you have just to get a job in the first place, and then learn and learn.’
‘What skills? What talents?’ Celeste’s tone was truculent.
‘Your looks and your wits,’ Beth said. ‘How did you feel the other day, with Richard?’
‘Excited,’ Celeste admitted. ‘He’s a good-looking man.’
‘Did you mind when he spanked you?’
‘Not at all - I quite liked it. And anyway, you were there.’
‘There you are then,’ Beth said, as if her argument was won. ‘You did that and there was nothing in it for you.’ Celeste cocked an eyebrow, but Beth went on. ‘How would you feel if another man spanked you, and say I wasn’t there?’
‘I suppose it depends what he was like. Some older men can be quite attractive. Just so long as they don’t have beer bellies and hair growing out of their ears.’ Celeste shrugged her naked shoulders. ‘It could be okay, I suppose - in theory, at least. It depends.’ She thought for a moment, and then became indignant. ‘Hey, is that the job, being spanked by strange men?’
‘No,’ Beth replied. ‘Not necessarily. It could be a good job, you could probably define your own role, but you should be prepared to... let’s just say, you should be prepared to use what assets you have to your own advantage.’
Celeste studied her friend. ‘Would you do it?’ she asked.
Beth laughed. ‘I find I am doing it. Against my choosing, but you’d be amazed at how effective it is. I’ve learned a lot in the last few days.’
‘Doing what, exactly?’
‘Using my talents to their full, shall we say. I’ve found recently that I have talents I didn’t know I had.’
Celeste’s ‘Hmmm’ made her sound unconvinced, so Beth went on. ‘I went to see Dr Susskind yesterday. She taught me something I didn’t know about myself. Being spanked can actually turn me on. So why shouldn’t I use it to my advantage? Can I help it if my bottom is as important as my brain.’
‘I think I know what you mean,’ Celeste said. ‘I can remember the first time it happened to me. I was quite young and I was caned. It was a tremendous turn on.’
‘Funny you should say that,’ Beth interjected. ‘When I was with Dr Susskind yesterday I remembered something from the past, my first time, something I had totally forgotten. I was lying over her lap...’
Celeste exploded. ‘You were lying over her lap? Dr Susskind’s lap? Was she spanking you?’
‘Yes,’ Beth continued, unruffled. ‘I was lying over her lap and it suddenly all came flooding back. It was a weird but very comforting feeling. It felt right, and everything fell into place.’
Celeste put her arm around Beth’s shoulders. ‘Tell Mother Celeste. I want to hear all about it.’
‘I’ll tell you about my first time, if you’ll tell me about yours,’ Beth said. ‘But before we change the subject, I want you to promise me something. If I make an appointment for you at Rybix about a job, you’ll go and you’ll do your very best even if, at first, not everything is entirely to your taste.’
‘You’ll be with me?’ Celeste asked.
‘Yes, if that’s what you’d like,’ Beth said, and then added, ‘For the first time only, though.’
‘Okay then,’ Celeste decided, after a moment’s thought, ‘it’s a deal.’
‘It’s a deal about what?’ Beth asked. ‘Telling about our first experiences or going for a job?’
‘Both,’ said Celeste. ‘The job interview, if you insist. But I really meant about telling about our first time. Oh, what fun.’
She snuggled down into the bed, pulling Beth with her. Beth lay on her back, with Celeste’s head on her shoulder. As Beth spoke, Celeste would occasionally nuzzle or lick the pink nipple just inches from her mouth. With her hand she idly played with Beth’s pubic hair, twisting the silky curls around one finger.
‘It was at school,’ Beth said. ‘I went to a private school in the Scottish lowlands, a girls only boarding school. I was just seventeen, and I was naïve and sexually innocent. It was a good school. I liked it there a lot.
‘Anyway, we had all the normal games in the afternoons. You know the sort of thing - hockey in the winter, rounders or netball in the summer. In our house - my house was called Guilders - was a communal changing room, showers at one end, rows of pegs for hanging clothes and footlockers for shoes. It was the girls’ own room in a way, the teachers never bothered to go in. I suppose it was too much of a mess.
‘One whole corner of the changing room was another room, a sort of room within a room. It was the drying room, where we were supposed to hang our wet clothes. It had no windows, warm pipes around the walls so that it was always lovely and cosy and only one dim light. I don’t suppose it was designed as a room to linger in, but we loved it, especially on cold days. It was like a sauna in a way, with benches along each wall.
‘A group of girls would grab the drying room and defend it like a fort, repelling all boarders. You can imagine the sort of games. I was a popular girl, I think. I used to be let in to the drying room by the senior girls and sometimes we would stay there for hours.
‘As the girls were dressing or undressing we would flick each other with wet towels. You know how much that hurts. One day a girl called Flo flicked one of the older girls and really hurt her. The older girl was angry, very angry. She grabbed Flo, who was wearing only her vest at the time, and smacked her bottom very hard. Suddenly we were all smacking her, taking it in turns to smack her bottom. I think Flo wanted to cry but we were all laughing so much I don’t think she dared.
‘Anyway, that became our regular game. Each day a group of girls would pick on just one for some imagined offence, like missing an open goal in hockey, and we would all gather round taking it in turns to smack her. We were quite democratic. Everyone was the victim at least once, but over a period of time it became mostly the less senior girls who were smacked and the older girls who did the smacking. They would always stop if a girl called out or worse, started crying. In a strange way we knew what we were doing was somehow wrong, and that’s why it never went too far.
‘When I was first smacked I quite enjoyed being the centre of attention, and I got the reputation of being a good sport. Any girl who was really upset could have told a teacher but no one ever did. Over a period of time, I found I was chosen more and more frequently. I was quite proud. Older girls seldom paid any attention at all to their juniors, but being an uncomplaining victim seemed to make me part of the gang.
‘I came to see it as a matter of endurance, seeing how long I could go without calling for mercy. I remember I got up to seventy smacks one afternoon. It was a record at the time. I was probably sore that evening but there wasn’t a prouder girl in the house. Silly, isn’t it?
‘Anyway, one particular afternoon I was the victim again. Imagine it; there I was, lying on my tummy on a towel on the floor, stark naked. Five or six girls were kneeling in a ring around me, taking it in turns to smack my bottom like a drum and counting as they did so. Suddenly the counting, and the smacking, stopped. I turned my head to see why, and there in the doorway was a prefect, a girl of about eighteen, a quiet girl called Jane Morrow.
‘There was no big row, but the other girls, I remember, were confined to the school for two weeks and had extra detention. In the middle of prep that evening, I was called out and asked to go and see Jane Morrow in her study at the top of the house - prefects had their own studies. By and large they ran the school when the teachers weren’t around.
‘I don’t remember much about Jane Morrow. She was quiet and played the violin very well, but she wasn’t the sort of older girl I had a pash on. Those were the girls who had long legs and were good at games. They played the boys in school plays. Jane asked me what had been happening, and in my innocent way I explained the game and even told her about me trying for a record.
‘She said the game would not be happening any more but said that there was no reason why I should still not try for the record - with her. And do you know, it didn’t seem funny or odd to me. She made me take off my knickers and put me over her knee. I do remember thinking it odd that I didn’t lie over her whole lap but that she put me between her legs, with my tummy on one thigh and my legs trapped from above by her other thigh.
‘Then she smacked my bottom. It was thirty smacks that first time, I think. She pretended it was all a game and announced that it would be forty smacks the next time. I didn’t understand then - but I do now - why her cheeks were so red and she looked so hot and bothered. I thought she was tired from her efforts.
‘Our game went on about once a week for the rest of that term and until the end of the following term, before she left school. The last time I went to see her it was eight o’clock one evening. She had told me to be there then, but she pretended she had forgotten. She was just out of the shower and I could see she was naked under her bathrobe.
‘She put me over her lap in the normal way with my legs between hers. My left thigh was right up against her groin, and I could feel her pubic hair. She started to spank me, but it was not like in the past. It was somehow wilder. She counted up to ten and then stopped counting. She was gasping and each time she smacked me she would push herself against me, rubbing against my leg. It went on and on, with her smacking and gasping and rubbing faster and faster. Suddenly, when the frenzy was at its height, she squealed and stopped. I felt used, as if I had done something wrong, but I was excited too. Strange things were happening in the pit of my stomach that had never surfaced before.
‘Then she left and I grew up. Funny how I’d forgotten all that until yesterday when I was over Dr Susskind’s knee.’
Celeste kissed Beth’s nipple again. ‘How sweet you must have been.’
Beth turned onto her side. ‘Now it’s your turn,’ she said, snuggling in to the other girl. With one hand she stroked the bare, slightly stubbly patch where Celeste’s pubic hair had been and idly squeezed together the lips of her sex.
‘Must I?’ Celeste pouted. ‘That feels so good.’
Beth eased her fingers away. ‘Yes, you must,’ she said with mock severity.
Celeste reached for her hand and put it back where it had been. ‘Oh, all right,’ she said. ‘My story is not so sweet. It was not so long ago and I was slightly older than you were. It was my first proper sexual experience. It was humiliating, disgusting and... very, very exciting. I still think about it now, when I am alone, if you know what I mean.’
Beth fingered Celeste’s clitoris. ‘You don’t need to be alone now,’ she purred.
Celeste opened her legs wider. ‘Mmm, don’t stop,’ she said. ‘Anyway, I went to France as an au pair. It was a summer job, to improve my French. We did not know the family beforehand but my father and the other man both worked for the same company, so everyone assumed I would be safe and well looked after.
‘They were quite a wealthy family with a big house outside Chartres. I think the wife, Colette, had money of her own. I liked them all. There was Colette, her husband, Alain, and two children, a boy of five and a girl of three. They treated me well and I had a good time. I like everything about the French.
‘Alain was certainly arrogant but charming with it. He was about forty-five and very good-looking. He was away a lot and I spent most of my time with Colette and the kids. I was a sort of half-child, half-adult depending on whom I was with.
‘My duties were not arduous but I did have to bath the children in the evening and put them to bed. By then Colette would be tired of them and was probably getting ready to go out. They were very sociable.
‘After I had been there for two weeks, Colette went to Paris for a long weekend. Her favourite aunt lived there, probably the one with the money. Alain was around, but he was mad about polo and golf and I was largely in charge on my own. That first day I was due to go out in the evening, with another English girl I had met. We were going to try a local disco, and Alain had promised to be back early.
‘The kids had been awkward and difficult all day. I think they missed their mother; she was not often away overnight. At bath time they were a real pain. They were all sorts of trouble and the final straw came when Maurice, the boy, was getting out of the bath. Quite spitefully he scooped up handfuls of soapy water and threw them all over me. I was all dressed up ready to go out, wearing my one sexy dress and with my hair done. I was soaked, a real mess.
‘Well, I flipped. I pulled Maurice out of the bath and slapped him hard, twice. He howled, and because he was crying because of what I’d done, Saskia, the little one, started crying too.
‘I was screaming at them in broken French, and they were both bawling. Just at the height of it I looked up and Alain was standing in the doorway, with a face like thunder. He had come in, heard the noise and come immediately upstairs.
‘He sent me off to change, quieted the children, gave them supper and put them to bed himself. He wouldn’t let me help. When my friend came to pick me up he answered the door and told her that I would not be going out. He apologised and she went away; I heard it all from upstairs.
‘Then he called me down to the sitting room. His English was better than my French. He told me to pack my bags, and that I would be leaving the next day. I protested, I got angry, I even cried, but he was inflexible. He accused me of hitting Maurice and, stupidly, I denied it. He said he could see the marks on the boy’s body. He wasn’t having his children hit by strangers. I would have to go.
‘I started pleading. I didn’t want to go. I liked it there. I was enjoying myself. I could not go home for a boring summer with my parents. I had nowhere else to go. I had no money. I told him I would never do it again, if he relented. It had been a spur of the moment thing, but he wouldn’t give in.
‘Finally, he seemed to think it over and then announced that if I was staying I would not go unpunished. He would treat me in the same way I had treated Maurice, but with the greater severity appropriate for an adult. I should go away and think about it until bedtime. I should then either pack my bags ready to leave early the next morning, or I should report to him in the sitting room wearing my nightclothes.
‘I went to my room to think it over but, to be honest, my mind was already made up; I was not going home. So I spent most of the two hours wondering what Alain would do.
‘At eleven o’clock I went back downstairs. I was wearing a nightdress and dressing gown, but had bare feet. I had put on a little make-up and done my hair in a pretty way. If he had been waiting for me, he did not show it. He didn’t even look surprised. He told me what he was going to do, and then it would be forgotten. There would be no arguments. He was going to spank me, as I had spanked Maurice. I protested at once that I had only smacked him twice, hardly a spanking, but he said that twice to a boy of his age was severe enough and that anyway, I had the choice; I could leave. Maurice had had no such choice.
‘I stood my ground so he told me what to do. Maurice had been naked so I would be naked too. I had hit Maurice on the bottom so it would be my bottom that suffered. I had hit Maurice with my hand, but hands were inappropriate for me. I was shocked to then see him produce a bamboo cane. Lord knows where it came from.
‘He told me to strip, so I did so, taking my robe and nightdress off very slowly. Silly me, I thought he would be overcome by my beauty and let me off. I stood in front of him stark naked, with my hands to my sides, not trying to hide anything. He looked me up and down carefully and made me turn around, but his eyes were cold. There might have been a passion there, in fact there was a passion there, but it was well hidden.
‘He made me bend over the back of the sofa so that my head and arms were on the cushions on the other side. I can’t imagine what I looked like, with just my legs and my bottom on show. He fiddled with the cane between my thighs, tapping from side to side, opening them up a little. I felt very embarrassed, as you can imagine. I had never been naked in front of a man before, and here I was showing Alain my most intimate bits in the most brazen way. But it was undeniably exciting.
‘When I was in the required position I heard him cutting the cane through the air, and then he spoke. “I am going to give you six strokes, Claudine,” he said. “And it is going to hurt.”
‘Claudine? Who was Claudine? Here I was, little Celeste, offering him my all and he was talking to Claudine. I found out later that Claudine was his secretary. Apparently Claudine looked a little like me. Apparently she came from a very good family and was very haughty, but lazy and inefficient. She infuriated Alain but he could not do anything about her because he needed her family contacts for his business.
‘But you can imagine how I felt. It was so humiliating. Here he was, wanting to chastise his secretary, who probably really deserved it, except it was my body he was using.
‘He gave me six strokes as promised. It hurt like hell but I took it as well as I could. I was crying by the end, though. I must have looked awful, tear-stained cheeks, hair all mussed up. Then he was so sweet to me. He took me in his arms and comforted me. He kissed my tears and told me I had been brave, and before I knew it I was kissing him properly - real, deep, intense kisses. At that moment I loved him passionately, probably all the more so because of what he had just done to me.
‘I begged him to make love to me. I wanted him to lay me down on the sofa and take me. And he would have done, but he astutely guessed that I was a virgin. He wouldn’t do it the normal way after that, even though I begged him. He said he would have me all the same, he wanted me, but he would do it his way, so as to preserve my virginity. I remember I was disappointed, but I didn’t care so long as he did something.
‘He went and fetched a pot of lubricant. He made me rub it on my bottom and then over his cock. It was so beautiful - I wanted to suck it. Then he made me bend again over the back of the sofa, in the same position I had been for my caning... and you can guess what happened next. He sank his cock into my bottom. He was as gentle as he could be, but it hurt at first. Then it was wonderful; the feeling of being utterly taken, of being totally debased.
‘When it was over he put me to bed, and the next morning he licked me awake. It was wonderful. He taught me to do the same to him. We did that on and off for the next two months, as long as I stayed there. He never did it in my bottom again and he never fucked me, but oh, I wish he had.’
Beth lifted herself onto one elbow. ‘I wonder if he ever caned Claudine in the end,’ she mused.
Celeste stretched. ‘I’d be jealous if he did. She would probably adore it, because he was a wonderful lover. Just thinking about him makes me feel sexy.’
Beth threw back the bedclothes and moved down the bed until she was lying between Celeste’s legs. ‘What’s it like, being fucked in the bottom?’ she asked bluntly.
Celeste was surprised. ‘Have you never done it? It hurts at first, but it’s very exciting.’
‘Mmm,’ Beth purred. ‘Tell me about it all again, but this time tell me exactly what Alain did, and how he did it. You can imagine that I’m him.’
‘Well...’ Celeste sighed, ‘start by putting one finger in my bottom...’
‘Do you want this job or not?’ Beth asked, with a note of asperity in her voice.
‘Not much,’ Celeste mumbled, holding a coffee cup to her lips.
Three days had passed since Beth first raised the matter of a job for Celeste at Rybix, and not once in the discussions since had the younger girl shown much interest.
Now they were in a café around the corner from the Rybix building, their appointment with Kearns was just seventeen minutes away, and Beth was losing patience.
‘Okay then,’ Beth said, ‘pay me the rent you owe me. Pay me for all the food you have eaten, the white wine you have drunk. Fend for yourself and see if you like it. If you won’t make the effort, won’t even try, I’m finished with you.’
Celeste took Beth’s hand. ‘Don’t be angry with me,’ she sulked. ‘I’m scared - scared stiff. What’s he like?’
‘Father Christmas in a suit of armour. Tough as nails and sharp as a whip. But don’t worry, he’ll like you; you’re just his type.’
‘A what type is that?’ Celeste asked.
‘Cheeky but bright. You won’t have to act, just be yourself.’ She squeezed Celeste’s fingers. ‘Just give it a go. You have nothing to lose.’
‘Except perhaps my modesty,’ Celeste said dryly. Even though it was mid-summer, she was shivering very slightly.
‘He may take to you immediately, just by looking at you.’
Celeste looked doubtful so Beth continued to reassure her. ‘Do it for me, then. Do it for the rent. Do it to help me in my job. Do it for our relationship. And do it for your own bloody good, too.’
Celeste stood, suddenly looking determined, scraping her chair on the tiled floor. ‘Okay, let’s do it,’ she said firmly. ‘How do I look?’
An hour before Beth had helped Celeste to dress, choosing for her a short navy-blue skirt and a powder blue V-necked jumper, with a scarf tied loosely at the neck. ‘Simple, elegant, and utterly desirable,’ she said.
Kearns was in an expansive mood. He leant back in his chair with his thumbs hooked into his waistcoat pockets and a cigar smouldering in an ashtray on the desk in front of him.
‘I know you are a friend of Beth, Ms Englund, and that is a recommendation in itself - I should know. But what would you bring to a job here?’ he asked. ‘Have you brought a curriculum vitae?’
‘I, um, don’t actually have a CV,’ she said. ‘I am my own CV. What you see is what you get.’
Kearns frowned a little. Beth, sitting in a chair alongside Celeste, quickly intervened. ‘She’s too young to have much history, T.J., but she has an aptitude for public relations and dealing with the media.’
Celeste stole a quick glance at Beth, with one eyebrow raised quizzically.
‘If it is the case that what I see is what I get, would you mind standing up, so that I can look at you properly,’ Kearns said. Celeste uncrossed her legs and stood facing him.
‘First impressions are very important in public relations,’ he said. ‘Now turn around.’
Celeste obediently turned so that her back was to Kearns.
‘You certainly look the part,’ Kearns decided, as Celeste resumed her seat. ‘That’s half the battle won, but what about the other half? Clients can be difficult. You would have a lot to learn.’
Beth spoke up again. ‘I’m sure, T.J., that she could learn with your guidance. She is most certainly bright enough...’
‘Let her speak for herself,’ Kearns interrupted Beth.
‘I could learn with your guidance, sir,’ Celeste said, almost echoing her friend. ‘If you helped me you would find that... that I learn very quickly.’
Beth could see that Celeste was struggling, so she took the risk of interjecting again. ‘She sometimes lacks motivation and self-discipline, though. She needs a firm hand, and you, T.J., would be an ideal teacher.’
‘A teacher, yes.’ Kearns seemed to like the thought. ‘I believe in encouraging young talent. Don’t I, Beth? A kind word here, a rebuke there.’
Beth turned to Celeste, urging her with her eyes to wipe the doubtful look off her face. ‘Mr Kearns can be very firm. Fair but firm. You would have to behave yourself.’
Celeste spoke, as if replying to Beth but looking at Kearns. ‘Sometimes,’ she said hesitantly, ‘I do seem to get into trouble when I shouldn’t.’
Kearns was silent for a moment, apparently lost in thought. ‘What exactly are you proposing?’ He looked at them both in turn. ‘And I am not certain who that question should be addressed to,’ he added with a slight smile.
‘A three month contract,’ Celeste said frankly.
‘For a start,’ Beth quickly intervened.
‘As a personal assistant,’ Celeste proposed.
‘And public relations adviser,’ Beth added.
‘Weekends off, but no holidays.’
‘I should hope not,’ Kearns said. Again he appeared to be thinking. ‘Mrs Woods is my general factotum and has been for years. We must not put her nose out of joint.’
Both girls nodded their agreement, and Kearns looked at Celeste. ‘On occasion you might have to work late,’ he pointed out. ‘And I travel a lot. There are times when I might want you with me, to deal with the press and clients and so on. Do you speak any languages?’
Celeste stole a sideways glance at Beth. ‘I’m not bad at oral French,’ she said, and Beth put a hand over her mouth to suppress a gasp. ‘But I am not very good at writing it.’
Kearns picked up a pen and twiddled with it. ‘We seem to be working towards a conclusion,’ he said. ‘Now there’s the question of where I would put you.’
Beth spoke up. ‘I was thinking of Mrs Woods’ office outside. She could...’ Her voice tailed off as Kearns shook his head.
‘That wouldn’t do at all,’ he said. He stood up and walked to the wall at one side of his desk. He raised a hand and beckoned to them to join him. As they watched, he pressed a button and the wooden panelling slid noiselessly to one side, revealing a short, narrow staircase leading downwards only.
‘Welcome to my inner sanctum,’ he said. ‘Not even Mrs Woods knows when I leave the office and retreat down here.’
‘Um, that looks like my cue to leave you two alone,’ Beth said.
‘No, I’d like you to stay,’ Kearns said.
‘Yes, please don’t go,’ Celeste added.
Kearns led the way down the short flight of carpeted steps. ‘It’s a dungeon,’ Celeste gasped, and made a gesture towards the main office door, silently suggesting to Beth that they beat a hasty retreat. But Beth took her firmly by the hand and pulled her after Kearns.
‘This is where I stay when I’m in town,’ he was saying conversationally. ‘My family are in Oxfordshire and I can’t always get home.’ He opened a door and guided the girls into a small apartment, comfortable rather than luxurious. ‘We’re one floor down,’ he said. ‘Marketing and public relations are just through there.’ He waved a hand airily in a vague direction.
He led the two girls into a hallway. ‘And between them and me,’ he said, opening another door, ‘I just happen to have a spare office. Bare at the moment, but nice and handy.’
Celeste looked slightly glum at the lack of furniture.
‘It could be lovely,’ said Beth.
He took the girls back into his sitting room. ‘Take a seat,’ he said, and then looked at Beth, nodding towards a cabinet. ‘Help yourself to a drink. Now we are alone and not in danger of being overheard, I think I should find out more about this young lady I am considering taking on.’
‘Perhaps now I should go,’ Beth said.
Celeste looked at her pleadingly, and Kearns said, ‘No, stay - I insist.’
‘Er, I’d like to know more about the contract, if I may,’ Celeste piped up, and Beth glanced at her admiringly.
Kearns replied by picking up a telephone, apparently a direct line to Mrs Woods. ‘I’m downstairs, Mary. I may be a little while. Draw up an employment contract for a Miss Celeste Englund. I’ll give you the address later. Three months. Public relations adviser.’ When he mentioned the fee, Celeste’s eyes widened.
‘That’ll pay the rent,’ Beth said quietly.
Kearns was still talking quite loudly, obviously wanting the girls to listen. ‘Put in the standard get out clause, one week’s trial. Either side can terminate.’ He listened for a moment and then said in a normal tone, ‘No, I haven’t yet told Jim. But I will.’ He listened again. ‘No. No. I won’t, I promise.’ He laughed. ‘Behave yourself. You remember too many things too well.’
He replaced the receiver with a smile on his lips. ‘That should answer your questions,’ he said to Celeste. ‘Now, how about answering mine?’
‘What would you like to know?’ Celeste asked.
‘The matter of ill discipline,’ he said, taking a seat. ‘What am I supposed to do when you let me down or misbehave?’
‘But I won’t,’ Celeste insisted.
Kearns looked at Beth, and she spoke without looking at Celeste. ‘I find a good spanking helps,’ she said.
‘I can see she could be the difficult type,’ said Kearns. ‘But a good spanking helps, you say? You’d know, of course, as I remember only too well...’
‘I’d rather not talk about that, thank you,’ Beth interrupted him. ‘But yes, a similar scenario to that. I find it works wonders with her.’
‘Would you not talk about me when I’m right here,’ Celeste protested.
Kearns ignored her. ‘Has she been spanked recently, Beth?’
‘Just the other day,’ she confirmed. ‘She asked for and received a real thrashing.’
‘And this thrashing, Beth,’ Kearns went on, ‘was it on her bare bottom?’
‘Oh yes, T.J. It would not have been half as effective if it were not.’
‘Why don’t you ask me?’ Celeste complained. ‘I can speak, you know.’
Kearns looked at her calmly. ‘Was it on your bare bottom, my dear?’
‘It might have been,’ Celeste said sulkily, shrugging her shoulders.
‘And was it effective?’
Celeste shrugged again. ‘How would I know?’
Kearns looked at Beth. ‘If it was effective, the effect didn’t last long, it seems. I think perhaps we - you - should try again. Now.’
‘Me?’ asked Beth.
‘Yes, you,’ said Kearns. ‘You brought her here, you introduced her to me, you told me she can do the job. You are responsible.’
‘But T.J., I thought you would do it, if anyone,’ Beth said. ‘I don’t want to spank her here, in front of you.’
Kearns’ voice was grave. ‘Don’t make me remind you, Beth, that we have only just signed a contract with your firm. I could break it very easily now, before it comes into force, with only a very small default payment.’
‘Oh, isn’t this fun,’ Celeste said sarcastically. ‘The two of you discussing in front of me which of you is going to do the spanking. This is me you are talking about.’
‘Shut up,’ Beth snapped.
‘You were right,’ Kearns said, ‘she can be very difficult. I suggest you show me the remedy now or we can call the whole thing off.’
‘Stand up,’ Beth almost barked at Celeste. She was surprised how angry she felt. She was angry with Kearns, but angrier still with Celeste. She was not going to let the girl ruin everything with her disrespectful ways.
‘No, I won’t,’ Celeste refused adamantly, gripping the arms of the chair.
Beth looked at Kearns; he gave her no clues, but turned to Celeste, speaking calmly and quietly. ‘Young lady, before I buy an expensive present I am accustomed to having a good look at what I am getting for my money. If I am paying a small fortune for your services, I expect at least the same privilege.’
Beth stood alongside Celeste’s chair. ‘Take off your skirt and knickers,’ she ordered.
For a brief moment that felt like an eternity no one moved, and then Celeste stood up and turned her back on Kearns. ‘You’ll pay for this,’ she murmured to Beth, reaching for her skirt.
‘Everything off, I think,’ said Kearns, putting his feet up on the coffee table.
‘Do as you’re told,’ Beth said to Celeste. ‘Take everything off.’
As Celeste began to undress, Beth felt her anger fade. Celeste had been awkward but that was understandable. Kearns had been just as she had expected but even more generous than she anticipated. She did not have to get undressed, at least not at the moment. It was just the two of them and a semi-naked Celeste. She was beginning to enjoy herself.
It was like being an announcer at a fashion show. She should give a running commentary on each new act. She might be ashamed of herself later on, and undoubtedly Celeste would be furious with her and seek revenge, but this was fun. She could become quite good at it, she thought. And anyway, Celeste could not really complain; she had asked her to stay.
‘You’ll see how lovely she is,’ she said to the watching man. ‘Lovely and wilful.’
Celeste had already taken off her scarf and pulled the jumper over her head. Now she was unhooking her bra, and as she threw it to one side, her breasts quivered invitingly.
‘Aren’t they lovely?’ Beth said, cupping the nearest breast in one hand. ‘So soft and so, so sensitive.’ She pinched the nipple between her thumb and forefinger, and Celeste squealed.
‘Take off the rest,’ Beth instructed, and Celeste sullenly kicked off her shoes and unhooked her skirt, which fell to the floor.
‘And the best is yet to come,’ Beth said, addressing Kearns again.
Slowly, facing him, Celeste pushed her panties down her thighs, past her knees and kicked them to one side.
‘Look T.J.,’ Beth said. ‘An unobstructed view. No pubic hair. Isn’t she sensational?’ She spoke to Celeste. ‘Open your legs. No false modesty. Let T.J. see you clearly.’ With flashing eyes Celeste obeyed. Kearns said nothing, but stared directly at the naked beauty standing before him.
‘So lovely,’ Beth said. ‘And so inviting.’ She ran her forefinger up over the exposed lips. She licked her finger and then replaced it, holding the soft labia open. ‘Good enough to eat.
‘And now, the piece de resistance,’ she went on, and turned Celeste around. ‘Just look at that,’ she said, but found her words were unnecessary. Kearns was already staring at Celeste’s bottom. ‘Isn’t it absolutely flawless?’ Beth said. ‘Made for love and punishment.’
She cupped one buttock in her hand, feeling its weight. ‘Excellent skin tone, fine tensile strength and,’ she said, ‘superb musculature control. If you could bottle it you would make a fortune! T.J., you’re a very lucky man.’
She placed her hand against the small of Celeste’s back, making her bend forward. ‘A beautiful bottom, but a naughty one,’ she went on. ‘Touch your toes.’
When Celeste was bent double and the skin of her bottom was as taut as a drum, Beth spanked it once, hard across both cheeks. Her small hand left a red mark on either side of the cleft.
‘A bottom to be spanked - hard and often,’ she said, and again she struck, this time on only one cheek.
‘A bottom to be paddled.’ She spanked her again on the other cheek.
‘A bottom to be slippered.’ She spank her again.
‘A bottom to be caned.’ Yet another.
‘A bottom to be whipped.’ And yet another.
She then stroked Celeste, fondling both buttocks and rubbing away the hurt. ‘Personally,’ she said, ‘I prefer the hand. I like to feel my palm against her pliable flesh.’
She looked at Kearns. ‘She has been caned, you know. Not so very long ago.’
She smacked Celeste again. ‘You were caned, weren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ Celeste croaked.
‘How many strokes?’
‘Six.’
‘And what did he do when he finished caning you?’
‘He - he screwed me.’
‘Where?’
Celeste said nothing.
‘Where did he screw you?’ Beth persisted, spanking her again.
‘I-in my bottom,’ Celeste whispered.
‘Say it again; I don’t think T.J. could hear you.’
‘In my bottom,’ she said louder. ‘He screwed me in my bottom.’
Beth spanked her again. ‘Open your legs wider.’ Celeste moved her feet. ‘Now hold open your cheeks.’
Celeste raised her hands and pulled her buttocks apart.
‘You see, T.J?’ Beth gloated triumphantly. ‘He screwed her in this delectable little opening.’ She placed her index finger on the vulnerable little anus. ‘You wouldn’t believe it, would you? You wouldn’t believe something so small and beautiful could accommodate an erect penis. Of course, yours is exceptional, if I may say so. I am not so certain yours could be accommodated here.’
Kearns’ hands moved to his trousers, and she watched him unzip them and his fingers disappear inside.
She went on talking. ‘You’ll find, T.J., when you know her better, just how naughty Celeste can be.’ She smacked the younger girl’s glorious bottom again, making her gasp and sway slightly.
Kearns had pulled out his cock and was stroking it gently, running a finger up and down the underside. It was as wide and as impressive as Beth remembered, and as rigid as a board.
‘The naughty little tart plays with herself, too,’ Beth said, appearing to pay no attention to Kearns. ‘I’ve caught her at it.’
‘No, I don’t,’ Celeste objected pitifully.
‘Oh, yes you do,’ Beth insisted, smacking her again. ‘Like you are just about to, aren’t you?’
Celeste said nothing, so Beth smacked her hard several more times.
‘Aren’t you?’ she repeated.
Still Celeste said nothing, but the fingers of her right hand appeared between her legs, obscuring her labia. Kearns got out of his seat and moved forward until he was only a couple of feet from the two lovely girls. He was stroking his penis fully now, his hand moving up and down the shaft. The unseeing eye at its head pointed directly at Celeste’s anus, as her forefinger disappeared between her moist lips. With her other hand she rubbed her clitoris, moaning slightly, and her bottom began to sway and her buttocks clench, encouraged by the smarting smacks delivered by Beth.
Beth knew the time had come for her to stop talking and to get spanking again. She took her beat from the movement of the man’s hand, smacking Celeste hard on each stroke. As the bottom in front of her turned a deep red, she could hear Celeste’s moans turn into panting pleasure, and she knew her friend well enough to know she was just about to come.
Kearns’ fist was pumping with increasing vigour, Beth’s hand was furiously smacking the proffered bottom, and Celeste’s fingers were working avidly between her trembling thighs. The three moved independently but together, and just as Beth thought she could strike no faster, Kearns gave a strangled groan and a cascade of semen shot through the air in an arc and landed on Celeste’s bottom, at the top of the shadowy valley. It began to trickle down towards her tiny anus as she wailed and her hips convulsed, her buttocks tensing and wetness shining like silver on her fingers. Beth stopped spanking her, but the grimacing man’s second ejaculation occurred, albeit with less momentum, and fell warmly over her hand.
‘I don’t believe you did that,’ Celeste said ten minutes later as the two girls walked down the street away from the Rybix building.
‘Neither do I,’ Beth confided, and then they had gone three or four more paces when she added, ‘What do you mean, you don’t believe I did that? I don’t believe you did that.’
‘Well, I don’t believe either of us did that,’ Celeste said, as they entered the same café as before.
They were giggling with relief as they ordered some coffee, like schoolgirls let out at the end of a long, hard exam.
‘You are a very, very naughty girl who should be ashamed of herself,’ Beth said fondly, then let out a little whoop of delight. ‘But it worked. He’s hiring you.’
‘And you,’ Celeste said with mock severity, ‘are a witch. I never knew you were like that.’
‘I’m not really,’ Beth replied. ‘I don’t know what came over me.’ She pretended to look glum, and then a mischievous smile lit up her face. ‘But let’s go home and do it again.’
‘Yes, let’s,’ Celeste enthused. ‘Only this time we’ll change places. You owe me.’
It was mid-morning, but in the studio the sun was setting. The back projection screen at one end of the airy room was a glorious dusky red. In front of the screen was a trellis covered in bougainvillaea, two small palm trees and a flowering hibiscus, a table and chairs of wrought iron painted white, and three girls in beachwear, shivering with cold.
The photographer, Peter Parnell, was walking around the room, pulling down blinds and switching on lights. ‘For goodness’ sake, get them a blow heater,’ he snapped at a pimply youth with long hair who was trying to look busy and interested in a light meter, as he cast covert glances at the breasts of a redhead in a bikini.
At the other end of the room, Beth sat in a chair with her arms folded and a clipboard and folder on her lap. She was present to supervise the shoot and she deliberately arrived early. As the Cross, Carstairs and Denton account manager for Rybix, this was her first big job for the company, a poster campaign promoting Rybix ice cream. She had made sure to hire Parnell, known to be irritable but a good photographer, and to choose the best looking models. Now it was up to them; there was not much she could do at this point while they were setting up.
She was glad of the momentary respite as she had a lot on her mind. Richard Cross, for one. She caught herself thinking about him often these days. But what exactly did she want from him?
An affair? Maybe.
To finish the unfinished business? That was more like it.
She could admit it to herself; she wanted Richard to make love to her properly, to respect her, if only for a short while. She wanted to prove to herself that she had power over him. So what had gone wrong? Why had nothing developed since that day she was naked on her knees in front of him and his wife walked in on them? Two weeks had gone by without any further moves from him, without any real contact at all. Two weeks of the month had already gone by and she’d hardly seen him since that day.
It cannot have been because of his wife, she thought. Both Richard and Helen acted as if they enjoyed every second of it - or at least as if they were in agreement. He had been busy since then, she knew, but it was more than that. The thought struck her that maybe it was the Rybix account she successfully secured for the company. Maybe that was it. What a quandary. Maybe he only fancied her when he wanted to punish her. And how could he punish her when she had just brought in an enormous new account? Could that be possible? Her success could be her own undoing. Stupid man; he could punish her any time he liked, she thought, imagining being across his lap again. She must discuss it with Dr Susskind at their next appointment.
‘Beth,’ a voice called, and she looked up to find Parnell in front of her. ‘I’m ready,’ he said, ‘but aren’t there supposed to be four girls?’
‘Of course,’ Beth replied, rifling through the papers on her lap. ‘Who’s missing?’ She looked at the set-up. The three girls, warmer now but bored, were acting up on behalf of the pimply youth looking at them through a camera viewfinder. As Beth watched they turned in a line away from him, bent down and pushed down the bottom halves of their bikinis, revealing three bottoms as pink as the sunset behind them. Then they collapsed into each other’s arms, howling with laughter as the young man emerged from behind the camera looking all flustered. ‘Oh, a new girl, Natasha Perry,’ she said.
‘Well she’s late,’ Parnell snapped impatiently. ‘She should be sacked before she starts.’
‘She should be smacked,’ Beth corrected, under her breath.
‘Did someone mention my name?’ asked a breathless voice from behind them. A small dark girl stood by the door, her cheeks pink as if she had been running.
Having chosen her from a composite Beth was glad to see the model in the flesh, and she liked what she saw. Natasha was cute and petit, and she would make a pleasing contrast to the comfortably endowed girls already present. And she was certainly very pretty.
‘Get out of your street clothes and into a swimsuit,’ Parnell told her, pointing to a side door that led to a dressing room. ‘As quickly as you can.’
Five minutes later he was in his element, directing the four girls, a make-up artist and his assistant, as if he was staging a major production. ‘You’re on the veranda of a grand house on a beautiful Caribbean island at the end of a perfect day,’ he said. ‘You are the cool people, the jet set, enjoying what the cool people enjoy; ice cream.’
As the assistant placed tall glasses containing a pink concoction on the wrought iron table, Parnell went on. ‘Don’t eat it, just pretend; it’s really mashed potatoes. Cold, pink mashed potatoes. Real ice cream melts.’
Beth watched as Parnell positioned the girls and redirected the lights. The assistant turned on a fan, so that a breeze ruffled the girls’ hair.
‘There,’ Parnell said finally. ‘The coolest way to end the day.’
They’d have to work on that slogan, Beth thought, as the shooting began. She admired Parnell’s uncharacteristic patience and his professionalism whilst shooting. She could see why he was amongst the best in the business; the pains he took to get everything, each strand of hair, each delicate flower, just right. Even the plain and dowdy looked their best in a Parnell picture, and the attractive looked utterly gorgeous.
The models were aware of his reputation. When the Rybix shoot was over they crowded around him, asking that he take portrait shots of them for their portfolios. He reluctantly agreed and although he shot the photographs quickly, he still took great care to do as good a job as he could within a short time. When they had left for the dressing room, talking excitedly amongst themselves, Parnell turned to Beth with a questioning look.
‘It looked good,’ she said. ‘I can’t wait to see the results.’
Parnell studied her face closely. ‘You know, you’re prettier than that lot. I should photograph you, for your album.’
He turned away, dispatching his assistant to the dark room, and began to clear up the ‘veranda’. Beth followed him to help.
‘You really think so?’ she asked, picking up the potted hibiscus, the germ of an idea forming in her head.
Parnell looked at her face again, now framed by white, scented flowers. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I’ve got more than an hour left, and you’re paying for my time anyway.’
‘Well, okay, but we’d better wait until the other girls have gone,’ she said excitedly, carrying the plant to the door.
Fifteen minutes later the girls had gone and the pimply assistant, Joe, had been sent to lunch.
‘Let’s get you into a good light,’ Parnell said. ‘Soft and honey-coloured like your hair.’ He fiddled around for ages, changing the lights and filters, shooting off test pictures, seeming to take far more care with Beth than he had with the portraits of the girls.
And Beth was flattered. ‘You don’t have to try so hard, you know,’ she said. ‘We’ll still be coming back to you for more work.’
Parnell laughed her remark off. ‘But you’re worth it,’ he said. ‘You really are very lovely, and natural. I am trying to capture that.’
When finally he was happy with every detail, he shot off two complete films of her head and shoulders, muttering instructions every now and then. Eventually he told her to relax. ‘That should do,’ he said. ‘One or two of them looked really good.’
‘Do... do you ever shoot nudes?’ Beth ventured to ask, trying to appear casual, and instead of replying directly he beckoned her to a bookcase and selected a large green folder. Beth leafed through it. On each page was a different nude; men and women, very sexy but not obscene. Many of the subjects gleamed with oil and looked as if they had been burnished like polished brass. Beth was impressed. They were good enough for a gallery, especially the ones of the men. The men looked as if they had been photographed with love; the women with admiration.
Beth did not look at him. ‘Would, um, would you shoot me like that, in the nude, Peter?’ she asked, adding, ‘It would be for a friend - a very close friend.’
‘Those take hours,’ he said, nodding at the folder in her hands, but when she looked crestfallen he relented. ‘But I suppose we could do one or two, just to see how they look. Ah well, there goes my lunch.’
He waved her to the dressing room. ‘There should be a robe behind the door,’ he told her.
As she was undressing, Beth remembered with delight that the diamond pendant was in her bag. She intended to take it to the jewellers that afternoon to be cleaned. When she was naked, she fastened it around her neck and admired herself in the full length mirror. Then, putting on the robe, it suddenly struck her how strange the situation was; a situation she had created. She was not worried about Parnell seeing her naked; he was a professional photographer and anyway, she had heard that he was gay. But she had also heard that he was an outrageous gossip, and that did suddenly worry her. She certainly did not want this, her taking advantage of a perk of her job, to backfire.
When she reappeared in the studio Parnell was bent behind the camera at the same set-up he had used for the portraits. Beth moved straight to her spot, dropped the robe and started posing, thrusting her full breasts towards the camera.
‘Wow,’ Parnell muttered, straightening up and looking directly at her chest. He approached and cupped the diamond pendant in his hand, admiring it closely. Beth could not help smiling, because he hadn’t even noticed the perfect twin cushions between which the pendant rested. So the stories she’d heard about him must be right; her natural female vanity certainly would not permit any other conclusion.
Parnell returned to the viewfinder and resumed his directions: Right arm up, demure not obvious, left knee bent, shake the hair loose.
After several clicks of the shutter Beth turned around. ‘From behind as well, please Peter,’ she purred.
A few more clicks later and she bent forward, almost double.
‘I didn’t tell you to move,’ Parnell said.
‘But I want some close-ups of my bottom.’
‘And I can see why,’ Parnell said admiringly. ‘Let me guess - they’re for the friend.’
There was another click and then the sound of the motor as the film rewound. As Parnell changed it, Beth plucked up her courage. ‘Peter,’ she said sweetly, ‘I want my bottom to be reddened a little. You know, as if... as if... you know, as if I’ve been spanked for being naughty.’
Parnell looked up from the camera in his hands, his expression frozen for a moment. ‘Oh, he’s like that is he, your friend? I assume it is a he. Likes naughty girls, does he?’ He looked back at the camera and added quietly, ‘They’re not the sort of photographs I usually take. I have a reputation to think about, you know.’
‘You have, Peter,’ Beth agreed. ‘A very good one, if not the best. But just this once - for me? No one will ever know.’
As he fitted the camera back on the tripod, Beth resumed her position, bending down away from the lens. Parnell approached her. ‘A little shade of red might be aesthetically pleasing, I suppose,’ he said, without much enthusiasm, and he lightly slapped her bottom.
Beth sighed impatiently. ‘Harder, Peter,’ she urged. ‘Harder. It has to be red...’
‘Excuse me,’ someone said from the other end of the room. ‘I don’t mean to interrupt.’
Beth straightened up quickly, wheeling around and reaching for her robe at the same time. ‘Who let you in?’ she gasped, unable to see the figure clearly because of the lights in her eyes. ‘Who are you?’
‘You should learn to knock,’ Parnell said angrily, moving away from Beth.
‘I’m sorry,’ said the figure, approaching into the light. ‘It’s only me - Natasha Perry. I think I left my bag behind.’ She spoke in a breathless rush. ‘Luckily we were having lunch in a pub just around the corner when I realised.
‘Don’t mind me, though,’ the lovely girl added, and darted to the dressing room, returning a moment later carrying a large cloth bag. ‘Got it,’ she said brightly, but made no attempt to leave.
‘We are rather busy,’ Beth said, trying to appear unflustered.
‘So I see,’ Natasha smirked cheekily. ‘I couldn’t help noticing when I came in.’ Beth was annoyed to see the slight smile playing around the girl’s lips. Her eyes were sparkling and her cheeks were still flushed.
Natasha turned to Parnell. ‘May I stay and watch?’ she asked. ‘It looked like an interesting shoot.’
‘No, you may not,’ Beth retorted for him, grasped the girl by the arm and led her towards the exit. ‘This is not the way to get future work, you know,’ she said, almost pushing Natasha through the door.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to intrude. It’s just that you’re so attractive I couldn’t help looking. I hope I see you again some time.’
After she had gone, Beth knew she would have to start all over again to persuade Parnell to take the photographs she wanted. He protested that the spell was broken and that time was short. In return, she pleaded that it would only take a matter of minutes, but he would not budge and began to pack away some of his equipment.
They were still debating the situation when there was a knock on the door. ‘That bloody girl,’ Beth snapped, striding across the room. ‘What now?’ she barked as she flung open the door.
It wasn’t Natasha, but Celeste, and with a straight face she announced, ‘I am from marketing and media at Rybix. I’ve come to see how everything is going.’
‘Who is this young man?’ Parnell said, approaching behind Beth.
The words of introduction stuck in Beth’s throat. Young man? Celeste, a young man? She looked closely at her friend, who playfully winked at her. She could be a young man, Beth thought. She looked at her friend’s slender figure, her short hair, strong eyebrows, dark trouser suit, white shirt, tie, and little make-up. She could indeed be a young man.
‘This is, um, Charlie,’ Beth said to Parnell, choosing the first name that came into her head. ‘Sh... he’s a friend of mine. He works for Rybix.’
‘Not the friend in question, I hope,’ Parnell said to Beth, his eyes glued to Celeste. ‘I’m Peter Parnell,’ he said to her. ‘Welcome to my den, Charlie.’
‘No, not the friend in question,’ Beth told him. ‘But a good friend, all the same.’
Parnell took Celeste by the arm. ‘You might be just what we are looking for, Charlie,’ he said, unable to hide his attraction for what he thought was a slightly effeminate male. ‘An answer to this maiden’s prayer, so to speak.’
He looked at Beth, and she realised he was interested again in her request - even excited by what might develop from it. So the brief impasse was settled.
‘Why don’t we use Charlie in your photographs?’ he suggested.
‘Use me, in what way?’ Celeste asked, and Beth noted with amusement that she dropped her voice a little.
Parnell turned to Beth. ‘I think you should explain it to Charlie,’ he said.
So Beth did; about the photographs she wanted, and how she therefore needed a light spanking just for the colourful effect.
‘Then why not use make-up?’ Celeste said, and Beth knew her friend was being deliberately awkward.
‘Because it wouldn’t look right, it would show,’ she said.
‘So I get to spank you,’ Celeste said with a smile. ‘What, right now? Here and now?’
‘No, over here, Charlie,’ Parnell said. ‘I’ll use you in the shot.’
‘Only in one or two,’ Beth countered. ‘I want some close-ups too.’
When the two girls were in front of the lights, Beth took off the robe again and bent down before her friend. As Parnell busied himself behind the camera, Celeste enjoyed her new role. ‘What a beautiful bottom,’ she said, to no one in particular. ‘A magnificent target, don’t you think?’
‘Not quite yet,’ said Parnell. ‘I’m not ready.’
‘Just there, I think,’ Celeste said, running her hand over the middle of Beth’s bottom, the most prominent part of the inviting cheeks.
‘Okay,’ said Parnell, ‘I’m ready now.’
Celeste smacked Beth hard, shook her hand and then smacked her again. ‘It’s working,’ she said. ‘Your bottom is going quite a lovely shade of pink.’ With that, she smacked her twice more.
All the while Parnell was shooting; the two girls could hear the click of the shutter.
‘Can you see the marks?’ Beth asked Parnell, her voice a little strained, betraying the stinging tingle she was feeling in her beaten buttocks.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘but maybe one or two more would really do the trick.’
Beth clutched her knees even tighter and Celeste delivered a flurry of smacks on the middle of the delicious target in front of her.
‘You look really good, Charlie,’ Parnell encouraged from behind his camera. ‘Really quite masterful.’
‘That does it,’ Beth said, standing up. ‘You two are enjoying this too much.’
‘But it’s for your benefit,’ Parnell reminded her. ‘This is all at your insistence.’
‘Your bottom is quite scarlet now,’ Celeste added. ‘And I’m beginning to enjoy this.’
‘Too bad,’ Beth said, pushing her out of shot. ‘Now,’ she said to Parnell, ‘some close-ups of my bottom, please. The marks do show, don’t they?’
‘They do,’ Celeste confirmed, clearly proud of her handiwork, ‘but I’ll happily provide some more.’
When the shoot was over Beth put on the robe, and as she was heading for the dressing room she heard Celeste say, ‘Photography’s such an interesting profession, Peter. May I call you Peter? I’d love to see more of what you do,’ and Beth almost choked on a laugh as she heard Parnell invite her friend to see his darkroom sometime.
‘I’m going to stay behind for a while,’ Celeste announced, once Beth was dressed again and re-emerged from the dressing room. ‘Peter is going to show me how things here work.’
‘Charlie can bring you the negatives of the Rybix ice cream shoot and the prints of the best of your shots later,’ Parnell added. ‘He can help me with some developing.’
Beth looked at Celeste. ‘Bring with you all the negatives and all the prints, and contacts,’ she said.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Celeste replied, with a cheeky mock salute.
Beth was already at home by the time Celeste returned in the evening. Celeste threw her a large envelope. ‘The photographs are good,’ she said. ‘You don’t look bad, either.’
Beth leafed through the sheets inside. ‘How was it?’ she asked idly. ‘How long did you stay?’
Celeste giggled. ‘He thought we were lovers, you and me,’ she told her.
‘We are lovers,’ Beth pointed out.
‘Not that way, silly,’ Celeste said. ‘Boy and girl lovers.’ She blushed slightly. ‘But he did find out that we weren’t.’
‘And how, exactly, did he find out?’ Beth demanded.
Celeste’s blush deepened. ‘How do you think?’ she said impishly.
‘You didn’t.’
‘I did,’ Celeste said, looking smug.
‘The poor man must have been shattered,’ Beth said, immediately worrying about her professional relationship with Parnell. ‘Finding out you’re not a young man, and that he’d made a fool of himself. He wouldn’t have liked that at all.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Celeste replied airily. ‘I think he really enjoyed it all, in the end.’
‘Enjoyed it all?’ As the meaning of her friend’s words sank in, a smile broke out on Beth’s face. ‘Do tell.’
‘Shan’t,’ Celeste replied, but she too was smiling.
‘Tell, or I’ll spank it out of you.’
So Celeste took up the classic stance of a storyteller, standing with her back to the fireplace, hands behind her bottom, feet slightly apart. She began to rock gently on her heels. With her smart suit and short hair, Beth thought, she really did look like a handsome young male.
‘It all began in the darkroom,’ Celeste said, using her ‘Charlie’ voice. ‘He seemed very keen to impress me; you know, how good he is at photography and how much he knows about it. He got me to do some of the work. I helped to develop the photographs of you. As you can guess it was very warm and dark in there, and quite cramped. Every time I was working at a bench I would find him pressed up against my back, his groin against my bum. He was guiding me but enjoying himself at the same time - I could feel it. When the prints of you were developing, he said what a nice bottom you had and asked me if it had turned me on, spanking you, and then he mentioned my bottom as well. There was nothing, he said, like a tight male bum compared to the female version. Bloody cheek of the man. I could see the way his mind was working. He told me how much he could help me in my career, what he would do for me, and all the time he was rubbing himself harder and harder against me.
‘Well, guess what happened next!’ she giggled, and then told her friend before she could even think of an answer. ‘He came in his pants!’
‘No!’ Beth smirked.
Celeste nodded enthusiastically. ‘Yes! And that was it for a while, as he had to get his breath back. So while he was waiting for the prints of the Rybix stuff, looking just a bit embarrassed with himself, he showed me some of his equipment.’
Beth smiled, and Celeste quickly retorted, ‘No, not that, I mean his camera equipment. It must cost thousands. There was a darling miniature camera, with a remote control. I didn’t even know they existed. It was so cute, I’m afraid it found its way into my pocket.’
‘It did what?’ Beth queried incredulously. ‘I don’t believe you, Celeste.’
‘I was only borrowing it,’ Celeste said plaintively. ‘Anyway, he caught me. He found it on me. He was close to me again and he patted my hip. He felt it in my pocket. I said I just wanted to borrow it, but he didn’t believe me. He said I would have to pay a price for being a thief. He started undoing my belt and I thought he was going to beat me with it. He turned me around, squashed me up against one of his workbenches, pulled my trousers and knickers down, pulled his own trousers down and stuffed his cock right between my buttocks! It was weird! He started to rub against me, and as he did so he slid his hands around to my front, but when he found what was and what wasn’t there, you can imagine his reaction!’
Beth nodded, her mouth open and her eyes wide.
‘He was furious,’ Celeste went on. ‘He accused me of trying to make a fool of him and said I would pay for it. No more gentleness and understanding. He told me to lubricate his knob with my mouth. So I did. Then he made me lean right over the workbench again with my legs apart. He said that if I pretended to be a boy I would be treated like a boy. He then pressed his cock right into me - right into my bottom. It hurt a little, but he loved it. And he lasted a very long time, probably because he’d messed his pants not so long before. He was gripping my hips and panting frantically, shunting back and forth, in and out of my poor bottom. He kept telling me that’s what I could expect for trying to make a fool of him.
‘Then when I was leaving, he told me I could borrow the camera whenever I wanted and that I already knew the price. He didn’t seem angry by then. He told me I was an honorary young man. He didn’t even want to know my real name. He would continue to call me Charlie.’
‘You poor baby.’ Beth stood up and put her arms around her young friend. ‘You need a gentle touch now. I’ll run you a bath.’ As she was leaving the room, she said, ‘Men are such brutes...’ and then she giggled. ‘But then of course you know that; you were one for a couple of hours!’
Beth took her time strolling to the jeweller’s shop the next morning. It was a lovely day following an even nicer night - oh, what a night! She never realised that two girls and one vibrator could have such fun. After her bath and a good supper she had seduced ‘Charlie’ by performing a striptease and lap dancing until ‘he’ was overcome with lust. The vibrator held upright between ‘his’ legs was the evidence.
Celeste made Beth watch as she fitted the blunt end of the vibrator between her legs, lightly gripped by the lips of her vagina. ‘This is my penis, girl - worship it,’ she ordered, and Beth dutifully sank to her knees and took the still vibrator into her mouth, wetting its smooth surface.
‘Oh,’ Beth gasped, ‘please use it on me.’
‘I will,’ Celeste retorted, ‘and I want you on your hands and knees.’
Beth obediently fell onto all fours, her bottom in the air. With difficulty, Celeste held one end of the vibrator in place while the other penetrated Beth’s sex. Shrieks of amusement had turned to moans of rapture as the electric penis worked its magic on both girls. It was a rapture heightened by watching themselves in the wall mirror, two pink and beautiful bodies connected by a pink and vibrating dildo.
Then it had been Beth’s turn to be ‘Charlie’...
No wonder she was warm now, she thought; it was not just due to the sun!
In the jeweller’s she handed over the pendant to be cleaned. As the assistant was filling out the receipt Beth spotted a number of picture frames, exactly what she needed for Richard’s present. She particularly liked an embossed silver frame, and taking the folder from her briefcase, surreptitiously slid out the full length nude photograph of her wearing the pendant, to make sure it would fit. And it was perfect - very expensive - but perfect. He would love it, so to hell with the cost.
Outside the shop she glanced at her watch and realised that she was really late for work, but even this did not ruffle her good humour; no one would mind, least of all Richard once he received his present.
About ten seconds after entering the office, however, her good humour evaporated. Something was wrong. A secretary looked at her with a cocked eyebrow.
‘Where is everyone?’ Beth asked.
‘In the boardroom, where you are supposed to be,’ the secretary replied. ‘Richard has been looking for you,’ she added with a note of malicious pleasure in her voice.
Without stopping to brush her hair or check her make-up, Beth rushed to the boardroom. She knocked and opened the door, and was appalled to see at least a dozen people inside, sitting around the long, polished table, listening intently to Richard Cross.
He looked up and frowned when he saw her, then turned to the others. ‘I see Ms Forrester has arrived,’ he said precisely. ‘We have waited this long, perhaps you won’t mind waiting a further minute or two.’ He stood up and walked to the door, ushering her back outside with him.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ he demanded.
‘Shopping,’ Beth said lamely.
‘Shopping?’ The word came out with a sibilant hiss of suppressed fury. ‘Shopping?’ He was quivering, almost white with anger. ‘They are the Internat crowd and you’ve been shopping!’
Beth slapped her forehead with the palm of one hand. ‘Oh, shit!’ she exclaimed. ‘I completely forgot,’ she added weakly.
‘Forgot. You forgot.’ His voice was like ice. ‘I won’t forget. I’ll see to you later. Now get in there and get a deal.’
In the next minute or two, Beth saw at close quarters just why Richard Cross was a successful man. In the second it took to reopen the door of the boardroom, his dark fury turned again to warmth and charm. ‘It is the prerogative of genius to be late,’ he said to those seated around the table. ‘This is our youngest and best account manager, Beth Forrester.’
As the visitors stood up to be introduced, Richard whispered to Beth, ‘And it is the prerogative of the late to be a genius.’ He then raised his voice and said, ‘I’d like you to meet Chester Hampton, the founder and managing director of Internat.’
Beth knew she did not stand a chance. She had totally forgotten about the meeting, had not prepared, and would much rather be crying in the toilet. She looked at Chester Hampton. He had a kind face, the shy, bookish look of an academic, and he appeared surprisingly young for someone so incredibly successful. She would talk directly to him.
As she opened her briefcase at one end of the table, she tried to recall what she knew about Internat. The company was a sensation in the already sensational world of information technology, a by-word for overnight success and brilliant thinking. Hampton himself had come up with not one but two remarkable pieces of software, both unique and wanted by every user who ever switched on a computer. Every advertising agency in the western world wanted Internat’s business and here the founder was, sitting along the table from her with an expectant look on his face.
Beth wished the floor would open up and swallow her. None of what she remembered helped her; in fact it made things worse. It made her realise how little she knew and how much she should have prepared.
But it was too late now.
‘What can Cross, Carstairs and Denton do for Internat?’ she began rhetorically. ‘Well, the best way I can inform you is to tell you what we have done and are doing for Rybix Limited...’
She sensed Richard Cross frowning, but ploughed on blindly. For half an hour, not always coherently, she explained the campaign she and her colleagues had drawn up for Rybix. She took out her folder of photographs from the previous day’s shoot and spread them over the table for Hampton and his colleagues to see. She explained how they would be used on posters and press advertisements, and how a separate television advertising campaign was being planned.
At the end of the half hour she stuttered to a halt, trying to mask her lack of anything further to say by reaching for a glass of water. After an anxious sip, she concluded lamely, ‘You can see that we always give one hundred per cent to everything we do.’
As she sat down, sincerely wishing she were somewhere else, Richard stood up. ‘Thank you, Beth, for the concise account of what we can and are doing for another client,’ he said cuttingly, and then turned his attention to Hampton and the others. ‘Of course, what we would do for Internat would be totally unique, and unlike any other campaign we’ve run.’
For ten minutes or so he spoke fluently and apparently extemporaneously. He described a campaign on both sides of the Atlantic that would, first and foremost, use the singular properties of the internet itself, supplemented by a highly organised but apparently impromptu word of mouth whispering campaign in London and New York.
‘The best advertising,’ he concluded, ‘is advertising that the client does not have to pay for and the customer does not realise he is getting.’
With that, a member of staff popped a champagne cork, and drinks were offered around. The dozen or so people in the room stood up, stretching their limbs and reaching for their suit jackets and drinks. The informal negotiations were starting, the getting-to-know-you period between members of each side.
Beth gathered up the photographs from the table, stuffing them back into the folder.
‘Thank you, Ms Forrester.’ She looked up to see Chester Hampton alongside her. ‘It was good to learn what you’re doing for another company.’
She pushed her hair out of her eyes with an impatient gesture. ‘You are being sarcastic, I presume,’ she replied, somewhat belligerently, unsuccessfully trying to suppress the self-annoyance she felt.
‘No, I assure you, not at all.’ Hampton seemed taken aback by her aggressive tone. ‘I mean it. I was genuinely interested to hear what you are doing for another company.’ He smiled warmly. ‘It’s all Greek to me; I am fairly new in business.’
Beth chuckled. ‘Not that new, I gather,’ she said, trying to imagine how it must feel to have his millions, but as soon as she said it, as she heard her own words, she rebuked herself. Why was she being so rude? The poor man was trying to be nice, despite the whole crappy presentation being her fault, and her fault alone. She was only making things worse, and being unnecessarily rude to a major client who seemed prepared to overlook her lack of professionalism and was trying to be nice. She glanced across the room and caught Richard’s eye. His slow, almost imperceptible shake of the head reinforced what she was feeling. He was warning her.
‘You look fairly new yourself,’ Hampton was saying. ‘You are very young to hold such an important position.’
Beth hardly heard what he was saying; she was so flustered by the expression on Richard’s face. In her confusion she dropped the folder she was holding, and some photographs spilled out onto the floor, face down. She quickly bent to scoop them up, almost banging heads with Hampton, who politely knelt to help her.
He retrieved two and glanced at them before handing them back. As she took them from his hand she noticed a blush on his cheeks, and looking at the photographs as she replaced them in her folder, she realised with horror that they were of her naked and glowing bottom.
Richard Cross was approaching them with a determined stride. He had seen the folder fall and was obviously not amused.
Beth felt she owed Hampton some sort of explanation. ‘Um, those are for a different campaign,’ she said with a nervous, unconvincing laugh. ‘More hard-hitting, gritty realism. That sort of stuff.’
But before Hampton could reply, Richard Cross took her by the arm. ‘Beth, you have another appointment, don’t you,’ he stated, squeezing her wrist painfully to emphasise his words, so she shook hands with Hampton and gathered up her bag, preparing to go.
‘And don’t forget you have an appointment with me later,’ Richard added, his voice neutral. ‘In my office.’
Beth hurried along the street, her mood now the opposite of what it had been a while earlier. She cursed herself. She had been going to use the previous evening for research into Internat, to prepare a presentation. And then Celeste had to come home as ‘Charlie’, and from that moment they both had other things on their minds. It was all Celeste’s fault. Of course it was. But that was no real excuse, and did not make things better with her boss. Perhaps the second present she was now seeking to buy for him would help. Perhaps, but it was unlikely.
At about five o’clock she knocked on Richard’s office door carrying a strangely shaped package beneath one arm. On hearing a muffled, ‘Come in,’ she entered to find her boss sitting behind his desk doing some paperwork.
‘About time,’ he said grimly, putting down his pen, and then added, ‘What on earth is that?’ indicating the package. ‘Let me guess,’ he went on. ‘It’s a metal detector.’
Beth looked down at the wrapping paper. It could be a metal detector, she thought. It had a long thin handle and a heavy square end. ‘It’s a present for you,’ she said.
‘A present?’ Helen Cross turned from the window, a drink in her hand. ‘Look, Richard, the little darling’s brought you a present. Isn’t that sweet?’
Beth, who had been unaware of Helen’s presence until she spoke, quickly put the package on the desk.
‘Why would I want a metal detector?’ Richard queried, then looked at his wife. ‘Darling, you remember Beth Forrester, don’t you?’
‘Of course I do, though I hardly recognised her with her clothes on,’ Helen snorted patronisingly, easing gracefully down onto the leather office couch.
‘So,’ Richard addressed Beth again, ‘do I get my present now?’
Beth glanced at Helen, who was sipping her gin and tonic. ‘Not now, Richard,’ she said. ‘Perhaps some other time...’
‘Yes, now, I think,’ Helen interrupted. ‘I’m intrigued.’
‘Please, Richard, not now,’ Beth said, looking pointedly at Helen. ‘It’s not... it’s not appropriate. I didn’t realise... I thought we would be alone.’
‘Now I am intrigued,’ Helen scoffed. ‘We must open it straightaway, mustn’t we, Richard?’
‘Yes, Beth,’ Richard said, ‘I think you should open it.’
Reluctantly, with shaking fingers, Beth unwrapped one end of the parcel and slid out a long, thin bamboo stick. It had a red ribbon tied in a bow at one end, holding a gift card.
‘Goodness! A cane, Richard, for you.’ Helen smiled wolfishly at her husband, rose gracefully, and approached the desk. ‘I have always said a man can’t have too many canes, haven’t I?’ She turned to Beth. ‘And whom is he supposed to use it on? Let me look,’ she added, and snatched at the ribbon and card.
Before Beth could object the haughty woman studied the greeting and then passed it to her husband. ‘How sweet,’ she purred. ‘She has written you a poem.’
Without looking at the card, Richard passed it straight to Beth. ‘You read it.’
Beth felt terrible and stuttered apologetically. ‘It - it was supposed to b-be for you alone... I didn’t have much time to think of a message.’
‘Just read it,’ he said, flexing the cane.
‘To Richard...’ she mumbled, with a halting voice. ‘Please, must I go on?’
‘Yes,’ he insisted ruthlessly, ‘you must.’
‘The hand of the new owner
May discover its many uses
On the bottom of the donor
If and whenever he chooses.’
Helen tittered theatrically, and Richard cut the cane through the air, grinning sardonically.
‘It needs a little work, I think, Beth,’ he mused critically. ‘Actually, I’ve a poem too that I’m sure you will like, even though it isn’t mine.
‘A woman, a spaniel and a walnut tree; the more you beat them the better they be.’
Beth smiled politely, puzzled by the ditty.
Richard swished the cane again. ‘Judging by the shape of the present, this is not all you’ve bought me.’
Beth tried to make light of it. ‘That’s all for now,’ she said.
‘No,’ said Helen. ‘I insist. You came bearing gifts so you must deliver them. Don’t mind me.’
Beth could tell by Richard’s expression that he agreed with his wife, so she burrowed into the paper wrapping again and extracted the picture frame, gleaming in the evening light. Quietly she handed it to him, and his wife moved beside his chair to look over his shoulder.
Together they studied the photograph. It was of Beth, naked apart from the diamond pendant and high heels, facing the camera. Her head was bowed, her hands lightly clasped in front of her pubis and one foot slightly in front of the other.
‘Well, it’s lovely,’ Richard said, apparently sincerely.
‘It’s a cheek,’ Helen expostulated. ‘You’ve got a nerve, young lady,’ she said curtly to Beth. ‘What’s he supposed to do with it, take it home and put it by our bed?’
Beth appealed to Richard. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I thought you would like it. I imagined you might put it in a drawer in the office here. It was supposed to be a joke between you and me, and a little thank you for giving me the chance to secure the Rybix deal.’ She looked from one to the other. ‘I didn’t think,’ she said meekly, ‘I’m truly sorry.’
‘You mean you didn’t think that I’d be here,’ Helen accused, turning to her husband. ‘Well, Richard, what are you going to do about such provocative behaviour from one of your employees?’
‘First things first,’ he said mildly to his wife. ‘I have a bone to pick with her.’ He looked up at Beth, his expression stern. ‘Rybix is one thing, but you do realise you have almost cost us the Internat contract, don’t you?’
Beth nodded contritely. ‘Yes, Richard, and I’m very sorry...’
‘And...?’
Beth knew what was coming, where he was leading her. ‘And... and I deserve to be punished for my total lack of professionalism earlier, and for letting myself, you, and the company down,’ she said quietly. ‘I deserve to be severely punished.’
‘I think we all agree on that,’ he confirmed, slowly nodding, then looked at his wife. ‘But how best to do it appropriately?’
A crafty smile spread over Helen’s face. ‘I’ll have to think,’ she said, ‘and I can’t think with her standing there.’ She waved a hand at Beth. ‘While we give this due deliberation I’d prefer her to stand in the corner. That’s what normally happens to recusant girls.’
Beth looked at Richard, and he nodded, so she started to walk to one corner of the office, when Helen spoke again.
‘Naked,’ she said, and Richard nodded again.
Beth was aghast. ‘But, what happens if someone comes in?’ she protested meekly. ‘There are still people in the building.’
‘Then they’ll be surprised, and perhaps pleasantly surprised,’ Helen said. ‘Now, naked.’
Beth tried to console herself that neither of them had mentioned her getting the sack. As quickly as possible she stripped off her suit, blouse and bra. Then she hesitated with her hands on the waistband of her knickers.
‘Completely naked,’ Helen reiterated.
Beth abandoned any attempt at modesty. She levered off her shoes and slid down her knickers, stepping out of them, and then moved to the corner, away from Helen and Richard, alongside the door through which she had entered a few minutes before.
‘Face the wall,’ Helen instructed, and Beth turned to face the corner, silently cursing the older woman.
‘Now, Richard,’ Beth heard Helen say. ‘What are we...?’
Her question was interrupted by a knock on the door, and Beth felt she was going to die of shame. The door opened, and just its thickness separated her and whoever stood on the other side of it.
‘Sorry to interrupt, Richard,’ a male said. ‘Oh, hello Helen, I didn’t realise it was you. Anyway, just to let you know I’m off now, so I’ll see you when I get back from my trip.’
Beth shivered as she recognised the voice. It was Mark Truscott, a young account manager. She pressed herself against the wall, tight into the corner, and silently implored Richard not to ask him in.
‘Okay, Mark,’ she heard her boss say. ‘Busy evening planned?’
‘Yes,’ the voice behind the door replied. ‘A poker night.’
‘I didn’t know you played,’ Richard said conversationally, as Beth silently begged him to make the account manager go.
‘I don’t, but my wife does, every Wednesday. I have to look after the kids.’
‘Good for you,’ Richard chuckled. ‘And good luck in Geneva tomorrow.’
‘Thanks; I’ll tell you how it went as soon as I get back. Well, goodnight.’
The door started to close, and Beth was about to breathe normally again when she heard Richard call out, ‘Oh, Mark,’ and the door swung open again. Oh no, Richard was playing a cruel game and was going to invite him in after all.
‘Is there anyone else out there?’ her boss asked.
‘No,’ Mark said. ‘I’m the last. I’ll lock up on my way out. The cleaners will be here soon, but they have their own keys.’
‘Yes, of course they do,’ Richard said. ‘Okay, fine,’ and the door closed quietly.
‘That was almost fun,’ Beth heard Helen say. She felt weak with relief and put both hands on the wall to support herself.
‘And now to business, my darling,’ Helen said to her husband, and Beth heard her approaching from behind and then felt the woman’s hand on her shoulder. ‘Our little troublemaker is getting cold,’ she said. ‘We must warm her up a little.’ The hand slid down Beth’s back and over the soft curves of her bottom.
‘Yes, we must,’ Richard said.
‘She is very beautiful, I have to admit,’ Helen mused, turning Beth by pushing her hip. ‘And it is a beauty that should be shared. Look here.’ She pinched the nipple nearest her between thumb and forefinger. ‘And here.’ She pushed her hand between Beth’s legs and cupped the lips of her sex. ‘Everyone should see this. I am sure Mark Truscott would have liked a look.’
‘But we can hardly parade her through the office,’ Richard objected. ‘Besides, there’s no one there.’
‘No, but there is a photograph, and a very revealing photograph.’ As she spoke, Helen ran one finger back and forth against Beth’s warm, moist labia. ‘She was shameless in giving it to you. She’d probably appreciate a wider audience for it.’
‘Yes,’ Richard concurred, a cunning glint in his eye. ‘I could post it on the company notice board.’
‘What an exquisite idea,’ said Helen, thrusting her finger into Beth’s warm softness.
‘Oh, no,’ Beth gasped. ‘Please no, Richard, the photograph was for you.’
‘Please no, Richard,’ Helen mocked, rotating her finger, ‘the photograph was for you.’
Beth looked into the cruel woman’s eyes. ‘Please, Helen, not that. Do anything you want, but not that. I would rather be thrashed for the way I behaved earlier.’
‘Did you hear that, Richard?’ the woman called over her shoulder, her eyes never leaving Beth’s. ‘She would rather be thrashed in front of the staff.’
‘No, I didn’t say that,’ Beth spluttered, almost in tears. ‘I meant I would rather be thrashed by you - by both of you.’
‘Mm, you’ll be thrashed all right,’ Helen said, withdrawing her finger and spitefully pinching the tender inside of one of Beth’s thigh, making the girl squeal miserably. ‘Hm, she’s somewhat squeamish,’ she sneered.
‘Now, come here, girl,’ Helen commanded, and Beth turned and followed the woman to the desk.
‘She’s a troublesome girl,’ Helen said to Richard, ‘and it is definitely time for her to feel the cut of the cane.’ She pressed Beth between the shoulders, and the girl had no choice but to bend forward and lean on the desktop, submissively presented before her seated boss. He surveyed the delicious site she presented for him, and then rose solemnly. There was a muffled exchange behind her, she heard the cane whistle viciously threw the air, and then her head jerked up from the polished mahogany surface and she had to clench her teeth to stop herself from crying out as the crack of the implement against her taut flesh resonated around the plush room. A searing pain bit across both buttocks and her whole body froze into tense rigidity, her eyes clamped as tightly shut as her jaw.
And so Beth was punished. Six times she heard the chilling sound and felt the scalding bite, and six times she jerked on the solid desk and suppressed the scream that threatened to wrench from her lungs.
When it was over her forehead rested on the top, silent tears dripping onto the blotting pad and spreading outward. Through conflicting emotions she for some reason wondered if the cleaners were in the building yet, and if so, whether they had heard her shameful chastisement.
A warm hand was on her thighs, between them, stroking them and easing them farther apart. The same hand slid up, making a slippery furrow through the lips of her sex and on upwards until it reached her anus. She felt that most intimate flower of her person being teased and probed by a delicate finger. She closed her eyes, aware only of the burning sensations from her bottom and the sensations being induced by the intrusive finger.
She was frustrated when it withdrew, but she cried out when the cane again bit with unerring accuracy and force against her already scalding buttocks. Maybe it was because she had already been beaten once, or because of the short interlude, or because it was a different hand holding the cane, but the six new strokes were worse than the first. She sobbed aloud, not caring who heard, or saw.
When at last the fire was withdrawn, the warmth remained. Slowly, but in a now familiar manner, the warmth spread through her loins and belly, through and over her sex, and up her stomach to her breasts, squashed against the cool surface of the desk.
The finger returned, but this time it skewered her sex and flexed itself in the warm moisture within. It withdrew and she felt it spread that same moistness on her anus. Several times it travelled back and forth, and each time her bottom was made wetter with her own juices until, on the last return, the finger penetrated the tight ring it had lubricated so efficiently.
It dallied there for a while, embedded to the second knuckle, moving around inquisitively, and then withdrew again to be replaced at the tiny entrance a moment later by something warmer, softer and broader. Beth knew what it was. Richard had promised he would do it some day, and today was the day, now was the moment.
Despite being highly aroused, it was hard for Beth to relax, knowing that Helen Cross was observing everything she and her husband did. Then warm hands grasped her by the hips, one each side, as the firm but flexible shaft pushed at Beth’s previously unopened backdoor. It was not to be denied by her chagrin or tightness. With one strong thrust her resistance was overcome, and Richard gained entry where no man had been sheathed before. Beth gasped and her back arched, lifting her breasts from the desk, astonished at the depth of her feelings.
If her body had initially resisted the invader, it was just as fierce in holding him there now her resistance was overcome. Her sphincter muscles clamped the penis in place, proving to be a far stronger vice than that of the muscles of her vagina. Slowly he used the weight of his body to ease himself forward, forcing his way deeper into Beth’s soul. She closed her eyes, tears wet on her cheeks, oblivious now to all around her. His long slow thrust was halted only when his groin pressed against the punished flesh of her buttocks, his body heat making the weals burn yet again, and Beth suspected that no one, no thing, could ever possess her as she was being possessed at that moment.
Slowly, even gently, he began to ease himself back and forth. At the same time his fingers slid round her hips to the front, pressing between her thighs and the desk, combing through her pubic hair, gently pulling apart the lips of her sex. Two fingers from one hand stroked the eager nub of her clitoris, while two from the other hand plunged deep inside her.
He pumped back and forth, with each thrust slapping his groin against the sore cheeks of her bottom, and grinding his fingers deeper into her sex. Beth knew it could not last long. Her whole body felt like liquid; molten lava before it erupts. At the second she knew her climax was coming it would not be denied, but the vigour of his movements was such that he slipped out of her grasping insides. Beth whimpered low in her throat, feeling robbed of a precious prize. Moments later it was back, firmer and more rigid than before. Again fingers combed through her pubic hair until they found her swollen clitoris. Beth gave herself over once again to the pulsing movement in her bottom and the probing in her sex. The volcano erupted with what felt like a thunderclap, sending seismic shockwaves shooting through her body.
What seemed an eternity later - to Beth, at least - she raised her head and opened her eyes. It seemed amazing that the world was still in the same place, and she felt too drained to move from where she sprawled.
No words were spoken; none were needed. The only sound in the room was that of combined, strained breathing.
Eventually Helen Cross did disturb the heavy silence that draped across the scene. ‘I’m feeling quite jealous,’ she said with a melodramatic sulk, her manicured fingers moving to the fastening of her skirt, ‘and as recompense for the use of my husband, I think it only fair that you, little missy, show your appreciation and do something about it...’
Beth savoured the last spoonful of her lobster bisque and daintily dabbed her lips with the crisply laundered white napkin. She looked around, admiring the trappings and pleasures of wealth, or at least of a generous expense account. The well spaced tables covered in heavy white linen and gleaming silver; the willing but not obsequious waiters; the trolleys of roasted meats and creamy puddings; the dim lighting and the well dressed clientele. And Beth did not doubt that she belonged. A year ago she would have pretended and felt uncomfortable; now she felt entitled to all this and more.
She brought her gaze back to the man across the table and found him looking at her. ‘It was very good of you to invite me to lunch, Chester,’ she said sweetly. ‘I did not expect it. To be frank, I did not even expect to see you again.’
He broke some bread on his plate. ‘I’ll be frank, too,’ he said with a shy smile. ‘I don’t like those artificial boardroom meetings, total strangers trying to impress each other - trying to impress me. I would not employ anyone for any job unless I knew him or her, personally. If I have learned nothing else in the last two or three years, I have learned that.’
‘Don’t take people at face value?’ Beth asked.
He nodded. ‘Something like that. Maybe I am just a bad judge of character, but I do need time to get to know someone before I can trust them.’
Beth did not need her female intuition to get the message. Over her sole Veronique and his steak and kidney pudding, she gently quizzed him about his upbringing and his private life. More than enough had already been published about the public face of Chester Hampton.
He had been born in Norwich but was taken at the age of seven by his parents to Philadelphia, where his father took up an academic post. Chester was an only child, left largely to his own devices in a strange and alien world. Even before puberty he already showed an aptitude for electronic communication, and by the age of fourteen, he boasted with a shy smile, he had hacked into the CIA’s mainframe at Langley, Virginia.
‘A life of crime beckoned?’ Beth teased, and was amused that Chester took her seriously. He shook his head solemnly.
‘I thought I could make more money going straight,’ he said openly.
‘And you seem to have been right,’ she said, refilling his glass with chilled champagne. ‘Do you get a chance to spend any of your money?’
‘I have a yacht moored on the Potomac.’
‘And a crew of six blondes, I bet,’ Beth teased again.
‘One of them is blond, but he’s a man. As are the other two.’
‘So there is no Mrs Hampton, or Mrs Hampton-to-be?’
He shook his head, but as Beth studied the dessert menu, the question hung in the air. He dabbed his mouth too, and then fussed with the napkin, putting it first on his lap and then beside his plate.
‘No dessert for me, thank you, Beth.’ He paused while coffee cups magically appeared and coffee was poured. ‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, why I thought we should meet alone.’
Beth looked puzzled. He fiddled with the sugar bowl and the coffee spoon and it dawned on her that he was nervous, maybe even embarrassed.
‘I don’t go out much on my own because people recognise me,’ Chester said. ‘I don’t get a chance to meet people, just as me.’
She nodded encouragingly, whilst smiling to herself; and incredibly rich man and he needed encouragement to open his mouth and talk.
‘So, how can I help?’ she prompted.
He sipped his coffee and dabbed his lips again. ‘The photographs yesterday,’ he said. ‘There is a girl I would like to meet.’ She smiled openly this time, and he rushed on trying to cover his embarrassment. ‘It could be the prelude to an advertising campaign,’ he gabbled, ‘if I liked her...’
‘But not necessarily a prelude to an advertising campaign, hm, Chester?’ Beth interrupted, still smiling.
‘Um, no, not necessarily,’ he admitted. ‘More like a date at first; a blind date, if you like.’
She placed her hand on top of his on the table. ‘That might be possible,’ she said gently, trying to soothe him. ‘I’ll see what I can do, but no promises.’
‘Of course,’ he burbled, ‘I know this is highly unorthodox, asking you, perhaps even unethical.’
She patted his hand. ‘It’s okay, Chester. Really, I don’t mind. No one need know. Which of the four did you like the most?’
He frowned. ‘Four?’
‘The four in the Rybix photographs,’ she said patiently, teasing him without mercy. ‘Which of them did you like?’
‘Oh, no, not them,’ he said, looking even more embarrassed. ‘The one in that other campaign you mentioned.’ When Beth appeared confused, he added furtively, ‘The one in the photographs you dropped on the floor.’
‘Oh,’ Beth said. She stared at him for a full ten seconds, and then picked up her briefcase and handbag. ‘You must excuse me, Chester; I need to powder my nose. I’ll be back in a sec.’
In the toilet cubicle, with the door locked, she opened again the folder of photographs from the previous day. The two Chester Hampton had picked up should still be at the bottom of the pile. She slid them out and stared at them. One showed her standing with her back to the camera, her bottom, picked out by a spotlight, glowing a bright, rosy red, with the rest of her seductively shaded. The other showed her bottom in close-up, the marks of Celeste’s spanking clearly visible. So he liked spanking, she thought, and he clearly did not realise the photographs were of her.
‘Sorry about that, Chester,’ she said, back at the table. ‘Where were we?’
‘The girl in the photographs.’
Beth realised she needed to play for time, to gain time to think. ‘I don’t know much about her, Chester. I could find out and let you know. How long are you in town?’
‘I leave the day after tomorrow,’ he said. ‘If you do this for me, Beth, I shan’t forget it.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t know, Chester. She’s a top model, and very hard to get hold of.’
‘I only want a date,’ he persevered. ‘One night, on her terms. And I can pay for her company.’
‘She’d be silly to say no, if she’s in town,’ Beth said reassuringly. ‘I’ll let you know.’
Beth telephoned him late that afternoon. ‘Can I talk, Chester?’ she asked in a conspiratorial whisper.
‘Yes, go ahead. I’m alone.’
‘She’s agreed to meet you.’
‘Good!’ he enthused. ‘Excellent!’
‘I told her that you’d seen her in the photographs.’
‘Good.’
‘I told her which photographs specifically; the ones that showed her bottom. After that she sounded even more interested.’
‘Excellent! Where? When?’
‘Before we get on to that, Chester, she wants to make some conditions.’
‘Oh, yes, well as I said before, I can pay for her time.’
‘No, it’s not that, Chester. She is well known and wants to remain anonymous. She does not want you to know who she is.’
‘How can we do that? She can’t go out wearing a mask.’
‘That’s the point. She does not want to go out. She wants to meet you in your hotel suite. You could book the suite next to you for her. Book it in my name for tomorrow evening.’
‘Yes, good, even better.’
‘I’ll bring her there myself. Just to make sure you find each other.’
‘Yes, fine. Beth, I won’t forget this.’
‘Oh, Chester, one other thing. I think she’s quite naughty. She likes games. I didn’t think you would mind. She wants to know whether you would like her in a costume.’
‘In a costume? Well, I hadn’t really thought about it that—’
‘So why not think about it now? What sort of girls do you like?’
‘I... er... I have always liked cheerleaders. You know, American cheerleaders.’
‘Then I’ll tell her. See you tomorrow.’
‘Oh, Beth, what do I call her?’
‘Anything you like. What would you like to call her, Chester?’
‘Um, Candy.’
‘Candy. That’s cute. Candy and I will be there tomorrow at nine.’
On the top floor of the exclusive hotel in London’s West End, the carpet in the corridor was deep and plush, and Beth approached the door of suite fifty-one without a sound. It was eerily quiet, no people, no activity at all, just the faint hum of air conditioning. Whatever was happening behind all those closed doors, Beth thought, it would not matter, no one else would hear, the walls were so reassuringly substantial.
She knocked quietly on the door, not wanting to break the quiet, and Chester Hampton opened it almost immediately. He was in shirtsleeves and trousers, but his feet were bare and his hair was wet. He had apparently just come out of the shower. He shook her by the hand and led her inside.
‘She’s here, next door,’ Beth said, cocking her head towards the adjoining suite.
Hampton looked pleased and excited, but most of all relieved. She realised that he probably doubted whether Candy would turn up. ‘Thank you, Beth,’ he said, grasping her hand again and giving it a squeeze.
‘Remember the rules,’ she went on. ‘She’ll be masked and she probably won’t talk. She doesn’t want you to know who she is. She is doing this for me and for the excitement.’ She lowered her voice. ‘She might be married for all you know, Chester. You don’t want to cause her problems, do you.’
He shook his head solemnly. ‘And what can I do with her?’ he asked.
Beth smiled at him, amused by his puppy-like eagerness. ‘Anything you want, within reason. She’s a very naughty girl, I know that much. She likes games. Most games. If I know her, she’ll leave it all up to you. She likes masterful men.’
Chester straightened his shoulders, obviously pleased by the reply.
Beth turned towards the door. ‘Give us five minutes together, Chester, and then she’ll be here. Make sure that door is unlocked.’ She pointed to the internal door connecting the two suites. ‘I’ll be next door but don’t worry; I won’t interfere. I’ll call back when Candy has left. You haven’t got all night because she has to get home; she has a busy day tomorrow.’
Back in her own suite Beth undressed and dressed as quickly as she could while still taking pains to make everything just right. Several minutes later, she leaned over the dressing table to brush on a glossy red lipstick and to slip a white cat mask over her eyes, and then stood up to look at herself in the full length wall mirror.
She liked the look of Candy; she reminded her of an adolescent fantasy figure from her teenage years. As an English schoolgirl, she had often dreamed of being the sort of American co-ed she saw on television. Beth looked carefully at the figure in the mirror from top to toe. Candy wore white mid-calf boots but otherwise her legs were bare, almost to the tops of her thighs. Above was a very short, white pleated skirt and a loose white woollen jumper with a huge red letter A sewn on the front. Apart from the lipstick, her face looked scrubbed, pink with good health and, with the eyes masked, mischievously mysterious. Her blonde hair was caught up in two bangs on either side of her head. She twirled around, looking back over her shoulder, and caught a glimpse of the tight white knickers beneath her skirt. She smiled, showing perfect white teeth. Chester should like Candy. She picked up her hat, a white shako with a red star on the front, and tucked it under her arm. ‘Ready,’ she said softly to the mirror, taking a deep breath. ‘Let’s go.’
She knocked on the adjoining door with the padded tip of her twirling baton, and Chester Hampton opened it, looking the same as he had ten minutes earlier. ‘You must be Candy,’ he said, a little shyly. ‘Please, come in.’
He closed the door and led her to the centre of his huge sitting room. ‘Let me have a look at you,’ he said, sitting in an easy chair. She stood before him, one knee slightly bent while he looked her up and down. ‘Now the other side - turn round.’
She did as she was told, standing still until he spoke again.
‘You know why you are here, don’t you, Candy? I am told that you have been slacking in the cheerleading class.’ She hung her head. ‘I am also told that you have been fooling around with some members of the football team, but we’ll get to that later. First, I’d like to see you go through your paces. March up and down for me.’
She marched back and forth in front of him from one wall to the other, lifting her knees extravagantly, like a high-stepping horse in a dressage contest. She felt her skirt lift with each step and she knew that the white of her knickers would show tantalisingly.
‘Fine,’ he said, as she began to flag. ‘Now, let’s try leaping. Some good high cheerleading leaps, if you please.’
Standing facing him, she leapt in the air, her arms and legs wide, her head thrown back. After the third leap he stood up and walked around behind her. ‘Keep going,’ he said. After three more leaps she stopped, gasping for breath.
‘You are out of shape and you are not very supple,’ he said. ‘It just won’t do.’ He sat down again in front of her. ‘Let me see you touch your toes.’
She raised her arms above her head and swung them down to the floor. Her feet were slightly apart, but she could feel the muscles and tendons on the backs of her thighs stretching. ‘Keep going,’ he said, rising again and walking around behind her. ‘There’s a lot of work yet to do.’
Again she swung downwards, trying to reach her toes. ‘Hold it there,’ he said from behind. ‘It’s good for the muscles to stretch like that.’ She knew it was not just her muscles that were stretched, but her knickers too. She could feel them as taut as a drum skin across her bottom.
‘We need to work on that position,’ he said. ‘Have a rest and then we’ll get back to it. Show me some baton twirling in the meantime.’
Beth was glad to be standing upright again. She picked up the baton and tried to twirl it between her fingers. She was hopeless and she knew it. After she dropped it for the fourth time, Chester picked it up.
‘There’s more than one use for a stick like this,’ he said pensively, running one hand up and down its length. ‘And I can certainly think of one way to use it.’
She hung her head again. ‘Get your breath back,’ he went on. ‘Have a drink. And then we’ll start again, only this time in earnest,’ he said, pouring her a coke in a tall glass. She drank it gratefully.
When she put the glass back on the table, he continued. ‘Now, I think you should take your panties off. They seem to be restricting your movement.’ She did as she was told, peeling them off and placing the delicate little white bundle alongside the glass.
‘Let me see you leap again.’
She leapt in the air as before, head back, arms and legs apart and her skirt flying up to her waist. ‘Your legs should be wider apart,’ he ordered. Three times more she leapt as high as she could. ‘Now touch your toes,’ he commanded, without allowing her to stop for breath. He prowled around, studying her from all sides but particularly from behind, as she swung her arms high in the air and down as far as her boots. ‘Lower,’ he said.
When he finally allowed her to stand upright again, her cheeks were flushed and she was panting. ‘You look hot,’ he said. ‘Take off your sweater.’
Grasping the hem, she lifted it carefully over her head, and then stood in front of him again in only her boots, skirt and mask. Her head was hanging down and she saw her small nipples, standing proud on her breasts.
For at least ten more minutes he made her do a series of exercises; bending, flexing, leaping and falling back on her hands to make a bridge. Finally she collapsed on her stomach on the floor, exhausted and with her skirt up around her waist, her bottom fully exposed and her legs apart.
‘You are unfit and lazy,’ he pronounced, standing over her. ‘So now I am going to show you how we deal with that. Come here, and lie over my lap.’
He sat on an upright chair beside the table and she lowered herself across his legs. With one hand he folded up her skirt and began to stroke the delicious naked bottom in front of him. She was glad to be still and relatively relaxed; all that leaping about had been truly exhausting.
He began to spank her, not hard at first but thoroughly, covering every inch of flesh from the creases at the top of her thighs to the dimples in the small of her back. She could feel the heat from the spanking and knew that her bottom would be glowing red, as it had been in the photographs.
For a while he stopped spanking her, only to pull gently at her flesh with his fingers, revealing first her sex and then her anus. Then the spanking resumed, harder and more painfully.
‘Now I am going to teach you another use for that baton,’ he said in due course, his voice tight with emotion. ‘I want you to stand up and touch your toes again, and every time you try I shall offer encouragement.’ As he spoke his fingers were undoing the catch on her skirt, so that when she stood up it shimmered to the floor.
Again she stood in the centre of the room with him behind her. She swung her arms up and then down. As her fingertips touched her boots he brought the short stick down across her buttocks. ‘Lower,’ he said, over and over again. The exercise and the beating seemed to last for ages. The baton was too short to hurt much, but she knew her bottom would be heavily striped. He was panting almost as hard as she was.
Suddenly it stopped and he resumed his seat, leaving her bent double. When he had recovered his composure he told her to stand in front of him.
‘Now there’s the question of your misbehaviour with members of the football team,’ he said. He raised the baton and touched her nipples with the round, padded end. ‘Have any boys seen these?’ he asked, and she nodded. He put the baton between her legs, and rubbed it back and forth against her sex. ‘And this?’ She shook her head. ‘Are you sure?’ he persisted, rubbing faster and probing between her moist lips. She shook her head again, her blonde locks swaying back and forth. He pushed his arm forward so that the end of the baton slid between her legs and up into the crease of her bottom. ‘How about this?’ he asked, and she shook her head vehemently. ‘Then it must be this,’ he said, raising the now damp baton to her lips and patting them. ‘Suck it.’ She opened her mouth and took the end of the baton inside, as if sucking a large lollipop.
‘Show me what you do to the quarterback,’ he said, putting the baton to one side. She leaned forward and unbuttoned his shirt, then helped him to stand. She undid his belt and zip and pushed down his trousers and underpants, putting them neatly to one side. She pushed him back into the chair and knelt before him. She ran her tongue along the flesh of his upper thighs until it could go no higher. With both hands she lifted his scrotum and began to lick the wrinkled sac, rubbing her warm cheek against his penis. Opening her lips wide, she gently took his testicles into her mouth, moving her tongue from side to side and around the tightening balls.
Letting them go, she traced with the tip of her tongue the line from his scrotum, up the soft vein running the length of his penis to the shiny, purple head. She twirled it around the helmet and poked it into the tiny slit before opening her lips and swallowing all of the head and half the shaft. Slowly, very slowly so that he would get maximum enjoyment, she moved her head up and down, filling her mouth with warm saliva to lubricate him. With each movement she swallowed a little more of him, taking his rigid penis deeper and deeper into her throat.
He slumped back and closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable that was about to come. But as his muscles tensed and he began to pant, she stopped and pulled her face away.
‘Don’t stop,’ he said, but she shook her head and clasped his penis with one hand. ‘I said don’t stop.’
She shook her head again, and began to move her hand up and down the shaft.
‘You might tease the lads in the football team like that,’ he said, pushing her hand away, ‘but you don’t do it to grown men.’ He reached forward and grasped the back of her head with both hands, pushing it back down into his lap. ‘I want you to drink it,’ and as she again took the purple plum into her mouth, he added, ‘all of it.’
Seconds later she did just that, swallowing every drop of his ejaculation and licking her lips as she withdrew her head. He flopped in the chair with his eyes closed, deep slow breaths making his chest rise and fall as she quickly collected her clothes and left the room the same way she had come.
Beth again stood at the door of Chester Hampton’s suite. She was wearing her business suit, familiar deep red lipstick and her hair was properly brushed.
‘Candy has gone,’ she told him, and she was not lying. ‘Did you like her?’
Hampton looked ruffled but happy. ‘Yes, very much,’ he said. ‘I can’t think how to thank you.’
‘I can,’ she said, her eyes shining brightly.
‘Well, for a start, you should stay in the suite,’ he said, ‘as it’s all paid for. Enjoy a little luxury for the night.’
She waved the plastic key she was holding. ‘Okay - good night then.’
As she turned he took her by the arm. ‘Beth,’ he said conspiratorially, ‘I’ll be back next week. Would it be possible to see Candy again?’
‘It might be,’ she teased, ‘but it’ll cost you.’
He smiled. ‘Well I expect there’s an easy way to pay my debt to Cross, Carstairs and Denton.’
‘Yes,’ she said, feeling very pleased with herself, ‘there is. Good night, Chester.’
Beth sunk lower into the scented water of the bathtub feeling the bubbles erupt around her hips. She stretched out one leg and wiggled her toes between Celeste’s thighs until they relaxed and opened to allow her access.
Celeste had arrived just twenty-two minutes after her call. ‘Grab a toothbrush and come and join me in my luxury suite,’ Beth said, adding, ‘and don’t worry about a nightie.’
Celeste slid forward in the tub so that her sex pressed against the ball of Beth’s foot. ‘Tell me all about it,’ she said. ‘Every detail, every inch,’ she giggled.
After Beth had told her, Celeste asked, ‘So is your bum sore?’ When Beth nodded, Celeste said, ‘So is mine. T.J. never leaves me alone. If it’s not a spanking, it’s the cane. And if it’s not the cane, it’s the slipper.’
Beth reached towards the shelf along the side of the bath. ‘There should be something here among all these luxurious freebies that we can rub on each other.’ She held up and studied a series of multi-coloured miniature bottles and sachets. ‘Ah,’ she said. ‘Cold cream.’
Ten minutes later she was lying naked on her stomach on a huge bed with an equally naked Celeste kneeling beside her. ‘Your poor bottom,’ Celeste cooed, leaning forward to kiss and lick the punished flesh before slapping a dollop of cold cream between the cheeks.
‘And yours,’ Beth muttered into the counterpane, remembering her friend’s buttocks as they had been a few minutes before when she dried and powdered them. The delicate skin was smudged with pink and purple blotches.
Celeste smoothed the cream over the two soft mounds and down into the valley between. ‘We need someone else to help us take the strain, and the pain.’
‘Mm,’ Beth murmured, enjoying Celeste’s touch. ‘I’ve been thinking the same thing.’ She opened her legs to allow Celeste greater access. ‘There could be someone...’
Celeste smoothed the cream into the lips of Beth’s sex. ‘Oh? Tell momma.’
Beth raised her hips so that Celeste’s finger slid inside, a place already so wet that no cream was needed. ‘Well, I think the person I am thinking about might be one of us. I’ll say no more for the moment. Just let your fingers do the talking for now.’