Three

We stayed at Dr Treadle's until the early hours of the morning. Once he had lost control of himself and spunked all over Yazzie's bottom there had been little or no reason to hold back. Even Portia had stopped sulking after a while, while I knew I'd definitely made the right choice in accepting the two new members. Yazzie was deeply submissive and receptive, which made her extremely useful, if less challenging than I might have liked. Tiffany was a brat, but that made her all the more desirable. She seemed to regard everybody except Portia as somehow different and inferior, but also sexual and rather frightening, as if she'd been dropped in with a gang of randy cavemen.

I was also pleased with the way the men had behaved, polite and obedient, and providing a useful masculine input. The Red Ox boys would have been another matter entirely, crude and demanding, which I knew would have given the party an entirely different flavour. Tierney in particular had a way of making everything focus on him and his particular preferences. I was very glad that he hadn't been there, and while it was tempting to let him know that there had been a party I managed to resist – only to discover that he knew anyway.

This happened on the following Thursday. I was walking around the quad, thinking vague thoughts about the influence of Metternich on nineteenth-century Europe, when Tierney appeared from one of the side passages. His grin was lewd even by his usual standards, and my first thought was that I'd accidentally tucked my skirt into the back of my knickers or that my nipples showed through my blouse. I hadn't and they didn't, so I feigned an interest in the architecture of the college roofs and hoped he'd realise that I didn't want to speak to him.

'Nice weekend was it, Isa?' he drawled. 'Smacked a few bums, I bet.'

There was a group of my fellow history students at the far side of the quad, and I was forced to make an abrupt change of course to avoid them overhearing.

'I don't know why you should think that,' I said. 'Leave me alone, please.'

'A bit hoity-toity this afternoon, aren't we?' Tierney said. 'I know what you get up to, Isa, and what I want to know is, why didn't you invite me and the boys?'

'That should be perfectly obvious,' I told him.

'Not to me it ain't,' he said. 'You love a bit of it. You posh tarts always do, once you learn to let go.'

I didn't answer, but he obviously wasn't going to go away and there were altogether too many people about for my liking. The lodge was close, and offered access to the relative anonymity of the street, but it also contained two boats' worth of rowers just back from the river. My own quiet corner of college was the only alternative, and I made for it.

'So what's the problem?' Tierney demanded as I changed course once again. 'Come on, you can tell old Stan.'

'Shut up and go away,' I told him, although I knew it was futile.

'No, really,' he insisted. 'You used to be well into us, so what's the problem?'

'You really are extraordinarily obtuse,' I told him. 'Just because you took advantage of me and pushed me into things does not mean I was ''well into you'', as you put it.'

'Didn't look that way to me,' Tierney said.

I answered with what was intended to be a contemptuous sniff but came out as something closer to a sob. We'd reached the bottom of my stair and I was steeling myself to keep him out of my room, by force if necessary, when I was rescued by the Chief Scout, who presumably wanted to tick Tierney off for slovenly work. I made a dash for my room, up three flights of stairs, slamming the door behind me and collapsing onto the bed. My head was full of memories of what Tierney had done to me and my heart overflowed with bitter shame because I knew full well that I'd been at least half willing. Yet there was no question that he'd used me, tricking me into tossing him off, sucking his cock, and worse.

My teeth were clamped over my bottom lip as I struggled to get the images out of my head, determined that I would not give in to my weakness and masturbate over the memories. There was only one other way my thoughts were willing to go, which was to ask myself how Tierney had known that there had been a Rattaners meeting. Everybody had been sworn to secrecy, and among the men I couldn't imagine even Walter Jessop telling him, not when it would mean losing any chance of future invitations. I couldn't imagine any of the girls telling him either, not even Portia, not when it meant being sent to Walter's for the night. That left Amy Jane, the Owl.

She and I had been to see a film the previous night, and while I obviously hadn't told her what I'd been up to at the weekend she knew that I'd been out with a group of friends. If Tierney had primed her it wouldn't have been hard to put two and two together, and now that I thought back I recalled that I'd seen Tierney on both the Monday and the Wednesday morning. Neither time had he done more than give me his usual familiar leer.

I could hardly ask Amy Jane. If it was true she'd simply deny everything, while if it wasn't I'd be putting myself into a highly embarrassing situation. Asking Tierney would be equally pointless, but if they were communicating then there had to be some link between them, and the Owl had to have a reason for feeding him information. Perhaps somehow he'd established a hold over her, which was just the sort of thing he liked to do. It was hard to imagine the Owl doing anything wrong, but it fitted the facts and also made her as much a victim as myself.

Perhaps I should have a heart-to-heart with her – but, again, that meant making some highly personal revelations. Amy Jane looked up to me, and I just couldn't bear the thought of admitting what I'd been up to. Even knowing that I'd performed striptease at the Red Ox was sure to horrify her. Only if I could catch the two of them red-handed would I be able to speak openly, and that wasn't likely to be easy. They could communicate by phone or email and I'd be none the wiser, although that wasn't really the way Tierney worked.

He liked his sex too much, and if he did have a hold over her he was sure to take advantage. Amy Jane was pretty, in a cuddly sort of way, while I was sure he would enjoy exploiting her shyness and personal insecurity. More importantly, her breasts were almost as big as Caroline's. There was no way on Earth he'd be able to resist trying to get his hands on them, and I bit my lip as I pictured the Owl with her top up and her big white boobs pressed together so that Tierney could fuck her in her cleavage. If it was her, then he would meet her in person, at least occasionally.

On the other hand, he almost certainly hadn't done so in the last day. She and I had come back from the cinema at nearly midnight and I'd left her at the Newman lodge, while he had to be at St George's for work from eight o'clock. It was just about possible that she'd immediately cycled up to his house, but unlikely. Yet they'd communicated, and if I knew Tierney he'd have demanded a meeting at the earliest opportunity. Knowing that there had been a Rat-taners meeting would have been sure to turn him on, and he'd have wanted to take it out on the most easily available female, and as soon as possible.

That meant, of course, that had I not been so brusque with him I would at that very instant have been impaled on his cock, one way or another, a thought that made my stomach lurch. As it was, it would be the Owl, perhaps sitting on his lap with her big breasts pulled out as she masturbated him, or on her knees with his fat white cock in her pretty mouth, even on all fours on his bed as he pumped into her from behind, enjoying the resilience of her ample bottom.

Tierney would be finishing work in just under half an hour, and as Amy Jane was hardly likely to entertain him in her room at Newman the meeting would be at his house if anywhere. I could follow him, although I'd have to be careful. He kept his bike in the service yard and my own was in the main shed, which made it easy to fetch it and position myself some way down the road where I could keep an eye on St George's.

Tierney emerged a few minutes before he should have finished work and cycled east, towards Magdalen Bridge and the Cowley Road. I followed at some distance, as I knew how to get to his house anyway, but he was so slow that I had to keep stopping. When we finally got to Cowley he didn't go to his house at all but to somewhere I knew only too well – the Red Ox. It was really a working men's club rather than a pub, and consisted of a low concrete shack with a car park and a storage yard at the rear. Every detail of the place was painfully familiar to me, and there was a lump in my throat as I stopped.

It seemed rather unlikely that Tierney would meet the Owl at the Red Ox, but if he did then she was sure to come the same way I had. I was going to turn away and try to find a café from where I could watch the road and the bus stop closest to the Red Ox, but just as I was wheeling my bike around a voice spoke from almost directly behind me, making me jump and spin around in surprise. It was Big Dave, the largest and most threatening of the Red Ox crew, at least in appearance. He was actually the least obnoxious of them and had even been known to stand up for me when Tierney was making a real pig of himself. I managed a shy smile while I struggled for something to say.

'You all right, love?' he asked.

'Fine . . . thank you,' I stammered. 'You just made me jump, that's all. I . . . I was just going to see if Caroline and Jasmine were here.'

'Stripping night is Saturday,' he told me. 'This is darts night. Could be they're around, maybe. Come on in and I'll buy you a half. This is Isabelle, lads. She's a student, but she's all right.'

I managed another smile for the group of eight or nine men coming towards us through the alleyway from which Big Dave had emerged. They were typical of the sort of men who used the Red Ox, mostly workers from the car plant, and while I didn't recognise any of them I found myself blushing at the thought that some of them might have seen me strip. None of them said anything, too engrossed in their own conversation to give me more than a rough but friendly acknowledgement, which gave me a twitch of pique, immediately followed by one of shame for my own reaction.

'You coming, then?' Big Dave demanded as the last of them passed me.

'Um . . .' I began, and then realised that I could hardly refuse, because it would look very odd indeed if I didn't go into the Red Ox after claiming I'd been looking for Jasmine and Caroline.

'I'll just pop my head in,' I told him, and began to wheel my bike towards the Red Ox.

It was exactly as I remembered it, the outside seedy and disreputable, the inside a cloying fug of beer fumes and smoke. Quite a few people were there, and before I could pretend to complete my search for the girls and retreat Big Dave had brought me a half-pint of lager. All I could do was accept it, sipping thoughtfully and trying to look inconspicuous as I looked around.

Tierney was seated with his back to me, thankfully, and appeared to be engrossed in a heated conversation with a man who was either an Elvis impersonator or hadn't realised that it was no longer the 1950s. I also recognised Mike, the barman, who gave me a casual nod and a smile, just as if he'd never more or less forced me to strip naked in front of a couple of hundred leering men. Yet I found myself returning the gesture, and to one or two others as well, despite feeling distinctly insulted that none of them seemed to consider my presence at all out of the ordinary. Mo was also there, and Yazzie.

The last time I'd seen her she'd been on her knees, stark naked with her hands tied behind her back and her head buried between Jasmine's thighs while Caroline used a vibrator on her from behind. It was a shock to see her in ordinary clothes, a top and a denim skirt, but no more of a shock than the sound of her voice as she greeted me.

'Hi, Isabelle. All right?'

Gone were the meek tone, the sibilant accent, the respectfully downcast eyes, also the honorific. She sounded and acted exactly as she looked, an Oxford townie girl.

'You two met then?' Mo asked.

'Yes . . . at Jasmine's,' I said quickly, praying it was only the kinky sex that Mo didn't know about.

He merely nodded and took a swallow of his beer, leaving Yazzie to carry on.

'Do you play darts?'

'I have . . . once or twice,' I admitted, before taking the time to think my answer through. 'Just in the JCR, mostly.'

'Help us out, yeah?' she asked, jerking a thumb at the throng behind her. 'These gits have put up a hundred quid to a packet of nuts against us beating them.'

I made a face. A hundred quid against having their cocks sucked would have been more typical of the sort of bets the Red Ox crew liked to make, but even Mo wouldn't demand that sort of thing in front of his daughter – or I hoped not. It would also be immensely satisfying if we did win, to say nothing of my share of a hundred pounds. On the other hand just being in the Red Ox was making my stomach churn, and I knew that there were at least a dozen men there who thought of me as little more than some sort of animated sex toy.

'Thanks, but—' I began, only to be interrupted by the familiar voice of Jack, a greasy ex-Teddy boy who vied with Tierney for the title of the most squalid of the lot.

'If she's playing, let's make it two hundred.'

'Against the nuts?' Yazzie asked.

Jack began to speak and my skin went cold in dread of what he might say. But he thought better of it, presumably because of Yazzie's presence.

'Yeah,' he said instead. 'Two hundred against a bag of nuts. Five-oh-one and five on five.'

'You're on,' Yazzie answered on. 'Come on, Isabelle. So if we lose we have to buy them a bag of nuts – big deal.'

The last time anything similar had happened I'd ended up being the evening's amusement for a group of rowdy football fans, but I found myself smiling and nodding my head. Jack began to laugh, and that sealed it for me.

'Come and meet the girls,' Yazzie offered.

The only 'girls' I'd met at the Red Ox had been the men's wives, who looked on me as a complete slut, and the strippers. This made me hesitate but Yazzie had dragged me over before I could think of what to say. Sure enough, my teammates were three women I'd seen before: a mother and daughter, both dyed blonde and brassy, and a huge black woman who I was sure I recognised as a scout, but couldn't remember which college she worked for. They were introduced to me as Elsie, Sandy and Edna respectively.

'You strip, don't you?' Sandy asked immediately, and I felt myself blush scarlet.

'I used to,' I admitted, since it was pointless to deny it when I could vividly remember the expression of amused contempt on her face as I'd peeled out of a diminutive cowgirl outfit.

Sandy merely nodded and began to talk darts. The only man I knew in the group we were playing against was Jack, for which I was grateful, except that they seemed to think it would be best to put me up against him. He liked to think of himself as a professional gambler, but in practice he lived on benefits. His high opinion of himself meant that if he was against me he would probably try and show off, in which case I might beat him. That showed how little faith they had in me, even Yazzie, but I had never claimed to be any good.

Much the best player in the men's team was a tall thin man with an exaggeratedly large Adam's apple, rather alarmingly called Choker. He was up first, and beat Sandy so easily that I more or less gave up all hope of us winning. Evidently when the men had put the bet up they hadn't simply been bragging. Edna was better, if only by managing to annoy her opponent so much that he could barely aim straight, and she won, which left us level. Elsie put up a good fight but hit the wire with her last dart, costing her the game, and again I thought we'd lost and I probably wouldn't even have to play. Yazzie proved me wrong, winning really quite easily, and then I was up against Jack, who was sneering as he looked me up and down.

'Tell you what,' he said. 'To make a game of it I have to call out my shots, and if I miss what I said I was aiming for I don't get nothing.'

'You mean you don't get anything,' I pointed out, but he merely looked blank.

'Don't be stupid, Jack,' Choker advised. But Jack just laughed and leant close to my ear to whisper.

'Here's the deal, though. I win, and you can have the nuts, my nuts, right in your mouth while I toss off in that pretty face.'

The blood rushed to my cheeks, all the hotter because Jack's whisper hadn't been all that quiet and several people had heard. A ripple of laughter passed among the spectators, who I now saw included Tierney. He leered and raised his glass. They were obviously trying to annoy me, just as Edna had done with her own opponent, so I ignored them both, stepped up to the mark and managed to hit two twenties and a triple one, scoring a respectable forty-three. Jack responded with a confident nod and took my place.

'Twenty.'

His dart hit the double five.

'Shit. It's about time you got a new mat, Mike. It gets my balance all wrong. Triple twenty.'

He hit the one.

'Fuck! Jesus, Mike! Twenty.'

For once Jack's dart hit home, but a few minutes later I'd managed to finish with a double sixteen and he still needed over two hundred points. There was immediate angry recrimination from his teammates who felt he'd thrown the match away and were refusing to pay their share. Elsie and Edna joined in the argument, while I stayed well clear, but eventually the men were forced to pay up, with Jack contributing most of the money. By then I was feeling extremely pleased with myself – forty pounds in my pocket without having had to show off so much as an ankle. But I was also doing my best to ignore the nagging sense of disappointment beneath my triumph.

I was also having to tell myself that had the game gone the other way I would have refused to meet Jack's dirty demand. All I'd have had to do would've been to tell him to get lost, and there would've been nothing he could have done about it. But that didn't stop me thinking of what he'd threatened to do to me. He'd said he wanted me to suck his balls, and in such a way that his come would've splattered all over my face. It was disgusting, but as I cycled back towards the university I couldn't help thinking about how he might have gone about it – perhaps with me pinned on the floor so that he could dangle his scrotum into my mouth as he masturbated.

College was quiet, with only a few people about. I wanted to think about something else and so avoid what was beginning to look inevitable, but all my friends seemed either to be out or busy with their essays. In the end I went to bed, telling myself I would be strong and that I was a completely different person to the naive, susceptible girl who had allowed herself to enjoy being used so badly.

It was a lie. As I lay in the warm darkness of my room the voices of pride and temptation were warring in my head, one telling me that I should fight my feelings, the other that it didn't matter when nobody would ever know. I tried to escape into sleep, then to make excuses by telling myself I ought to do it specifically because that would let me sleep and I needed to get up quite early. The college clock chimed eleven, the quarter, and the half, before I told myself that if I was still awake at midnight I would give in.

I closed my eyes and tried to think soothing thoughts, of how good it felt to hold Katie in my arms and kiss her, how pure and fresh she felt, how to have her in my arms made me feel like a goddess, completely removed from the grovelling little slut who had stripped on stage at the Red Ox, who had been made to suck the cocks of men she didn't even know and had enjoyed every moment, who'd held her own bottom cheeks apart to let men into and up her, so dirty, so willing, so gloriously degraded . . .

My thighs came up and I was pushing down my panties under my nightie with a desperate urgency. A sob escaped my throat as they came off, but that didn't stop me pushing down my bed covers and kicking them away, nor did it prevent me from hauling my nightie up to show off my breasts. I closed my eyes, my head full of shame as I began to touch myself, stroking my chest and tummy and thighs with my back arched in rising excitement. Now it was too late, and I let my mind run as my hands sneaked down between my open thighs to find my sex.

I was sopping wet, puffy with arousal and extraordinarily sensitive, every touch of my fingers sending a fresh shiver of pleasure through me. For all my efforts to deny my feelings my body had betrayed me, and I was even regretting having won the game, because if I'd lost I would have been up at the Red Ox at that very instant, very likely with a large salty pair of balls in my mouth. It was a revolting thought, and utterly compelling, and as I began to rub myself with ever-increasing urgency I was once again imagining what would have happened.

I would probably have been done in the little storeroom at the back, where in the past I'd been made to do some truly disgusting things. Jack would have marched me in and told me to strip, gloating over my body as I removed my clothes, making me play peek-a-boo with my bra and stick out my bottom to peel my knickers down the way the men liked girls to strip. He'd have had his cock out long before I was completely naked, nursing his erection and showing off to me.

I'd have been made to take him in my hand, and to suck him, on my knees in the nude, before going down full length on the beer-stained floor. He'd have had to take off his trousers in order to straddle me, so that as he got down I could've felt his hairy muscular legs against my skin, with his cock rearing up above my face and his horrible scrotum dangling beneath. Horrible, yes, but I'd have taken it in my mouth, gradually losing control as the man-taste filled my senses, until my thighs came up and open in surrender, just as they had in reality.

Jack would've had Tierney in to watch too, and Big Dave, and Mike, all gloating down at me as I sucked and licked at the big leathery ball-sack, and all the time expecting a face full of muck. They'd have laughed as I got dirty, enjoying the sight of my spread pussy and the tuck of my bottom, probably rolling my legs up so that my bumhole showed too, perhaps touching me up, spanking me. That would have been best, to be thoroughly abused as Jack pinned me down, touched up and slapped about as my face was masturbated in.

They couldn't have resisted. They'd have fucked me, taking turns with me, cock after cock jammed deep up my all too willing pussy. They'd have spit-roasted me, made me taste my own juices on their cocks, maybe sodomised me too, and come up me, and over me, leaving my body slimy with their filth as I rubbed myself to orgasm after orgasm, exactly as I was now doing, with my bottom lifted free of the bed and my fingers clutching over and over at my dirty eager cunt, wishing that I really was in that grubby sordid club with my body sweaty and soiled on the filthy floor.

I was sobbing for my own deliberate degradation as I came down, and as I went slowly limp on the bed the clock outside struck midnight.

It was completely my fault. If I hadn't got a bee in my bonnet about Tierney and the Owl I would never have gone anywhere hear Cowley, still less the Red Ox. Once I was there I could still have backed out with at least moderate grace, but even then I had won my match and come away with my dignity intact. There was absolutely no excuse whatsoever for masturbating over the filthy fantasy that I'd managed to create, which had been stronger by far even than what Jack had suggested he'd do to me. It was all deeply humiliating, and it took all my willpower not to take it out on other people, especially Katie.

She and I had made an agreement when we'd first started going out that we'd sleep together at the weekends but stay apart during the week so that we had at least a fair chance of getting some work done. The arrangement had worked and had also helped to keep our relationship fresh, because my need for her would always grow stronger during the week so that when we did meet we would each be urgent for the other.

Technically, two women sleeping together was acceptable, although there were still social issues which we both preferred to avoid rather than confront. Spanking was another matter, especially at Foxson, where the walls were like paper and the 1960s design made the whole place a voyeur's delight. There was a quad of sorts, with one side only a single storey high to allow a view over the Cherwell and the fields beyond, with Shotover in the distance. Each room was a box, with a huge picture window, so that the interior of the quad was mainly glass and anyone with their curtains open was visible to at least two hundred others. I'd often threatened to spank her there, just because it made her so deliciously embarrassed, but in practice I'd always stuck to less noisy amusements, such as dripping hot wax on her bare bottom, and with the curtains firmly closed.

My own room was considerably more discreet, but on the Saturday we met in Summertown and so ended up at Foxson. The night was spent just cuddling, along with one session head to tail, more or less as equals. We had been that way for most of the summer, keeping our kinky activity special, and exclusive, perhaps in much the same way that Yazzie seemed to. The next day we'd agreed to meet the Owl, and we took a picnic down to the Parks to enjoy what was quite likely to be the last really nice day of the year – there was already a distinctly autumnal feel to the air.

I listened very carefully to the Owl's conversation, hoping for some hint of her association with Tierney, but she gave nothing away. Several times I almost said something myself but always stopped in time. If she had been talking to Tierney, then she was a very good actress because she seemed completely at ease, or as much so as her natural shyness would allow. A lot of the time she was talking about James Malcolm Rymer, and fortunately I had taken the time to read up on him. More awkwardly, she wanted to know when the next meeting was.

We had actually booked a reading room for the Wednesday afternoon, and because all the librarians recognised me I'd had no choice but to put it under my own name. All the Owl had to do was check the book and she would see. If she was linked to Tierney then she'd presumably checked already, and if she wasn't but saw the booking later it would hurt her feelings. The only thing I could think of was to say that the meeting was an hour later than the real time, so that she'd turn up after we'd finished all our Rattaners business and I could pretend I'd misremembered. It was a pretty clumsy excuse, but better than nothing.

'I'll see you there, then,' she said. 'For now, I've got to buzz.'

The Owl hadn't said anything about needing to be anywhere else, and as she receded across the meadow I wondered if she was going to see Tierney. I hadn't said anything yet to Katie but when I'd decided to she spoke first.

'Whatever are we going to do about her?'

'I don't know,' I admitted. 'I'm not entirely sure she's what she appears to be.'

'How do you mean?'

'I think she might something to do with Stan Tierney.'

'The Owl? Don't be silly!'

'I'm not being silly. I went to see a film with her in the week, and Tierney came up to me in college the next day. He knew we'd had a party.'

'Caroline or Jasmine probably told him, or maybe Portia's up to something. She's determined to put you down – you know that, don't you?'

'Yes, but I don't think she'd risk the punishment. And why would Caroline or Jasmine tell him?'

'Why would the Owl tell him, and how would she have known anyway?'

'She knew we were both out on Saturday night.'

'I suppose so, but still . . .'

'Maybe I'm wrong, but after what happened with the Line Ladies I don't trust him an inch. I followed him after work, but he just went to the Red Ox. I ran into Big Dave and ended up having to play a game of darts before I could get away.'

'Isabelle, you're not really supposed to speak to them.'

'I didn't have any choice. Anyway, I'm hardly likely to give the game away about Yazzie, am I?'

'That's true,' she admitted. 'But still . . .'

'If you tell anybody, Katie West, I swear you won't be able to sit down for a week.'

She stuck her tongue out at me. I made a grab for her, catching an ankle. She squeaked as I rolled her face down on the grass, and again as I hauled her towards me. The movement made her skirt come up and put her knickers on show to the entire Parks. The temptation to spank her was almost overwhelming, but we were in plain view of a good forty or fifty people so I held off.

'Later,' I promised her. 'Now, about the Owl. I suppose we'll have to arrange a reading from Varney the Vampire or something, just to keep her happy.'

'I suppose so.'

Katie had stood up to adjust her skirt, and we began to tidy up the picnic things. It was beginning to get cool, although not unpleasantly so. We were holding hands as we walked, indifferent to the occasional curious glance, and we crossed the river by Rainbow Bridge and began to walk north. To get back to the right side we were going to have to go right up to the Marston Ferry Road, but neither of us minded. That stretch of the river can be quite lonely, especially once the punting season is over, and we'd used the thick hedges of willow and hawthorn as concealment before.

I was in the mood for her from our brief tussle in the Parks and also because since giving in to my fantasies on the Thursday night I badly needed to reassert myself. Time and again after I've managed to get control of my life and my sexuality that little spark of submission and the desire to be degraded has sprung up again. But this time I was determined it wouldn't get the better of me.

'It's time you were spanked,' I told Katie as we reached the first of the hedges.

She responded with the faintest of smiles and I gave her hand a gentle tug, leading her away from the river. There was barely even a trace of a path on the bank, and I felt safe, yet sufficiently exposed to make what we were about to do feel delightfully naughty. Our hedge ended in a knot of trees, which proved to conceal a shallow bowl of dried mud, rough with hoof prints and smelling faintly of cow, although there were none in the field right then. Katie wrinkled her nose.

'Don't be prissy,' I told her, and sat down on a low willow branch. 'Over my knee.'

I'd cocked one leg up, and after a brief but nervous glance to either side Katie bent over. It wasn't an easy position for her, and she had to spread out her hands and her feet in order to balance herself properly, which left her in looking both vulnerable and awkward. I pulled up her skirt without ceremony, showing off her knickers which were white with a strawberry pattern and clung tightly around her ever so slightly chubby bottom.

'You can keep these up, at least for a little while,' I told her. Then I began to spank her.

Just to have her knicker-clad bottom to play with was wonderful. It was bliss to smack it and stroke the soft cotton of her panty seat, to admire the bulging roundness of her bum cheeks, and, best of all, to enjoy her absolute surrender. I could feel Katie trembling, and knew how much shame and embarrassment would be raging in her head, just as it had in mine while I'd thought of what Jack had threatened to make me do. Yet as always she was eager to please, allowing me to do whatever I wanted and taking as much pleasure in my control over her as in the smacks I planted on her bottom.

I began to play with her panties, tugging them up tight to let her cheeks spill out from either side and holding her by them with the material taut against her pussy as I continued to spank. Her bum globes were already quite pink, and she took it sighing and wriggling, abandoned to the pleasure of exposure and punishment. I pulled tighter still, lifting Katie by her hips so that she was forced to brace the toes of her sandals on the hard mud. Her thighs were well spread, her pussy a small plump bulge in her straining panty gusset, her cheeks parted so that I could see the tiny creases of flesh to either side of her anus where they led down beneath the material of her stretched panties.

'You make a fine sight from behind,' I told her. 'But maybe I can make it ruder still.'

Katie gave a faint acquiescent moan, then a squeak as I pinched the gusset of her knickers together, leaving her pussy lips bulging out to either side of the material much as her bottom cheeks were. Her panties were now tight against her clitoris, and I began to jerk on them and spank at the same time, making her gasp and shake her head in reaction.

'You're going to come, aren't you?' I said. 'You're going to come while your naughty little bottom is being smacked. How humiliating is that, to have an orgasm while you're being punished? You're a bad girl, Katie – a bad, bad girl. You need your bottom spanked long and often . . . and as for wanking off dirty old men, you bad, bad, bad girl!'

I was spanking hard, using the full force of my arm across the chubbiest part of Katie's bum cheeks and jerking continuously on her panties. She started to come, panting out her helpless ecstasy as her bottom bounced to the smacks, hopefully with her mind fully focused on the picture I'd just tried to put in her head of her sitting bare on Duncan's lap with his cock in her hand, a well-smacked little tart giving the man who'd punished her a hand with his inevitable erection.

Katie cried out at the peak of her orgasm, with shudder after shudder passing through her body, and I continued to spank her until she was lying limp and exhausted across my knee, her blazing red bottom stuck high. When I finally let go of her panties she nearly fell off my leg, but I kept hold of her torso, taking her around her waist as I began to stroke her hot cheeks.

'You came, and I didn't even have to pull your panties down!' I mocked. 'What a little disgrace you are, Katie West.'

Her response was a whimper. She'd come, and now it was my turn. But I wasn't comfortable, with the rough willow bark pressing into my bottom.

'You're going to lick me,' I told her, 'from behind. But first, let's have these off, shall we?'

I'd taken a fresh hold of her knickers as I spoke, and pulled them down and off. Katie would be bare while she licked me, with her red bottom showing to the air, and even if I wouldn't be able to see it I would still know. I wanted her yet more exposed, to keep her nervous and on edge, so I unfastened her skirt and took that off as well before letting her up. She was now naked but for her sandals and top, very obviously stripped for sex, which was just the way I wanted it, and all the better for having had her bottom smacked. 'Hang your skirt and panties on a branch,' I told her. 'Then come back.'

Katie scampered quickly across to the hawthorn bush I'd indicated, then back, throwing a single worried glance at her abandoned clothes.

'Good girl,' I told her. 'And how very undignified you look with your rosy little bottom on show – and your pussy, too.'

The position I was planning to get into wasn't exactly dignified either, but I was too turned on to care. And besides, Katie knew me too well to be impressed by any pretence of reserve. I quickly took off my jeans and knickers to leave me naked from the waist down before bracing myself against the willow branch, my bottom stuck out for her attention. She got straight to her knees, hesitated for just an instant, then buried her face between my bottom cheeks, licking eagerly at my pussy.

'That's my girl,' I sighed, and allowed my weight to settle onto the willow branch, only for a deliciously wicked thought to enter my head.

The bag in which we'd packed away the picnic things was resting against the trunk of the tree, within easy reach. I pulled it closer, rummaging in it, and Katie pulled back.

'Isabelle!' she protested. 'That's not very fair, sorting out the stuff when I'm trying to make you come!'

'Shut up and lick,' I told her. 'Remember, the longer you take the more likely you are to get caught with your knickers off.'

She gave a little tut, perhaps intended to remind me that I was in an equally embarrassing position, then went back to work. We'd had cherry tomatoes, and there were a few left, also some mayonnaise, which was messy but too good to resist.

'Take the rest of my things off,' I told her.

Katie didn't even stop licking, but pulled off my shoes and socks, to leave me entirely bare below the waist, just as she was. That made what we were doing riskier still, since I was now as likely to get caught bare as was Katie. But that just made it even more exciting.

Taking the tomatoes, I reached back under my belly. Katie pulled away, giggling as she watched me ease each of the small red fruits up in my pussy. They felt nice, and if they didn't fill me very much it was still a pleasantly unfamiliar sensation, because while I sometimes fucked Katie – with a variety of implements – she never fucked me. For a moment I was fighting back the memory of how good it felt to have a cock inserted into me, only for Katie to start nuzzling and kissing at my bottom.

'I'm glad you like doing that,' I told her, 'because you're going to have to lick this up.'

I'd picked up the bottle of mayonnaise, and Katie gave a little choking sob as she saw it and realised what I was going to do. She'd licked my bottom often enough, but it always got to her. I unscrewed the lid and reached back, poising the bottle over where my cheeks flared out to pour a thick stream of warm sticky mayonnaise between them. It trickled down over my bumhole and around where the last of the cherry tomatoes was stuck up my pussy, before it flowed on over my mound.

'Now lick it all up,' I ordered her.

Katie came close again, poking out her tongue to lap up the mayonnaise. Some of it had gone over my cheeks instead of between them, and she started with that. I relaxed, knowing that it would take her a little time to steel herself for the indignity of licking my bottom-hole clean but that she would eventually do it. Sure enough, the flicks of her tongue moved deeper, lapping the salad cream up from my crease, and lower still. She gave a tiny, broken sob, and then she was doing it, her tongue in my anus, lapping up the mayonnaise and burrowing deep into my bumhole.

Her face, no doubt smeared with mayonnaise, was buried between my cheeks, but she obviously didn't care, lost in her submission and thoroughly enjoying licking my bottom. I let her indulge herself for a while and move lower in her own time to suck the cherry tomatoes out of my hole one by one. Now that there were no inappropriate thoughts to spoil my feeling of dominance. I was completely in control, with my well-spanked girlfriend licking my pussy and bottom clean, kneeling near-nude in the dirt with her face filthy and her tongue exactly where it belonged.

We hadn't gone as far in a while, but Katie was as eager as ever, with her face pushed well in between my parted arse cheeks and her nose against my slippery bumhole as she tongued me. I thought she'd make me come like that, but she obviously wanted to make her humiliation as complete as possible so she returned her attention to my anus, rubbing my pussy with a knuckle as she licked.

For me, that was perfect. I was going to come and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I thought of her, my darling Katie in nothing but her sandals and top, her bare, smacked bottom on show and her face pushed in between my cheeks, licking at my open, slippery anus as she brought me to an exquisite orgasm. This was how it should be, not with some dirty bastard dangling his balls in my mouth but with my beautiful, obedient girlfriend applying her tongue to my bumhole. I cried out as I came, calling out her name and telling her again and again I loved her until my body finally gave way and I slumped down over the willow branch, blissfully satisfied.

Katie pulled back, giggling, and I managed to look around. Her face was a mess, smeared with mayonnaise and pussy cream. Quite a lot had gone down her top, while there was also some in her hair. I knew I wasn't much better, with my bottom and thighs all sticky, but fortunately there was a little water left among the picnic leftovers, along with some serviettes. We cleaned up as best we could, but Katie had to do her top in the river and walk back with the wet material plastered to her breasts almost as far as the bridge before it had dried. Even then we had to sneak into Foxson by the back gate.