Paris, April 12th 2010

 

Thrift stared into the mirror, her expression doubtful. Gone were her luxurious auburn curls, her hair now straight and dark, while her make-up made her eyes seem large and bright, her cheeks flushed and her mouth a scarlet purse simply awaiting the insertion of a man’s cock. Her breasts were bare and her nipples bright with rouge, something the French seemed to like, while what few clothes she wore did far more to reveal than to conceal. Her corset supported the undersides of her breasts without covering them at all, and was faced with brilliant scarlet satin to match her lips and nipples, also her tiny, flounced pantalettes, a ridiculous garment with a split so wide that the slightest movement allowed peeps of her bottom and quim, which was no doubt the idea. She was also in stockings of the same brilliant red and heels so high that she was obliged to take every step with exaggerated care.

The result was that she looked like a French tart. Indeed, to all practical intents she was a French tart, or at best an English tart in France. After all, she not only stripped for money, but made herself available for sex in exchange for tips, sucking several men’s cocks and twice allowing herself to be entered, once by Monsieur Brochon in the privacy of the director’s suite, with his huge belly squashing on her upturned bottom as she took him from behind, and once when the other girls had decided that the doorman, Pierre, deserved a treat. Like Monsieur Brochon he’d had her on all fours and from behind, only this time with the others girls watching and encouraging him as she was fucked.

She had also lost a little weight, and seemed likely to lose more owing to the humiliating regime of exercise imposed on her by M’selle Laroche, which was done in the nude beneath a small gallery from which men could pay to watch. Plenty had done so, and several of those had paid for the use of her mouth immediately afterwards, with her kneeling nude and sweaty at their feet until she was given her mouthful of spunk and had dutifully swallowed it down.

One thing was certain. Nobody was going to recognise her as Thrift Moncrieff, not even her own mother, and definitely not any members of the French Bureau who happened to be searching for her in the 16th Arrondissement. She therefore felt secure in moving on to locate Godfrey Quigley. The papers in her rectule stated that he was housed in an apartment on the Avenue Emile Zola, on the far side of the river in a district known for its theatres, although in the classic sense rather than the striptease houses and bordellos of the Rue des Branleuses. Not that the district was short of girls in her profession, but while she was fully entitled to go out whenever she wished, so long as she did not miss a performance, practice or an exercise period, M’selle Laroche had a strict rule about girls going out alone, more for fear of them being poached by a rival establishment than for their own safety. Making assignations without M’selle Laroche’s permission was also forbidden, while in any event she was expected to charge set rates and pay half to the house. To break M’selle Laroche’s rules meant a spanking, quite possibly the cane, and probably on stage, even a visit to the establishment in the Ruelle des Sanglots where recalcitrant girls were taken for formal and severe punishments. Thrift was happy to accept anything in the line of duty, but it made sense to take a companion who knew the city and whose presence would further reduce the suspicions of those Bureau agents presumably guarding Quigley. After some thought she had selected Coco, who was easy going, pleasant company and always game for mischief.

Making her way to the wardrobes, she chose a scarlet gown with gloves, a hat and a bag to match, dressing with care before once more inspecting herself in the mirror. Despite having covered up she still looked like the tart she was supposed to be, as did Coco, who was waiting for her in the foyer and had chosen a yellow ensemble set off by flowers in her hair and cleavage. She twirled for Thrift, evidently pleased with herself.

‘How much will you bet that I have been offered a hundred francs before we reach the river?’ she asked.

‘Nothing,’ Thrift responded. ‘I would be throwing my money away.’

Coco feigned a pout, but took Thrift’s arm and blew Pierre a kiss as they left L’Huître Rose. He responded with a pat to her rump and an obscene suggestion, which Thrift ignored while Coco gave a pleased giggle. Outside, the Rue des Branleuses was busy, the road itself thronged with vehicles of every sorts, the pavements crowded with people on their way to the afternoon shows, girls promenading in the hope of business and the men they sought to attract. Thrift and Coco walked swiftly, their chins lifted, taking care not to meet anybody’s eyes and responding to the occasional raised hat or bow with chilly nods. Even then they had been propositioned several times before reaching the Pont de Grenelle, where they paused to admire the Seine, with the recently rebuilt Tour Eiffel rising high above the scenery. A British airship was docked at the masthead, her fluttering Union Flag clearly visible, and Thrift was forced to bite down a pang of home sickness.

‘We could make a fortune together, you and I,’ Coco remarked as she pointedly adjusted her bodice to show off her ample cleavage. ‘Men like girls with a little on the balcony, and they would come by the dozen. An apartment with a good address, a stupid, faithful bully to see off the pimps, and in ten, maybe fifteen years we could buy our own establishment, preferably opposite L’Huître Rose.’

‘Perhaps,’ Thrift answered vaguely, ‘but for now I have my eye on a patron.’

‘Who?’ Coco demanded in instant excitement. ‘Is he rich? He must be. An English Lord? Has he enough for two, perhaps? But you know what M’selle Laroche will do if she catches us, don’t you? She’ll make our whipping the centrepiece of a show, with posters out all over Paris, and the twenty ugliest brutes from the audience allowed to use us as they please once we’re thoroughly beaten. Or she’ll invite every pervert in the city to watch us given enemas on stage, with Champagne, and made to drink it as it squirts from each other’s bumholes. Or she’ll have us dipped in blackberry jam and staked out for ants, then...’

‘Dipped in blackberry jam and staked out for ants?’ Thrift queried.

‘Maybe not,’ Coco admitted, ‘but she will punish us, badly. She made Yseult take a milk enema and Apolline drink it, on stage, just for arranging a private rendezvous without telling her, admittedly with the director of Le Ciel Bleu, but still!’

‘I would like to have seen that,’ Thrift admitted, thinking of how she’d been made to kiss the twins’ bottom holes that morning before being allowed into the washroom.

‘It was a picture,’ Coco laughed. ‘The look on Apolline’s face when Yseult’s anus stared to push out, priceless!’

Thrift laughed and once more linked arms with Coco, leading her on across the bridge. It was easy to share the tiny woman’s light-hearted enthusiasm, as Coco seemed to have an extraordinary knack of finding life comic no matter the circumstances and even when she herself was the victim. She had been spanked by Georgette a few days before, and had squealed like a pig while it was actually being done but been laughing and showing off her reddened bottom the moment she’d been let up.

Coco continued her gay chatter as they moved in among the houses on the far side of the river. The district was notably grander than the 16th Arrondissement, the buildings taller still and only a trifle shabby, the roads better maintained, and while they still drew attention there were fewer propositions and more looks of amusement or even contempt, especially from other women. Neither took any notice, Thrift deliberately, Coco apparently genuinely indifferent. At length they reached the Avenue Emile Zola, where Thrift stopped to check which direction they should turn.

‘Where does he live, this English Lord?’ Coco asked.

‘Number eighty-six, apartment seventeen,’ Thrift answered, not bothering to correct her friend’s perception of who she was seeking as it fitted well with the story she had begun to spin. ‘Now, I do not know him, except by reputation, so whatever happens, follow my lead. This way.’

Coco nodded her agreement. The apartment block was no great distance away and Thrift felt her pulse quicken as they continued down the road. Number eighty-six was soon apparent, a tall, grey-stone building much like its neighbours but faced by a high, black painted fence topped with nasty looking spikes, while two substantial young men in plain suits stood to either side of the door.

‘Very grand,’ Coco said quietly, and before Thrift could stop her she had addressed the nearer of the two men. ‘Please announce us to Apartment Seventeen. Here is a franc for your trouble.’

The man looked surprised. His companion grinned, but neither gave the girls more than a glance for their bosoms before the one Coco had tipped pressed a button beside the door. Unable to think of any way out of the situation that would not draw attention to herself, Thrift waited, praying that Quigley would either prove to be out or reject the idea of having too obvious tarts call on him in the middle of the afternoon. He was in and didn’t object. There were two brief, puzzled conversations, one between the first man and the communicator, the other between the two men, before the door was opened and the girls allowed inside to a square, marble floored hallway with an openwork lift of brass and iron to one side. Thrift did her best to remain poised, astonished that she had been admitted so easily and suspicious that all might not be as it seemed.

She had planned to wait until Quigley emerged, follow him and then arrange what seemed to be a chance encounter, allowing her to proposition him and so gain his acquaintance. As it was she seemed to have no way to avoid meeting him as a deliberate caller, and as they rode the lift up to the fifth floor she was desperately trying to think of an excuse for their visit. The only possibility seemed to be to say they had been sent for his entertainment, in which case it would certainly be unwise to admit she was English.

‘I am called, um... Georgette,’ she hissed at Coco. ‘Whatever happens, don’t admit I’m English.’

‘Why not?’ Coco asked.

‘Just do it, please!’ Thrift begged as she slid the lift doors open.

They were at the end of a corridor by the stairs, where a narrow landing looked out over the Avenue Emile Zola. Four doors of dark, polished wood opened to the sides. Number seventeen was the closest, already ajar. As they approached it swung wide, to reveal Godfrey Quigley himself, unmistakable despite being in a dressing gown of watered purple silk and having grown his moustache out and waxed the points.

‘My dears?’ he queried, puzzled but far from unfriendly, while his eyes had moved straight from their faces to their chests, as had those of every other man they had encountered.

‘Monsieur Quigley?’ Thrift asked, doing her best to disguise her accent. ‘I am Georgette, this is Coco. We have been sent for your pleasure.’

‘Have you, by Jove?’ he responded, his gaze moving down to their shoes and slowly back up. ‘Well, well, whatever will they think of next. Never mind, do come in and I shall worry about the Bureau in due time.’

He chuckled to himself as he stood aside to allow them into his apartment. Thrift glanced around, taking in the fine old furniture, the expensive carpet, the hangings and curtains, all of which were in rich, dark colours, creating an air of restrained opulence to which Quigley had added more than a hint of decadence with a collection of erotic prints in gilt frames. The nearest showed a girl being spanked in the classic pose, turned across an older woman’s knee, her skirts lifted and her drawers spread, her bare bottom exposed for punishment as she wriggled and squirmed in her pain and shame. Coco had also noticed the picture, and giggled, at which Quigley raised an eyebrow.

‘I wonder how you would feel were you to find yourself in the same position?’ he asked.

‘I bet you’d like to watch,’ Coco responded cheekily, but there was a catch to her voice.

‘I certainly would,’ Quigley chuckled, ‘and as you are here for my entertainment, perhaps we shall both have our curiosity satisfied. However, perhaps a glass of something first? Do sit down.’

He disappeared into the kitchen and Coco immediately turned to Thrift with an accusing glare.

‘He’s going to spank us, isn’t he? You might have told me!’

‘I didn’t know!’ Thrift hissed. ‘I didn’t even mean us to come up...’

She broke off as Quigley reappeared with a bottle, glasses and a corkscrew in his hands. He was humming to himself, Greenselves, provoking another jolt of homesickness in Thrift.

‘Chiroubles, well chilled,’ he said as he drew the cork. ‘Just the thing for a warm spring day, I always think.’

He poured the wine and handed glasses to the girls before taking his own and sitting down, watching them with frank appraisal.

‘I must say, I can’t fault the Bureau’s taste,’ he remarked after a moment. ‘Why Georgette, you might almost be mistaken for Mimi Caze, a younger sister but slightly more voluptuous sister, perhaps, and very nearly as well favoured.’

It was plain from the tone of his voice that he meant what he had said as a compliment, so Thrift ignored her instinctive pique and managed a smile. Quigley chuckled and then went on.

‘And I trust your bottoms are as well upholstered as your chests?’

Thrift found herself blushing, but didn’t realise the implications of what he’d said until Coco rose and turned to flip up her skirts and split her pantalettes. Coco’s bottom was small and sweetly plump, in keeping with her tiny, slender frame but fleshy enough to be thoroughly feminine. Quigley gave an appraising nod, then turned his gaze to Thrift. Blushing hot, but knowing she had little choice in what to do, Thrift followed Coco’s example, turning to lift her clothes and display her bare bottom. Again Quigley nodded, then sat back, taking a sip of his Beaujolais as he admired the view. The girls held their pose and at length he delivered his verdict.

‘Very fine indeed, both of you, but of course the Bureau knows my tastes. So, let me see, shall I spank you and send you back to your paymasters with hot bottoms? Shall I have you spank each other? Yes, that would be amusing. Which way around though? Hmm, yes... Georgette, put Coco across your knee.’

Coco made a face but no objection. Thrift covered herself up and sat down once more, to take Coco gently across her knee, tiny bottom lifted towards Quigley to allow him a clear view of not just her rounded little cheeks, but her quim and anus too. A quick adjustment to Coco’s pantalettes and she was fully ready, her bare bottom quivering ever so slightly as Thrift lifted one knee to bring it all into yet greater prominence.

‘I see you know what you’re doing,’ Quigley remarked. ‘Now, we’re going to play a little game. Spank her well, because if I don’t think it’s hard enough you’re going to have to swap places.’

Thrift nodded, familiar with the sadistic game and knowing full well that she was likely to end up across Coco’s knee whatever she did. Nevertheless, she clearly had to play along, so took a tight grip on Coco’s waist and laid in, spanking with all her force. Coco clearly hadn’t expected anything more than a few playful smacks and immediately went wild, kicking her legs up and down and thrashing in Thrift’s grip as her bottom bounced to the slaps, alternately begging for mercy and swearing revenge.

Quigley was smiling happily, and when Coco lost control of her anus and emitted a loud, rasping fart he slapped his thigh in merriment. Thrift carried on, easily holding the squealing, kicking Coco in place as the little round bottom cheeks grew first a rosy pink and then red. She was enjoying herself too, with her first opportunity to take revenge on one of the other girls from L’Huître Rose, and while Coco was not the worst of her tormentors she invariably displayed a cruel and impish humour. On the second night she had fisted Thrift and then peed in her cunt, just one of several incidents that made spanking her a thoroughly satisfying task.

‘And let that be a lesson to you, you little brat!’ she hissed into Coco’s ear as she finished, but she had immediately taken the sobbing girl into her arms, cuddling her and stroking her bottom as Quigley gave a pleased chuckle.

‘Now that’s how to spank a girl,’ he admitted, ‘or at least, one way to spank a girl, so I suppose it would be cruel of me to insist that you take your turn across her lap. Not quite playing the game, don’t you know? You may come over my knee instead, and Coco can watch.’

Thrift made a face, but she had already resigned herself to a spanking and went to him without resistance. He moved forward in his chair and patted his lap, over which Thrift bent herself in the classic spanking position, so familiar that she once again felt a stab of nostalgia even as her skirts were lifted and her tiny scarlet pantalettes adjusted to show off her bottom. She closed her eyes as Quigley’s hand settled across her cheeks, not a smack but a caress, feeling the texture of her flesh and stroking her skin. It was hard not to enjoy his touch and she found herself biting her lip as he continued his exploration of her bottom, fighting against her own feelings.

‘Now you see,’ he remarked, talking to Coco, ‘when I complimented Georgette on how well she spanked you, I should perhaps have said punished rather than spanked. I imagine that’s what you do among yourselves, is it not? But for myself I prefer to take it slowly and gently, enjoying my task and ensuring that I receive a suitable response.’

He had continued to caress Thrift’s bottom as he spoke, but now began to spank, gentle pats applied to the crests of her cheeks. Coco was watching, curled on the settee with her skirts up and her reddened bottom stuck out so that she could comfort herself. The expression on her face was distinctly resentful, save that one corner of her neat little mouth had begun to twitch into a smile, which grew broader as Thrift’s bottom began to bounce to the smacks.

‘Yes,’ Quigley continued, ‘I prefer my girls not merely compliant, but enthusiastic. That takes a little skill, because all but the most experienced and appreciative of girls is sure to resent having her bottom smacked, even when she knows it will make her aroused. That’s why I take my time, aside from the sheer joy of the thing, of course, because it can take quite a while to warm a girl’s bottom sufficiently for her to get over her natural resentment.’

Thrift shut had her eyes, struggling against the reactions of her body as her bottom grew warm, with her shame and resentment already giving way to arousal beneath Quigley’s skilled hand. He knew how to spank a girl, without question, mixing caresses with the slaps and aiming for the crests and tuck of her cheeks to send the heat to her quim. She’d been done the same way a hundred times, by men and women, young and old, sometimes intentionally, sometimes not, but always with the same result, a hot bottom and a wet, eager cunt.

Yet now it was worse. Thinking she was French and not used to frequent spankings, he was putting all his skill into what he was doing. Before her bottom was even properly warm she was dizzy with excitement and struggling not to stick it up for more. Only her pride made her hold back, and that was fading, until it was only the fact that Coco was watching which stopped her back from disgracing herself completely. Then the small girl spoke up.

‘May I have a go?’

Quigley hesitated only an instant.

‘Yes, why not, but why don’t you take off your dress first?’

Coco obeyed with hesitation, slipping the bright yellow gown down off her body and stepping free from the puddle of cloth at her feet. She was in a matching corset that left her breasts bare, along with tiny, yellow pantalettes, more or less the same outfit as Thrift and a style favoured by the strippers at L’Huître Rose.

‘Very pretty,’ Quigley remarked, ‘but I think we should have those pantalettes off, don’t you?’

Coco obliged, pushing down her pantalettes and tossing them casually aside to leave her bare, front and rear, red bottom cheeks showing as she came over to where Thrift was being held firmly in place across Quigley’s lap. She immediately applied a hard smack to Thrift’s bottom, high on her cheeks where the slit ended in a shallow V of flesh.

‘Aim lower,’ Quigley instructed. ‘One second.’

He adjusted his grip, tucking one foot around Thrift’s leg to spread her out across his knee, her quim now splayed out on his trouser leg, her cheeks spread wide to leave her anus on full show. Quigley began to spank her again, full across her cheeks, each smack sending a powerful jolt to her cunt, while her anus had begun to squeeze and twitch in involuntary reaction to what was being done to her.

‘Imagine her bottom hole as the bull’s-eye of a target,’ Quigley went on. ‘Aim most of your smacks directly across it, or even on her anus, if you like, but around the edge too. Yes, you can smack her thighs if you like. It stings rather more, but the effect is much the same.’

Coco had already laid one firm smack across the back of Thrift’s legs, and continued to do so, also peppering the tuck of her cheeks and between. Soon Thrift was gasping and shaking her head in reaction, now so thoroughly on heat that she could feel the wet of her cunt dribbling down her mound, something she knew would be obvious to both her tormentors.

‘Just two fingers, when you smack her anus,’ Quigley said, ‘or you can cup your hand to do her cunt.’

Thrift squeaked as Coco took up the offer, applying several firm smacks between Thrift’s open legs, to both cunt and anus.

‘Look at how her bottom hole winks,’ Quigley remarked, ‘always a good sign, although frankly, the way her cunt’s dripping we hardly need confirmation that she’s excited. Now we can spank her hard, a cheek each, I think.’

He’d begun even as he spoke, bringing down a powerful smack across one bare cheek. Coco immediately began to beat time on the other, hard, purposeful slaps delivered with full strength, to leave Thrift with her feet kicking and her fists beating on the carpet, gasping and sobbing in her pain, begging them to slow down. They laughed at her, both thoroughly enjoying her pain and also her helpless excitement, so that as Quigley’s hand slid between her thighs to cup the mound of her cunt all she could managed was a resigned sob.

She knew exactly what he was doing, but it was what she needed. The palm of his hand was pressed to her open sex, rubbing on her clitoris as they spanked her. Coco began to giggle as Quigley masturbated Thrift, still spanking as hard as she could, on both cheeks and thighs. Unable to hold back, Thrift pushed up her bottom, spreading herself to them as they amused themselves with her body. In just seconds she’d started to come, her red hot cheeks squeezing as her muscles went into contraction, her cunt pulsing to squeeze out gout after gout of thick white juice and her anus winking between her cheeks.

‘That was quick,’ Quigley remarked, surprised, ‘but just as well, really, because I am very definitely ready to take this to its natural conclusion. Off with your dress and pantalettes, my girl.’

He let go of Thrift, who tumbled from his lap. She knew what was coming, more or less, and stripped down to her corset, stockings and shoes as instructed while he unzipped his fly to pull out a thick, brownish penis. It went straight into her mouth, then Coco’s as the two girls got down side by side between his open knees, taking turns to suck on his cock and kiss and lick at his balls. Thrift had surrendered herself to the inevitable, her pride completely gone as she used her mouth to pleasure the man who had just spanked her bottom and masturbated her to orgasm with such skill.

His cock was already half hard, and quickly swelled up in their mouths, until they were handling a thick, dark erection, the head swollen with pressure, on which Thrift began to suck as Coco masturbated him into her mouth. He gave a low groan at the treatment and Thrift braced herself for a mouthful of spunk, but he pulled her gently from his cock, speaking as he did so.

‘Not just yet, my dear. I have plans for those delectable bottoms of yours.’

‘We’ve been spanked!’ Coco protested.

‘That wasn’t what I had in mind,’ he replied. ‘Now bend over the settee, both of you.’

Both girls obeyed, Coco now so wet that her cunt was dripping on the carpet as she crawled across to the settee. Thrift came beside her, lifting her bottom for rear entry as Coco cuddled up to her, their mouths meeting in an open kiss after only a moment’s reluctance. Quigley stood up, admiring the two girls as he removed his lower garments, in no hurry and breaking off occasionally to take a swallow of wine and to nurse his erection. Only when he was naked from the waist down but for socks held up with miniature suspenders did he come across to the two girls, kneeling behind Thrift.

She stuck her bottom up, submitting to penetration. His cock touched her flesh, rubbing in the wet of her cunt, then pressing to her hole and up, filling her with thick, hot meat. He took her by her hips and began to fuck her, sliding himself in and out with his eyes glued to her well spanked bottom and spread cheeks. The fucking lasted only a few moments, before he had turned his attention to Coco, entering her the same way, but his hand had stayed on Thrift’s bottom.

A finger penetrated her cunt, pushing deep to pull out juice and rub it on her anus. She gave a little sob against Coco’s mouth at the realisation that she was to be sodomised, but held her position as his fingers worked slowly in past the tight constriction of her anus and up her bottom. He was still fucking Coco as he fingered Thrift’s bottom, until she’d begun to wonder if he’d be unable to hold back, taking his orgasm up her friend’s cunt and sparing her a buggering.

‘And now,’ he grunted, ‘for my very favourite thing, after spanking, which is to fuck a young girl’s bottom. Hold your cheeks open for me, Georgette.’

Thrift obeyed, reaching back to spread her still warm bottom cheeks and stretch her now juicy anus. She relaxed and pushed, letting the little hole pout to his cock as he got behind her. He was hardly the first man to put his cock up her bottom, making it easy enough as his bloated helmet pushed to her anal ring. She felt herself open, her bottom hole spreading out around the head of his penis until she was fully agape. He’d already got her slippery with his finger and soon he was deep in, his pubic hair tickling between her bottom cheeks and his scrotum squashing to her empty cunt as she jammed the last inch of her erection up her bottom.

‘You can let go now,’ Quigley grunted, and Thrift’s buggering had begun.

Coco had sat up, watching in fascination as Thrift’s anus was penetrated, and giggling in delight as she watched the tight pink ring pull in and out on his cock shaft. Thrift was already panting for the sensation of his cock moving in her rectum, and had soon begun to grunt and gasp, unable to hold back her reactions. He began to smack at her cheeks as he sodomised her, and with every push his balls slapped against her cunt, a sensation too good to resist. Her hand went back, to find the wet slit of her sex and her vacant cunt hole, touching the junction between his cock shaft and her straining anus before she began to masturbate.

‘Good girl,’ Quigley sighed. ‘You do that. I want to feel your arsehole go tight on my cock.’

Thrift didn’t need telling, rubbing hard at her cunt as his pushes grew faster. His balls were now slapping on her busy fingers, while Coco had leant down once more, to kiss Thrift and play with her dangling breasts. With that she came, a long, glorious orgasm with her straining bumhole in contraction on his cock, her fingers working between her clitoris and her empty hole and her tongue as far down Coco’s throat as it would go.

As she came he continued to pump himself back and forth up her bottom, barely changing pace until her shudders had finally subsided. Only then did he speed up, and Thrift braced herself for the final, hard pushes, which she knew from long experience would hurt. They never came, his cock pulled suddenly from her bottom hole as he gave a grunted instruction.

‘I have to do you both. Lick her arse.’

Coco gave a plaintive squeak and began to protest, but her voice broke to a sigh as Thrift’s tongue found her anus. She reached out as she licked, her face smothered in her friend’s pert little bottom and her tongue well in up the hole as she took hold of Quigley’s cock. It felt good to have her tongue up Coco’s bottom, and also to think that the tiny hole would soon be stretched taut on the same fat erection she’d just had stuffed up her own rear hole. Soon Coco was ready, and Thrift pulled back, to guide Quigley’s erection to the wet pink star between her friend’s cheeks. He tried to insert his cock and Coco gasped as her ring pushed in, too tight to take him at all easily.

‘Push out,’ Thrift instructed, ‘as if you wanted the pot.’

Coco’s response was a weak sob, but she complied, pushing out her bottom hole to make the ring spread on the flesh of Quigley’s helmet. He pushed again and the head had gone inside, leaving Coco’s anus a taut ring of straining, glossy flesh. She was gasping and shaking her head, clearly struggling to accommodate his impressively large erection in her tiny bottom hole. Another inch went up as Quigley pushed once more, wringing a cry from Coco’s open lips.

‘Just pretend you need the pot,’ Thrift repeated.

‘That’s the trouble,’ Coco grunted. ‘I think I do!’

Quigley had pushed again as the girls spoke, jamming another inch of erection up Cock’s back passage to leave her now properly sodomised but still with a good half his length sticking out of her hole. He put his hands to her bottom, spreading her cheeks as he began to rock gently back and forth, her bottom hole now pulling in and out on his shaft. She took it gasping and panting, just as Thrift had done, but also whimpering deep in her throat, and before long tears had began to roll from her eyes, trickling slowly down her cheeks.

‘She really is too small,’ Quigley said with regret, ‘and rather full inside. Would you mind if I finished with you, Georgette?’

Thrift nodded, her own bottom hole still juicy and loose from her buggering, but as Quigley extracted his cock from Coco’s anus he had taken a firm grip in her hair.

‘Not in my...,’ she began, but too late, his cock already jammed deep into her mouth.

Her eyes went wide as her senses filled with the taste of Coco’s bottom, but there was nothing she could do, held firmly in place on his cock as he fucked her head and jerked at what little of his shaft remained free. It took just seconds before he’d come, spunk erupting down her throat, forcing her to swallow twice before he withdrew to finish himself off in her face and over Coco’s bottom. When he finally let go Thrift sank down, panting, but only long enough to get her breath back before making an urgent dash to the loo. Quigley’s voice followed her from the room.

‘There, now you run along to your paymasters and tell them that Godfrey Quigley is not so easily gulled. They’ll understand.’

 

Back at L’Huître Rose Thrift treated herself to a long, hot bath. She had successful located Godfrey Quigley and even made contact, which was well worth a sore bottom. He clearly assumed that she had been sent by the French Bureau, which was a little worrying but not unduly so when any claims or accusations made on either side would necessarily be suspect, if not actually disbelieved, at least if the French service operated at all like their British counterparts.

His assumption also implied that he had not yet struck a deal with them, or at very least that the deal was incomplete. Possibly he thought they had been sent to gather information, or as a bribe, perhaps as part of some more elaborate gambit. None of that mattered, only that she had now had access to him and would presumably be welcome to pay another visit. Certainly he had been friendly enough, even apologising for buggering them so hard and sending them back with fifty franc notes in their purses.

Coco had been delighted, at least once she’d applied cream to her bottom, speculating on how she should spend her generous tip and laughing at what Thrift had been made to do. One the way back they had stopped to eat ice-cream by the Seine, where Coco had sworn to keep the rendezvous a secret as long as Thrift promised in turn not to visit Quigley alone. Thrift had agreed, knowing that Coco’s presence improved her cover and content to worry about any possible consequences when the time came.

As she lay back in the hot water, idly soaping herself, she tried to work out what she should do. Sir Blenheim Finch had made it clear that it didn’t really matter if she didn’t bring Quigley back so long as he was unable to pass on what he knew to the French Bureau. That meant assassination, a thought that instantly set her stomach tight and her throat dry. Yet it was by far the simplest option. The two agents guarding the apartment block had not even bothered to check on the girls while they were there, and when they left had done no more than pass a few jocular remarks. Nor had they been searched. Had Coco not been there it would have been easy to slip poison into Quigley’s wine, even to stab him, and there was no reason to think things would be any different on another occasion. All she needed was a clever strategy for her escape, and there was no reason to think that would be particularly difficult. The difficult part was doing the deed.

She thought of the man in Épernay, whom she had left unconscious and might very easily have killed. Indeed, for all she knew he had never recovered. Yet that had been an instinctive response to a violent attack. To kill Quigley in cold blood would be another matter entirely. She thought of his cheerful, rosy face, smiling happily as he explained to Coco how he liked to give spankings, then that same face, twisted with pain and filled with accusation as the poison took hold or he lay bleeding on his luxurious carpet. The thought made her sick, and to make matters worse she’d accepted him in her body, willingly enough despite the circumstances, in her mouth, her anus, her cunt, something she’d never been able to do without creating feelings of intimacy. No, it would be impossible to assassinate Godfrey Quigley. She simply did not have it in herself to kill him.