A Study in Shame (7 page)

My fingers had slid between my cheeks, teasing my bottom hole as I imagined how it might have been. They’d have stripped me first, nude except for my boots and goggles, then given me my count of five as I fled in panic among the trees, naked and vulnerable. Stacey would have got me with her first shot, splattering my bottom with pink dye and making me yelp and jump. I’d have tripped, gone down in the leaves and mud. They’d have been on me, laughing at me, spreading me out in the dirt, Stacey squatting over my face, pushing down her combat trousers and the panties beneath to bare her full pale moon as the others cheered her on to make me lick her bottom.

I rolled over. My legs came wide, hung out to either side of the bath, spreading my cunt to my urgent fingers. All it needed was a few touches and I’d be there, and as I started to rub I was imagining my humiliation as Stacey spread her bottom cheeks in my face and demanded that I kiss her anus. I stuck one finger up my bottom, just to be dirty with myself, my back arched as my rubbing grew harder. I opened my eyes to help imagine my own horror, only to find myself staring not at Stacey’s round pink bottom, but at Mrs Forbes’ round pink face.

She was watching me through the window, her eyes wide and her mouth open in utter disgust at my behaviour. Then she was gone, no doubt to come round and give me a piece of her mind for playing with myself in her bath. I started to panic, splashing my hands in the water as a great wave of embarrassment welled up inside me and I was babbling stupidly as the door slammed and I heard her footsteps approaching.

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Forbes, really sorry! I – I just … oh, God!’

The door pushed back and she was glaring down at me. I couldn’t meet her eyes and hung my head. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘I should hope you are. Imagine doing that to yourself, you filthy little baggage!’ Her face was set hard, and for one awful moment I really thought she was going to throw me out in the nude, but she carried on, far from sympathetic but very practical. ‘Right, we’d better get you sorted out then, hadn’t we? Get out of the bath.’

I obeyed, too numb to do anything else. As I rose from the water, she handed me a towel, which I wrapped around myself, to stand shame-faced by the door as she bent to inspect the washing machine, muttering all the while. ‘It’ll be a while yet. What’s to be done with you then? I’ll tell you what ought to be done with you, young lady. I ought to put you straight across my knee for a good old-fashioned, bare-bottom spanking.’

She left the room and I was left gaping after her. I couldn’t speak, my face and chest were crimson with blushes and I was shaking so badly I could barely hold my towel. There is nothing, but nothing, as humiliating as being spanked bare bottom across the knee. Plenty of punishments hurt more, and plenty are dirtier, but for pure erotic shame there is nothing to compare with lying across somebody’s lap with your panties pulled well down as your bottom is smacked. Twice Juliette Fisher had spanked me across the knee, although she preferred to use implements. Both times it had left me in a puddle on the floor, but both times had been purely for fun. This was real.

I stood there like an idiot, burning with embarrassment and arousal, deeply ashamed of myself for what she’d seen and what I wanted, but desperately in need of exactly that. She had no idea what she’d done to me, and was plainly embarrassed herself, but she was cross too, really cross. I wondered if I dared ask for it, if I could somehow phrase my appeal in such a way that she didn’t realise I was going to get off on my punishment, but I was sure she’d see through me immediately. Then she really would kick me out in the nude.

She’d begun to make tea, of all things, and with the kettle on she went to sit down on one of the kitchen chairs. Her knees were stuck out, just as if she was about to take a naughty girl across her lap, and I was mesmerised. All I had to do was bend down across her legs and I’d be in spanking position. She’d tell me to get up, not to be so silly, but she was the one who’d said I needed a spanking.

‘Just do it, Lucinda.’

I’d spoken in a breathless whisper, but she heard, turning me a quizzical, disapproving look. My mouth came open again, but I couldn’t speak for the lump now rising in my throat, and, really, nothing needed to be said. I let the towel drop to the floor, stepped across to where she was sitting and draped myself across her legs. She hadn’t tried to stop me, and for a long, long moment of hideous embarrassment I just lay there with my bottom stuck in the air. Then she spoke up. ‘Very well then, as you seem to have a conscience.’

Her arm came around my waist, tucking me in place across her lap. I braced my feet on the floor, a little way apart to keep myself steady, a position that left my cunt on show to the room. Her right knee came up a little, raising my bottom higher still and adding my bottom hole to the embarrassing display I was making of myself, but that was all the better, because it shouldn’t matter what a naughty girl’s showing behind while she’s spanked. It did to me, adding fresh and beautiful agony to my shame, which hit a peak as she laid a hand across the cheeks of my naked bottom and spoke up. ‘I’m not going to spank you hard, Lucy, but I am going to spank you well, for ten minutes by the kitchen clock.’

She lifted her hand, brought it down and delivered a firm sharp slap to my bottom. My mouth came wide in a helpless gasp, not of pain, but of pure ecstasy. I was stark naked, laid across an old woman’s knee as she spanked my bare bottom, and it was heaven. It stung too, even though she’d said she wouldn’t do it hard, especially on my paintball bruises, enough to make me kick a little and wriggle my bottom in pain, stripping away any last vestige of dignity I might have retained by taking it well.

There was no mercy. The more I wriggled, the harder she spanked, until every slap was making my bottom cheeks bounce and spread to show off my bottom hole and cunt, with my legs kicking up and down and my hair tossing to the steady rhythm of my punishment. Soon I was getting hot, and she’d begun to smack me full across the tuck of my cheeks, sending a jolt of ecstasy to my sex with every blow. I could smell my own cunt, and I was sure she could too, adding yet one more dimension to my shame.

Then she began to talk. ‘There’s no need to be such a big baby about it, Lucy. You’re only being spanked after all, and you know you deserve it, don’t you? So come along, bottom up and try not to make such a fuss. Never mind what you’re showing to me either. Believe me, I’ve seen girls’ bare bottoms before, often when they’re getting a spanking. You’re no different, and certainly no better. Why, you big baby, you, there’s no need to cry!’

I wasn’t crying. I’d come.

She’d spanked me to orgasm, an experience that left me dizzy with reaction as I made my way back towards the woods a couple of hours later. Even without that exquisite peak, it would have been the most embarrassing experience of my life, and I couldn’t get it out of my head. I’d been spanked. I’d been spanked bare bottom. I’d been spanked bare bottom across an old woman’s knee. She’d made me come.

That was the rude bit, and I knew it would keep me on a high for days and leave me with an exquisite memory forever. To add to that I had a wonderful feeling of triumph, because if I hadn’t had the courage to put myself across her knee it would never have happened and I’d have been left with the exciting but ultimately frustrating experience of having been threatened with a spanking but not actually getting one.

The aftermath had been nearly as embarrassing as the spanking itself. I’d been hoping she’d make me stay nude with my red bottom on show until my clothes were ready, or even make me stand in the corner with my hands on my head to contemplate the consequences of my behaviour. Instead she’d wanted to know why I’d felt the need to be punished. She hadn’t realised I’d come, and I could hardly have told her the truth if she had, so I was forced to tell her I believed in corporal punishment as the only effective way to atone for things I knew to be wrong but couldn’t help doing, which was at least a half-truth. It also implied that I was hopelessly addicted to masturbation, which was the whole truth, and that I wanted to be cured of my dirty habit, which was an outright lie. Yet I couldn’t help but wonder if I wasn’t the only liar, and that she might have been just as keen to smack my bottom as I’d been to have it smacked.

I was smiling as I walked, now with my clothes clean and my trousers sewn up, but I had my worries. It had taken ages to get my clothes dry and the rip in my trousers mended, so long that if my colleagues had kept to schedule they’d have finished the exercise, packed up and gone home. That left me in the middle of nowhere with no money and no keys, which had been in the minibus with my other clothes. Not that I could imagine Mr Scott abandoning me and, sure enough, he was standing by his car, looking worried. I’d even found my cap and jacket by then, both marked with splashes of pink dye as evidence of what Stacey and her friends had done to me. His frown grew deeper as he saw me coming.

‘Ah, Miss Salisbury. We have a bit of a disciplinary situation, don’t we?’

My mind was still full of thoughts of spanking, and for one moment I thought he meant I was the one who was going to be disciplined, only to realise what he was talking about as he went on. ‘I have already reprimanded Miss Atkinson, who I understand was the ringleader, and obviously their behaviour was wholly inappropriate …’

I could see where he was going, preferring to avoid the scandal and trouble of the full-scale disciplinary hearing I was obviously entitled to, to say nothing of possible industrial tribunals if any of the girls were sacked. It was a bit rich, when I was sure that if he’d been the one they’d turned on all hell would have broken loose, but I knew which side my bread was buttered and was in no mood to play the bitch anyway. I interrupted him before he’d got into full stride. ‘I think it would be best to drop the whole matter, for the good of the company.’

He stopped, clearly surprised, then rallied as he opened the car door for me. ‘Well, I must say that I think that’s the right choice, and, moreover, that you are showing a mature and well-considered attitude. Thank you, Miss Salisbury.’

As we set off, I was wondering how mature he’d have thought me if he’d seen me wriggling naked across Mrs Forbes’ knee for my spanking, and whether he’d have enjoyed the view. He was always so formal, but then so was I.

***

By the time we got back, the day had begun to catch up with me. I was tired and hungry, but still determined to go on my date with Charlie. Mr Scott and I rode up together in the lift, our conversation strictly business, as it had been all the way from Hertfordshire. Only when I’d closed the door of my flat behind me did I finally relax, throwing my jacket and cap into the washing machine before pouring myself a very large glass of wine. Morrison was on the bed where I’d left him that morning, watching me with his disapproving stare.

‘Yes I know, Morrison. I’m a disgrace, but don’t worry, I’ve been spanked.’

I knew that wouldn’t satisfy him. Nothing ever did, as he was a stuffed toy, but that was half the fun of it. He’d want to punish me himself, and I had one or two interesting ideas about what ought to be done with me, although that was going to have to wait.

‘Yes, you’re right. I enjoyed it far too much and I ought to be dealt with properly, certainly for sucking Magnus off, although I don’t see why I should be given a punishment for being shot by my own side at paintball. Because it turned me on? Oh, all right, do what you want with me, you beastly bear!’

The wine was beginning to pick me up and I’d have done it then and there had I not needed to get ready for Charlie. I wasn’t at all sure what she was expecting of the evening, expect that it was likely to involve sex, or, at least, I hoped it would. Another problem was what to wear. She’d liked my uniform, but my jacket and cap weren’t going to be dry in time and even after Mrs Forbes has sewn up the rip in my trousers I’d have looked a bit of a ragamuffin.

In the end, I decided on one of my work suits, because if she liked one sort of uniform she might well like what was in effect another, while it made it easy to get in and out of the building. I was also hoping that if I dressed to the nines she might enjoy taking me down a peg or two, which was sure to be nice. With that in mind, I chose a set of luxurious silk underwear in pale cream, heavily decorated with lace and including a slip and a girdle to hold my stockings up. The stockings, a white blouse, a navy-blue skirt suit with a thin grey stripe, a matching bag and black heels completed my look, and if I was rather overdressed for a Saturday evening then at least that suited my prissy image.

It certainly didn’t attract any undue attention, and I was soon at her shop and making a careful check of the street for people I knew before nipping inside. Charlie was at the counter, serving a plump middle-aged man with a bald patch at the back of his head who took one look at me and fled the shop.

‘I hope I didn’t lose you a customer?’

‘Don’t worry about it. He’d bought what he wanted and was trying to chat me up.’

‘Oh. I suppose that must be a problem working here?’

She shrugged. ‘Sometimes. I just tell them I prefer girls.’

‘And do you?’

I’d asked because I wasn’t sure, but she wasn’t giving anything away. ‘I prefer
you
. Shall we go down to the Wharfingers? I can lock up now.’

We waited until the shop was secure before resuming our conversation as we walked down the road.

‘You look very smart. I thought you were going paintballing?’

‘I changed.’

‘Into an office suit?’

‘I thought you might like it.’

‘I do. How did the paintballing go?’

‘I got a flag, but then I got shot by my own side.’

She laughed, making me blush, because she’d immediately picked up on my tone of voice and realised I’d really rather liked it, so I carried on. ‘They were really nasty about it, and Stacey Atkinson, who I’d made my sergeant, was the worst of all. She gave me a count of five and told me to run, then shot me when she’d got to about three. The others joined in, all of them I think. I’d ripped my trousers so my knickers showed, and most of them aimed for my bottom. Most of them got me too. And I fell in a stream, and when I finally got away I accidentally sat down in a cowpat.’