The Boss (19 page)

He came close, cool and easy as I scrabbled for his cock, the cane he'd beaten me with still hanging from his hand as I freed him into my mouth, then sucking urgently as I clutched at my hurt bottom. I could feel the welts, the welts he'd given me. A man had beaten me, used the cane on my bare bottom, humiliated me utterly, hurt me, and I was sucking on his cock in frenzied passion, completely subservient to him.

I'd have come, like that, sucking on his cock as I stroked my poor burning bottom and rubbed at my sex, but he had other ideas. He was barely fully hard in my mouth again before he lifted me and tossed me
casually onto the bed. My ankles were taken in his hands, my body rolled up and opened, my skirt left like a huge flower with my welted bottom and my sex at the centre. He was looking down at me, admiring what he'd done as he entered me, pushing deep and setting up a steady rhythm that immediately had me gasping and shaking.

My hand went down, to touch myself, eager to come as I was fucked. He slapped it, just gently, and pulled out again, turning me onto my knees with my punished bottom stuck high as he took me from behind. Again I tried to get to myself, and again he stopped me, driving my frustration and need higher still as he eased himself in and out of my body.

I was begging for release, but he did it again, and yet again, manipulating my body as if I was a doll, and again and again taking my hand away from where it so badly needed to be. I was put on my back, my front, my side, on my knees and bent over the bed, mounted on him but still with my bottom showing, fucked deep and slow, his cock rubbed on my clitoris, his finger put in my bottom hole, my breasts fucked and my mouth, until at last he put me back on my knees and told me I could come.

Immediately I was babbling my thanks, with my fingers busy between my thighs even as he slid himself into me. My spare hand went back to touch my cane welts and I was masturbating as he fucked me, my head full of what he'd done, how he'd made me pose, how he'd beaten me, how he'd left me with my bottom decorated with the welts from his cane.

I have never come so hard, screaming and calling him every filthy name I could think of even as I wriggled on his cock, at once cursing him and telling
him I loved him, calling him a bastard and demanding he spank me, yelling at him for using me so hard and begging him to come for me, which he did, driving my orgasm to a final blinding peak as the hot droplets spattered my upturned bottom cheeks.

IT HAD BEEN
quite a weekend, the way a weekend should be, only distinctly weird. I'd made one male friend suck another's cock, and if that was bad, well then, my bottom was decorated with six neat, parallel red lines. That was the major experience. I'd been caned, beaten, punished. I'd allowed a man to put a stick across my bare bottom. You just do not do that nowadays, or if you do you end up on an assault charge. Stephen English had done it to me, and yet I could not find it in myself to be unhappy about it.

We slept together too, and when we had sex again, much later, it was very different, intimate and loving, cuddled close together in the warm darkness of his bedroom, and completely uninhibited. Even then I knew I could never have opened myself up to him so fully without my earlier caning.

I spent most of Sunday there, half of it just padding naked around his flat, which felt completely natural, while every time I caught a glimpse of my stripy bottom in the mirror it made me smile at my memories of the night before. Not that I really needed to see, because my welts still smarted, keeping me constantly in mind of the fact that I'd been caned. I even let him take a picture of me, to his personal direction, standing in the corner of his main room with my hands on my head and my face turned back towards the camera in a
sulky pout, stark naked so that it was completely obvious what had been done to me.

He finally drove me back after lunch at the local pub, and I simply collapsed on my bed at home, face down. By the time I woke up it was nearly dark, and my memories of the night before seemed oddly hazy, as if none of it had ever happened. It was the same next morning, and I was actually feeling shy as I walked across the Hereward towards Black Knight Securities.

Stephen was the same as ever, almost, greeting me with a kiss and a pat to my bottom, but otherwise very much my boss rather than my lover. Paul was there too, and had apparently been told by Mr Phelps that the council had as good as accepted their system. It only needed to be rubber-stamped by the relevant committee and we would have the contract.

That meant updating the plans for installing the system throughout Hockford and the surrounding area, as Mr Phelps and his cronies wanted various changes and additions. It was all rather a rude shock to me, but there was nothing to be done but get on with my work and try to ignore the tender feeling every time I sat down. I'd lost, so it seemed, and all I could do was warn people and attempt to influence the final positioning of the cameras.

As it turned out, I could do better than that. I had the plans on my computer, and it was part of my job to print them out, which gave me the ideal opportunity. I made the changes while Stephen and Paul were sorting out which boxes we'd need in the warehouse; nothing major, hopefully nothing obvious, but just enough to allow Steve his short cut and make sure one or two crucial places weren't covered.

I felt bad as I did it, and repeatedly had to tell myself it made no difference to Black Knight Securities, let alone Stephen personally, but only to the council. That didn't stop my heart staying firmly in my mouth as I worked, or my worry once I'd done it and the sheets were squeezing out of the printer at what seemed a painfully slow speed. Neither Stephen nor Paul emerged from the warehouse, and as I soon as I was done I put one set into the file and the other into a big brown envelope. It was at least another ten minutes before Stephen came out.

‘Are you finished, Felicity?'

‘Yes, Mr English.'

He smiled at the way I said it, making my voice deliberately subservient, and allowed his hand to stray to the curve of my bottom as he came to stand by my chair, idly kneading one cheek even as he continued.

‘Good. Would you mind running it over to the council offices? I'd prefer it delivered by hand, and if Paul or I go Phelps is sure to bombard us with questions.'

‘Of course, Mr English.'

‘Will you stop talking like that, or I might be tempted to put you across my knee right now.'

‘Yes, please.'

His eyebrows rose and he wagged a finger at me, but I was already gathering up the envelope. I'd been play-acting, partly to hide my nervousness, but as I left the office I was reflecting that if I'd ever really deserved a spanking it was right now. But I wasn't going to get it, not for that anyway. I'd changed the master copy, and as Paul and Stephen had been so busy it was very unlikely they'd notice my changes unless the council complained, which again seemed unlikely.

It was only a short walk to the council offices, and
as luck would have it Mr Phelps was in the office car park, talking to Mr Burrows. They were standing next to a shiny red 4 × 4, and for once Phelps was smiling. I caught his voice as I approached.

‘. . . won't be so easy to steal. The security system is top of the range.'

Mr Burrows gave a doubtful frown.

‘I thought you left your keys in the car last time?'

‘Well, yes, but . . . What can I do for you, Miss Cotton?'

‘I have the final proposal for the complete ZX system, Mr Phelps. Pardon me for eavesdropping, but had it already been installed, whoever stole your car would undoubtedly have been caught.'

‘I know that, Miss Cotton. Good. I feel confident about this one, Geoffrey. It has the potential to make a real difference, both to crime rates and in terms of cost benefits . . .'

He was talking to Mr Burrows, not even bothering to thank me as he walked away. I ignored the temptation to run a key along the side of his shiny new car, but only because I was right under one of the old cameras. Instead I started back, only to hesitate. It was lunch time, to all intents and purposes, and Stephen wasn't to know I'd delivered the plans so quickly. I might easily have been kept waiting to see Mr Phelps, for ten minutes, twenty minutes, perhaps even half an hour.

It had been a stressful morning, and the thought of a glass of cold vodka and lime in the Bull directly across the road was too much for me. With luck Stephen would arrive a few minutes after one and buy me lunch. I could tell him I'd only just left the council offices. To think was to act, and two minutes later I
was sitting in a window alcove watching the world go by and sipping my drink.

I had done what I could, for the time being anyway, and I felt reasonably content, or at least resigned. I was telling myself that maybe Mum was right and it was time I began to behave with a bit more restraint, as she liked to put it. Not that bonking Archie Feltham was particularly restrained, but it did at least mean she could hardly complain about what I got up to with Stephen. I knew she might do anyway, especially if she discovered I got spanked, a thought that made me cringe with embarrassment. Evidently I'd have to be careful, especially walking around with a bruised bum.

My drink was only a little less than half full and it was still a few minutes before one when I saw Stephen approaching. He was alone, and I smiled and waved from the window, causing him to glance at his watch and lift one eyebrow. As soon as he came in he walked around to my alcove and I immediately found myself apologising.

‘I'm sorry, I didn't think it would matter as . . .'

He raised a hand.

‘Don't worry, not at all. Five minutes one way or the other is hardly the end of the world, and anyway, I think we both know the best way of dealing with minor infractions. What are you drinking?'

‘Vodka and lime.'

He turned for the bar, leaving me with a now familiar sense of unease in my tummy. It was obvious what he meant, that my little piece of cheek was going to cost me a spanking. Soon he was back, and I pointed out something he seemed to have overlooked.

‘I'm still a little sore.'

‘I'm sure you are. But never mind, I prefer to start on pristine skin and it's fun to make you wait as well.'

‘Sadist.'

‘Absolutely. Now let me see. Going to lunch early without permission, not an especially serious offence. Let's just say a spanking, on the bare naturally. If you do it again, you'll get the cane.'

I nodded and swallowed. He was making no effort at all to conceal his delight, both in what he was going to do and in his power over me. Already my tummy was fluttering badly with the same mixture of resentment, apprehension and arousal welling up with astonishing speed. Stephen smiled as he sat back, took a moment to immerse his nose into his wine glass, then spoke again.

‘Not bad at all, if rather young and a trifle oaky for my palate. Would you like some lunch?'

‘Yes, thank you.'

He'd changed the subject casually and completely in his normal infuriating manner, as if the things that were so strong for me were of no more importance to him than what wine he happened to be drinking. Only as he went on did I realise that he was actually being anything but unemotional.

‘Felicity . . . I enjoyed our weekend immensely, and . . . and I think I may fairly say that you possess a unique combination of innocence and, well, lewdness frankly, and please don't be offended when I say that.'

‘I'm not, not at all.'

‘Good. The thing is then, I mean to say, without being presumptuous, can I assume you're not in a serious relationship at all? You mentioned an American airman, I think?'

‘Martin, yes. I doubt I'll be seeing him again. He was too possessive.'

‘Ah ha, you dislike possessive men then?'

‘If they think they can take me out on a couple of dates and then start ordering me around, yes.'

‘Are you not interested in . . .'

He broke off as Paul appeared at his elbow, placing a large camera box on the table, the new ZX-6 he'd ordered, and within moments we were talking shop.

I was sure Stephen had been going to ask me if I wanted to make our relationship official, perhaps even exclusive. Unfortunately with the amount of work on and the council constantly wanting to check over a wealth of tiny details, we didn't get a chance to talk alone for the rest of the day. By the evening we were both exhausted, and while I'd have been happy to go for a drink after work he simply gave me his usual combination of a kiss and a pat and left.

The next day was the same, worse if anything, with Mr Phelps there half the day going over the plan. He'd written all over it, suggesting all sorts of changes, but in doing so completely obscuring the ones I'd already made. A few of mine were undone, but he'd missed the most important one completely, as did Stephen and Paul, leaving me as full of mischief and guilt as ever. Again I was hoping Stephen would suggest going out after work, but this time Paul wanted to talk to him and I ended up excusing myself.

I was feeling frustrated as I walked up the High Street, wondering exactly what he'd intended to say and how I should respond. He had brought out feelings in me like no other man, with the possible exception of Steve, who hardly counted. He had definitely done
things to me like no other man, Steve included, and if they were distinctly kinky then I had to admit they were very nice too. On the other hand I wasn't really in love, because if I had been I was sure I'd have felt I wanted to be faithful to him for the sake of it, and I didn't. If I was faithful it would be for his sake, which again gave me mixed feelings.

My head was completely in the clouds, so much so that I didn't even notice the little knot of American servicemen gathered near the base of Town Bridge. I was almost on top of them before one spoke to me, and even then I had to do a double take before I realised who it was: Martin.