Caged!

by Yolanda Celbridge

  ‘I’m going to lay it on hard, Angie. I am quite serious. The yellow panties are kind of cheeky. I suppose you girls compare undies in the loo and think how clever you are not to wear company blue. Some team spirit…!’

  ‘No! It’s not true! Oh, please don’t be cross with me!’

  Crack!

  ‘Ah…!’

  Crack!

  ‘Oh!’

  Crack!

  ‘Ouch, Will!’

  Crack!

  ‘Mmm!’

  Will spanked Angarad’s almost fully-bared buttocks with crisp slaps that covered the full expanse of her mid-fesses.

  ‘Are you sure it’s not true, Angie?’ Will murmured.

  Crack! Crack! Crack!

  ‘Ouch! Oh, God!’

  Angarad’s buttocks clenched frantically, their flesh pinking, with Will’s fingerprints etched in crimson on the quivering naked fesses.

  Crack! Crack! Crack!

  ‘About the panties, I mean. Come on, Angie, you can tell me. I bet you all giggle when you wear sexy colours.’

  Crack! Crack! Crack!

  ‘Oh! Ah! Ohh…! Don’t be crude!’

  Crack! Crack! Crack!

  Angarad’s bare fesses clenched so hard that the thin pink strip of her panties was engulfed in the quivering mass of her bruised bare buttocks.

  ‘Oh, God! It’s awful!’ she sobbed. ‘I’ve never been spanked so hard! Oh, God, Will, stop! I didn’t mean what I said! Please stop!’

  ‘You haven’t answered my question. I like the panties, Angie, honestly. Design them yourself?’

  Crack! Crack! Crack!

  Her naked fesses, spanked darker than the pink panties, clenched uncontrollably.

  ‘Ouch! Yes…’

  ‘On company time, I imagine?’

  Crack! Crack! Crack!

  ‘Yes, damn you!’

  Each slap made Angarad’s buttocks jerk as though invisible fists were poking inside her skin. Will’s palm spread its impact evenly over the lower fesses and, with spanks to the bare haunches, which wealed a darker crimson than the fleshy mid-fesse, the entire croup was marbled in blotchy crimson, with some bruises, spanked over, darkening to purple.

  Crack! Crack! Crack!

  ‘Ohh…!’

  ‘And you girls like to show off your Metawear creations in the bathroom, don’t you? Knickers, bras, corsets, basques…all sorts of frillies, I dare say. I’m well aware that many of our customers are shy of their own fantasies…which my team likes to plunder, eh?’

  Crack! Crack! Crack!

  ‘Ahh!’

  Crack! Crack! Crack!

  ‘Oh! Oh! Don’t! Please…please stop…’

  ‘It’s true, isn’t it? My team, their own best customers…’

  Will continued spanking, his palm rigid. At each impact, her flesh cringed, clenching and squirming, but despite the shuddering of her spanked flesh, she was helpless to escape his pinioning hand on her neck, and his leg trapping her ankles.

  Crack! Crack! Crack!

  ‘Oh, God! Yes, it’s true! Just a bit…! But I hardly ever…I mean, you should see Roz Cardus’s…’

  Crack!

  ‘Ahh…!’

  ‘A thing…’

  Crack!

  ‘Mmm!’

  ‘Cannot be…’

  Crack!

  ‘Ah! Ah! Ah!’

  ‘Just a bit true…! How interesting that Roz, too, is a malefactress! Don’t you like that old-fashioned word, for an old-fashioned spanking?’

  Crack! Crack! Crack!

  ‘Oh, God! Enough! Please, please stop! Oh! Please, please, please stop, I beg you! Oh God, it hurts so much! I can’t stand it! What can I do to make you stop?’

  ‘Absolutely nothing,’ said Will. ‘I have twenty minutes until my next meeting, and I am going to spank you for those twenty minutes, Angie.’

  ‘Oh, no…!’ Angarad screamed.

  Crack! Crack! Crack!

  Angarad’s voice broke to a whimper; her spanking continued quietly, except for the rhythmic thwack on her bared croup, and her constant snuffling moan broke into a little yelp of agony at each spank, before subsiding into choked sobs. Though her entire body shook at each slap to her fesses, she no longer struggled to free herself from Will’s grip. Her skin was mottled a dark crimson, with purple finger-shaped gashes, and the extent of the bruising was from the soft upper thighs, across the underfesses and in a crescent across the haunches and the top buttocks, where the spank marks were darkest. The stretched yellow satin of Angarad’s panties was also darkening with a stain of moisture from her writhing bare slit. Will looked at his watch and delivered a final, hard slap in the cleft of her buttocks. He wiped his hand on her tights, then released the sobbing, quivering girl.

  ‘I can’t say I enjoyed that,’ he said easily, ‘but the creative interface was instructive.’

  ‘Don’t mock, Will!’ she sobbed, pulling her tights back on. ‘God! You didn’t have to be so cruel. My skin’ll be hard as leather for days, I know it! It was my own fault, I was such a fool for asking to be spanked, but I’ve learned my lesson. I never ever want to go through that sort of hell again, not ever!’

  He picked up the phone and spoke rapidly.

  ‘That’s right…say I’m running late with a new design team. And I want to see Roz Cardus, right away.’

  Angarad frowned.

  ‘Roz?’ she said, wiping tears from her face.

  Will smiled, stroking his chin.

  ‘I never joke about the creative interface,’ he said. ‘I want you back here in one hour. By that time, I plan to have spanked Roz Cardus, for her cheek, and then the three of us are going to work on a brand-new hot lingerie programme, with you and Roz up front.’

  Still sobbing, Angarad left the office without a backward glance.

  ‘One hour!’ Will cried.

  Angarad brushed against the svelte figure of Roz Cardus on her way in.

  ‘Heavens, what happened to you?’ asked Roz.

  ‘You’ll find out,’ hissed Angarad.

  Angarad half ran, half stumbled, to the lavatory and locked herself in a cubicle. The place was deserted. She allowed her sobbing to reach a crescendo as she lowered her yellow panties and felt her spanked buttocks. She peed long and noisily, the hiss of her fluid masking her sobs. She took a mirror from her purse and twisted to inspect the bruises that darkened her bare fesses. Her fingers stroked the hardening skin of the buttocks, with the index fingernail running up and down her inner cleft, the only portion of her bottom left unmarked. She brushed her anal pucker and the moist lips of her vulva. Then she reached into the wet pouch underneath her thatch. Angarad’s sobs turned to moaning, staccato gasps as she masturbated.

  * * *

  Angarad’s face was turned to the ground as she walked through the freezing slush, all along the Old Brompton Road, carrying a briefcase and a shoulderbag. She paused to visit a store with an array of frilly underthings in the window, spending less than five minutes inside. She continued through the snow and sleet to Onslow Square. She unpacked her purchase and slipped it into her shoulderbag, throwing the wrapper into a bin. She rang the middle doorbell of a white terraced house, was admitted and climbed to the first floor.

  ‘I’m sorry, Darren,’ she said. ‘I must look a mess.’

  ‘You’re freezing!’ he cried, hugging her. ‘It can’t be snowing that hard.’

  ‘I didn’t take the tube,’ she said.

  ‘A taxi, surely.’

  ‘No, I walked. I felt bad. I don’t really feel like going out for dinner…I’m not going to be good company tonight.’

  She put down her briefcase. The young man took her shoulderbag and steered her towards the bathroom.

  ‘Rubbish,’ he said. ‘I don’t choose bad company. Soak in a hot bath and I’ll bring you a drink. Why didn’t you call and I’d have picked you up in the Porsche?’

  ‘Showiness isn’t my thing,’ she said.

  He turned the hot water on and poured bath
salts and scented oils, then placed her suitbag on the floor.

  ‘Can’t think why you don’t leave a stash of clothes here, Ange. I’m not asking you to move in with me.’

  ‘No, you’re not, are you?’ she said. ‘I don’t want my things hanging beside…your other women’s.’

  Darren raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Other women? Moi?’ he said, gesturing at the armoire. ‘You’re free to look, lady.’

  ‘You know I won’t,’ she replied. ‘I’ve no illusions, Darren, even though I hate sharing you. You, at one time, in one place, is all I want. I want to know you, Darren, but I won’t have part of me…caged here.’

  ‘Anyway, you must be clairvoyant,’ said Darren, ‘because we’re eating in tonight. I’ve ordered us Italian from Portofino’s. I don’t want to freeze, waiting for cabs, and anyway I’ve got some phone stuff to do. Surprise for you, too. Food’s due about eight. Hurry up and get naked, and I’ll bring you that drink.’

  Angarad made no move to strip.

  ‘What’s the surprise?’ she said.

  ‘Tell you when. Otherwise it wouldn’t be a surprise. You’re staying tonight, OK.’

  ‘I don’t know…’

  ‘Last bleeding tube all the way to Richmond? I’m certainly not driving that far. You’re staying tonight.’

  Darren took her by the shoulders and his eyes pierced hers until she lowered her head. She smiled briefly.

  ‘OK,’ she whispered.

  ‘That’s a good girl. Now get in the bath.’

  ‘I’ll take the bath, Darren, but…I’d rather you didn’t see all of me just now. I need to unwind. I did a bad thing at the office, you see.’

  She blurted the story of her carelessness, adding that she had been reprimanded.

  ‘That’s not bad, just unfortunate!’ he said.

  ‘That wasn’t the bad thing. Leave me alone for my bath. A soak and a ponder and I’ll be fine.’

  The telephone rang and Darren swore, then left her to answer it. Angarad closed the bathroom door and slowly, mechanically, began to undress, folding her things, including her bra, stockings and panties, and placing them in her shoulderbag after removing her evening wear. She gazed at the reflection of her bare bottom in the mirror, until she was misted by steam. Then she turned off the hot water and slipped into the bath with a sigh. Darren’s voice rasped into the phone: ‘Yah…uh-uh…you got it…’

  The two young men from Portofino’s deftly laid the table: fresh linen, crystal; French, not Italian wines; puddings in the fridge, candles lit.

  ‘Can’t go in the bathroom, guys,’ said Darren, ‘there’sa naked bird in it. Even I can’t go in, and I’m bursting.’

  The caterers dutifully laughed, were paid and went. Angarad emerged from the bathroom in full make-up, with a silver ringlet pinning her blond tresses back on the left side, and a black voile evening dress with its single strap on her left shoulder, hemmed at mid-thigh, over black sheen nylon stockings and stiletto shoes. The black panties, garter belt and straps, and low, scalloped bra were phantoms, visible under the voile dress. Darren was on the phone again, looking at his computer monitor.

  ‘Do you like me?’ Angarad said after several moments.

  ‘I’m wearing…those panties.’

  She blushed.

  Darren glanced at her.

  ‘Split crotch? Very tasty,’ he said, smacking his lips.

  ‘It’s what you bought for me,’ she replied.

  With one hand, Darren poured her a generous measure of Campari, adding soda and ice.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Angarad, and sat in her place at the dinner table.

  She sipped her drink, occasionally crossing and uncrossing her legs, with a slither of stockings that made Darren look up. He finished his phone call and grandly switched off his computer. Excusing himself, he went into the bedroom and after only a minute, emerged in crisp dinner attire and bow tie. Angarad smiled and clapped her hands.

  ‘Right, darling,’ said Darren, pouring her a glass of red wine. ‘Let’s nosh.’

  Angarad had downed two glasses of wine while Darren had only sipped his first. He wolfed his pasta, while she wound the strands round her fork, then unwound them.

  ‘You never drink much,’ she said.

  ‘Keeps a clear head. I like seeing other people drink, though,’ he answered.

  The phone warbled and he stuck it to his neck, talking as he ate: ‘Yah…OK…buy.’

  ‘You’ve a finger in every pie,’ Angarad said.

  ‘Got ten fingers, might as well have ’em in ten pies.’

  ‘After two months, I don’t know much about you at all.’

  ‘Let’s keep it that way.’

  Angarad gulped more wine.

  ‘Why did you buy me the panties I’m wearing?’

  ‘Don’t you think you’re going to find out…pretty soon?’

  Angarad blushed.

  ‘I could ask why you’ve chosen to wear them at last,’ he said. ‘Except I know. Female curiosity. You know they turn me on, but you want to find out why.’

  ‘It’s a sort of power fantasy, I suppose?’ she said.

  ‘Taking a woman through her clothing, piercing the carapace that both shields and identifies her.’

  Angarad gasped and crossed her legs with a slither of her nylon stockings.

  ‘Does the fantasy work both ways, Ange?’

  She smiled as Darren reached under the table, slid his hand up her dress and touched her vulva.

  ‘Don’t…’ she said faintly.

  He withdrew his finger and licked it.

  ‘Seems to,’ he said.

  She shivered, mouth open and tongue licking her teeth. She gulped wine as Darren touched her again, and began to moan. He probed the inside of her pouch as he ate, seemingly unconcerned, but shifted to show the girl his erection.

  ‘Mm…’ she gasped, her bottom and haunches writhing.

  ‘I’ve always wondered about you, Ange…You’ve the tightest, wettest pussy, but so prim and proper, lights out, missionary position and that. It’s part of your charm. But maybe there’s a beast inside you waiting to be unleashed.’

  ‘Don’t say that. Somebody said that, today…’

  ‘I’ve never probed your secret fantasies, Ange, because I prefer you as my porcelain goddess. Surprising what a bit of money can do to unleash beasts, and that brings me to your surprise.’

  Darren abruptly withdrew his fingers from her juicing vulva, reached to his desk, and showed her a document of several pages. He folded over the last page where there was a space vacant for a signature. His thumb left an imprint of her cunt slime.

  ‘A nice little earner, just for signing your name. Ten grand for you up front, and ten grand every month after that. Suddenly, little porcelain Ange is a golden goddess, and who knows what tricks she’ll think of?’

  Darren explained that it was a shell company for offshore investments online. It needed himself as executive director and Angarad as company secretary.

  ‘You don’t have to do anything at all, except sign the company report every half-year. Before you sign, I insist you read every line of the small print.’

  ‘I didn’t say I’d sign. It sounds illegal.’

  ‘Not in the Cayman Islands, it’s not. Go on, read the small print.’

  ‘No, Darren,’ she said, ‘I’ll sign it because I trust you. I want to trust you. Give me a pen and I’ll sign.’

  Darren pierced her eyes with his, saying nothing. Angarad lowered her gaze.

  ‘I’ll sign first, then read it,’ she whispered.

  Darren handed her a pen and she signed, then turned to look at the first page. Suddenly, she dropped the papers into the bowl of spaghetti sauce steaming on the table. All the pages except the last were soiled. Darren cursed.

  ‘Send this in, and what do I look like?’ he spat.

  ‘Oh! I’m sorry,’ she cried. ‘It’ll be OK in a day or two when it’s dry, but I can’t read it now. Please don’
t be cross, Darren. Don’t take it out on me!’

  ‘You’re devious, you are,’ Darren said, with a leer. ‘It’s as if you’re daring me to punish you. What would be really naughty, something you’d hate, eh? This, for starters?’

  He picked the dish of sauce, and flung its contents over Angarad. Her hair, breasts and thighs were soaked red, the voile dress clinging to her and showing her underthings.

  ‘Oh!’ she gasped, and began to cry.

  Darren took the wet contract from her and locked it in his drawer.

  ‘There’s a downside to prim and proper. You want to know me, do you?’ he sneered, mimicking her.

  He grasped Angarad by the hair and swept the dinner things from the table with a clatter. Her bottom squirmed on the wet table-cloth as Darren pinned her head below the table’s rim, while stripping himself. He thrust a hand between the lips of her vulva and began a brutal probing of her wet pouch, then took his fingers from the quim and rubbed them across her lips and nose.

  ‘Darren!’ she sobbed. ‘Stop…I want to go!’

  ‘Taste yourself, Ange,’ he hissed. ‘You’re hot for it.’

  He stuck his fingers in her mouth and she licked her own cunt oil, then bit hard on his fingernails.

  ‘You fucking bitch,’ Darren snarled, mounting her.

  ‘Ah…!’

  Angarad screamed as Darren’s cock penetrated her wet cunt in a single thrust. He began to fuck vigorously, his body pinning her to the table, and her thighs parted automatically to grasp him, with her shoes trembling as her heels dug the cleft of his pumping buttocks.

  Slap! Slap! Slap!

  There was a rhythmic, liquid thud as his hips slammed against her belly. Her garter straps and stocking tops were filmed with oil that flowed from her fucked gash. He pulled the dress from her quivering teats to expose her brassiere, then ripped that from her, lowering his head to bite and chew each of her erect bare nipples in turn.

  ‘Oh, God…Ahh…!’ she groaned. ‘Don’t stop…’

  Panting, Darren withdrew his dripping cock from her pouch and heaved her body over. She flopped on her belly as he mounted her from the rear, and her buttocks rose, parted for penetration. Her gash was a shining pink oyster, trapped by the pinching shell of the crotchless panties.

  ‘These aren’t the panties I gave you!’ he gasped. ‘Mine were rose pattern, and low. These cover your arse, and the design’s honeysuckle or something! What the fuck are you up to?’