Random Acts of Lust

by Primula Bond

  I stared at the buttons on Martin’s shirt as I forced myself to pull the camera, warmed up by his body, slowly out of his pocket.

  ‘You’ve been a naughty girl, Suzanne.’

  ‘I was bored.’ I tried to give a nonchalant laugh, difficult while still squeezed up between him and the bar. ‘Just a bit of fun.’

  He took the camera easily out of my hand and scrolled through the pictures again. ‘Very intense. Moody. But this wasn’t a photographic exercise. Sophie asked you to spy on me.’

  I shook my head violently from side to side like a child telling a lie. Now this really was like being in the headmaster’s office. And now I really needed a piss.

  ‘I just wanted pictures of you, Martin. You’re lovely. I think I’ve got a crush on you.’

  He lifted my face towards him. His fingers pinched my cheeks in painfully so that my mouth was squashed into a pout. Saliva trickled from one corner. Then he bent and kissed me, hard. My whole body gasped. He was practically lifting me off the floor by my face, and I was electrified by the way his lips, barely moving, still kind of took hold of me.

  Then he spat me out, turned me round, and bent me double over the stool.

  ‘It won’t do, Suzanne. For God’s sake, you’re engaged to my son.’

  ‘But I love you all!’ I whimpered, struggling to get upright. ‘I love Sophie, too –’

  ‘Touching. But let’s leave her out of this.’ He laughed and pushed me down again between the shoulder blades so that my stomach was squashed flat against the seat of the stool. ‘Olga! Come here and hold the little pest down!’

  Olga clicked back across the floor. She took my arms and stretched them across a second stool, so that my stomach was pressed down on one and my chest and head supported by the other.

  ‘Lovely. Oh, look at this, Olga. Such a lovely bottom.’ Martin flipped my skirt up over my bottom. ‘And Christ, how dirty is she? No knickers!’ He pushed my legs further apart. My sex lips kissed stickily. He stroked my thighs above my woollen stockings, hands moving higher. ‘Jake know you go about like a little whore?’

  ‘That’s how he likes it,’ I groaned. I couldn’t breathe very easily, lying on those two hard stools. Olga kept hold of my wrists and started to stroke them. My eyes were on a level with her crotch. Her black skirt was stretched tight over the mound of her pussy.

  ‘Well, he needs to know how naughty you are.’ Martin’s big hands reached my bottom and started kneading my cheeks, fingers spread wide as if to measure me, pinching and squeezing the plump white flesh and making me feel utterly stupid. I squirmed about, but all that did was raise my bottom higher in the air and put pressure on my bursting bladder.

  ‘You can’t do this to me!’ I yelped. ‘Not allowed!’

  ‘We agreed we don’t need excuses, didn’t we, Suzanne? I can do what I like. And so you are going to get a bloody good spanking.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Martin! You sound like a dirty old man!’

  ‘Oh, you have no idea, sweetheart!’ His drawl was as soothing as a snake’s. ‘Under this Jermyn Street tailoring I’m totally perverted, especially when it comes to naughty girls and their bare bottoms.’

  Olga laughed, too, and it was an attractive, rattly sound. She bent down, still holding my wrists, and pushed her face close to mine.

  ‘So sophisticated, isn’t he? So charming on the top. But underneath he likes it dirty, Suzanne. Really dirty.’

  My stomach twisted with excitement as her big red lips blew smoky air into my face before she ran her tongue over my mouth. But I had to keep fighting. ‘I still don’t deserve a stupid spanking. Come on, Martin! It’s me, Suzanne! Not some little scrubber! I’ll be wearing ivory lace in six months’ time, making vows to your son –’

  ‘And I’m giving the little orphan girl away, remember? So I’m the boss.’ Behind me, Martin kicked his knee between mine so that they collapsed apart. He went on smoothing the tender skin on my bottom as if flattening a bed sheet. I could feel little goose bumps coming up on my skin as he stroked, and shivers deep inside my pussy. ‘And if you want this wedding to go ahead, and this to be our secret, you’ll keep very still for me. And if you’re good, we can do this again. And again. Even in the church vestry, poppet, how about that? You in your ivory lace, all hitched up so I can spank you before I walk you up the aisle.’

  I really did struggle then. His voice sounded harsh and rough like a stranger. Suddenly he slapped my bottom and I yelped with fury. It didn’t hurt, but I could feel my butt cheek wobbling under the strike like jelly, hear the humiliating smacking sound reverberating in the air, and I wanted to die of shock and shame.

  ‘Bastard!’

  ‘Language, Suzanne. This is your fault for sneaking around.’

  I made a pleading face at Olga, but she moved away as if I repelled her. Martin’s tie whipped through the air over my head and she caught hold of it and lashed my wrist to the foot rest of the stool.

  ‘Now, say it, Suzanne.’ Martin’s hands had stopped stroking. ‘You’re naughty, aren’t you?’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, yes, I’m naughty.’ My eyelids fluttered as I gasped for air. When I opened them again Olga had taken her skirt and knickers off and her snatch was inches from my face. Her lips were totally hairless, her snatch waxed so completely that everything was blue-white, almost see-through. I jerked in astonishment and the tie bit into my wrist. The sharp pain flashed a weird excitement through me.

  ‘And now I want you to say sorry!’

  ‘This is silly, Martin!’ I twisted about, trying to lift my ribcage off the stool so I could breathe better, but out of the corner of my eye I saw Martin’s arm lift in the air, palm flat. I opened my mouth to scream, but there was just a puff of hot breath against the leather seat. And then his hand came down really hard this time, the sting instant and sharp on my bottom. I jumped and squealed as the punishment burned.

  ‘Stop it, Martin!’

  ‘He told you to say sorry, bitch!’ Olga pushed her crotch against my face and I breathed in her aroma of sex and piss and some kind of flowery soap. ‘And when you’ve done that, you’re going to lick my cunt. Can she lick me, Marty?’

  ‘Oh, she can lick you, pumpkin. Just wait until I’ve punished her some more. I’ve got my own pleasure to come, don’t forget.’

  I twisted about frantically as they discussed me. I needed to breathe. The sting of the smack was fading. I was getting light-headed with the lack of air, the wine, and now the increasing urge to pee.

  ‘Sorry. You asked me to say sorry.’

  ‘Good. What are you sorry for, Suzanne?’

  Martin stroked the spot where he had slapped me, lightly with his fingertips as if tracing his hand print. His voice was soft, hissing almost. I relaxed a bit, found myself staring at Olga’s snatch as her fingers slowly opened the lips to show me the wet slit, and the plum dark frill nestling inside.

  ‘For following you around –’ I croaked at last.

  ‘Good. Yes. And what else are you getting a spanking for?’

  Martin’s stroking continued, so gentle I could barely feel it. The sting of the slap had melted into a warm glow and I realised I wanted another one.

  ‘For taking those pictures, Martin.’

  ‘Yes, you naughty, naughty girl!’

  Martin lifted his arm again, and there was a second slap, much harder. The stinging went deeper still, radiated further, on the already tender spot. I jerked wildly, unable to control myself, humiliation gnawing at first and making me feel like a little worm but then as the sharp heat spread through me the whole smacking thing started to make some kind of warped sense. The way it made me struggle helplessly, and squeal and wriggle. The way it made my supposedly sophisticated father-in-law grunt with warped satisfaction. The way it burned me, and hurt.

  My pussy scraped against the seat as he smacked me again, and a vicious flare of excitement seared through me.

  ‘Very good. Now you’re being a good girl. But you still de
serve more punishment for being a lippy little mare.’ Martin slapped the other butt cheek, hard, and I couldn’t deny it. Oh, yes. The slap felt good. The hot, vicious slap making me struggle and squeal, then the warmth spreading through me, felt so weirdly good.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Martin!’ I yelped, rubbing myself against the seat, turning myself on. ‘Smack me again, Martin! I’m so dirty, and naughty! Please slap me again!’

  ‘Oh, giving orders are we?’ Martin chuckled, and pulled my bottom cheeks wide open. I could feel the hot, screaming sensation as the flesh split apart. ‘Time to shut her up, Olga.’

  Olga pushed herself into my face, burying my nose in the folds of her snatch, burying me in her smell. She smeared herself across my face. She was sopping wet. ‘Lick me, bitch,’ she whispered.

  ‘Such a lovely white bottom, all sore now with my red hand prints all over it.’ Martin crooned behind me. My head was spinning now. Their voices were like soft hissing spells weaving around me. ‘I’m going to fuck it.’

  He ran his finger up my butt crack and poked at the neat, tight hole. I went rigid with horror. I’d reckoned I was pretty street wise until then, hot stuff that Jake was lucky to have. But I had never been tied up or slapped before, and unlike the rest of me, my little arse was still virgin.

  Martin was almost reading my thoughts. He slapped my buttocks again, and each time he did so Olga thrust herself into my face, holding her lips open round my mouth, and weakly I stuck my tongue out and took a tentative lick. Yes. Licking out another woman added to my list of never-befores.

  Martin slapped me so hard this time that the shock and pain prodded right up my cunt. It was opening, twitching, and my bladder was swelling painfully, too, and oh God it was slackening, and now Martin was opening up my bottom with his fingers. Fingers I’d seen holding Sophie’s hand. Peeling an orange. Steering a car.

  Now I heard his zipper go, such a sexy sound, a pause, then it wasn’t fingers but the round tip of his cock nudging at my hole, trying to ease open the little ring. I gasped. A good girl would have said no, no, no. But I couldn’t, wouldn’t move now. I wanted to feel more of it. More of everything.

  The first drops of piss jostled, waiting to rain. Martin pushed his cock further inside. It was stiff as a rod. I moaned loudly. My little hole instinctively tried to close and push him out again and he smacked me hard, shoving me up the stool with the force of it. He thrust his cock harder inside until it bumped over the ridge of muscle and I was open, and he was in. That virgin passage felt packed tight with his rigid cock, strained to bursting, and I was pinned down like a butterfly.

  He smacked me again and again as his cock went on swelling inside me, filling me, his balls slapping under me as the hot piss started to dribble.

  ‘You dirty little girl, pissing yourself!’ He growled in my ear, starting to fuck me. I could feel the shape of his cock ramming in so close to my cunt, just a few thin layers of skin away, and the excitement made me lick harder at Olga, who was suffocating me. The strange new taste of the other woman made me gag at first, but then I started to savour her dirty saltiness. I lapped harder and faster, locating the nub of her clit with my tongue and nibbling and sucking at it, and the more she pushed and the harder I licked, the hotter and wetter was the pleasure pulsating far away in my own cunt. She took my hair and yanked my head with it till it hurt, her big hips grinding into my face, forcing me to keep licking, and I knew I was doing it right.

  Somehow as he fucked me Martin was smacking me at the same time and now the pain on my sore, red skin didn’t get a chance to fade. There was no time between blows. He was smacking as if he was really, really angry, punishing my badness, but Christ, I was really getting it now, this whole perverted idea of smacking, the image of me tied across the bar stools with my bottom in the air, little skirt flipped up, woollen stockings up over my knees, red streaks on my cheeks, God knows what it was doing to him but me? Every part of me, cunt, arse, mouth, was being invaded and punished and every slap and smack from him and push and shove and yank of the hair from Olga was driving me faster to the end.

  Olga was rubbing faster and faster over my nose and mouth, and I was licking and lapping faster. She was tilting her hips wildly and her flimsy white sex lips flapped at my cheeks, my mouth, my nose. Everything with Olga was about eating and swallowing and devouring and yes, now she was feeding me.

  As the piss came faster, making my cunt clench desperately to stop it, I thrust my tongue up into Olga and felt her cunt tighten and grip. Olga groaned and writhed as my tongue pushed up her, smearing her juice against my face as she came. That triggered my piss which shot a hot spray over Martin’s cock and balls as he went on and on fucking me. The piss sprayed over the seat and stung down my legs, but the release and relaxing inside me was like a mini orgasm.

  Olga staggered back against the bar, her fingers still stroking and poking inside her as she shook with dying pleasure. I’d done that to her. Licked the dominatrix until she came. Christ. Her panting mouth was open as if ready to suck cock but for now she pushed her sex-soaked fingers in to keep the climax coming.

  Martin’s cock swelled inside my bottom so that my body was impaled and stretched to ripping point. The brief distraction of Olga’s climax over, he got to it again, grunting like some gorilla in a nature programme. The filthiness of his fucking my backside was crazy and exhilarating. I tried to get my free hand between my legs to finger myself like Olga was doing but there was no time and no need because I was coming now, rubbing against the seat, salty piss stinging my sore cunt.

  Martin lifted my bottom in the air so he could pump harder and deeper into me, still slapping me viciously like a cowboy whipping his mount. I gasped for air as he shuddered inside me at last and I came in a short violent burst, climax shivering through me as I collapsed on the stool, my breath creaking in my chest.

  Olga hummed a tune under her breath as if nothing had happened and swayed across to open the wine bar door and let in the world.

  ‘What am I going to do?’ I whimpered, collapsed on the stool, legs buckling like Bambi’s as reality hit. My arse pulsed heavily after its brutal invasion. ‘What am I going to tell Sophie? Oh God, and Jake?’

  ‘You love them, don’t you? So you tell them precisely nothing, Suzanne.’ Martin’s voice was soft as he untied me. I felt his fingers swiping at my piss soaked pussy before he tugged my skirt down. ‘You want to do this again?’

  ‘I don’t know. Yes.’ I watched as he slowly licked my juice off his fingers. Of course I wanted to do this again. ‘But it’s so wrong. We’ve been unfaithful!’

  Olga came up behind Martin and took his ear lobe between her teeth, moving her hands down his shirt front. A group of people pushed into the bar, demanding to know why it had been closed, and she just kept right on rubbing her palms over his softening cock before barking ‘Yah?’ over her shoulder and casually going to serve them.

  ‘Touching,’ Martin scoffed, handing me back the camera. ‘But taking my future daughter-in-law up the arse doesn’t count.

  ‘Sophie know you’re such a bastard?’

  ‘Not the half of it, and she never will.’ He yanked me to my feet, almost a gentleman again. ‘You can tell her that we all behaved ourselves impeccably tonight.’

  My mobile buzzed, right on cue, vibrating on the counter and making us jump. Just finished private view. In Gramercy with boys. All well your end?

  I glanced at Martin. At his slate grey eyes. I looked at his hands, his fingers tapping the bar.

  Like I said, I texted back, bottom stinging, stockings drooping round my ankles. Good as gold.

  Second Honeymoon

  ANOTHER DAY IN PARADISE. Poppy sighs and steps out on to the balcony.

  As Frank says, what’s the point of working your fingers to the bone all your life if you can’t enjoy idyllic places like this? The hotel is an old converted pub standing on the edge of a Devon cliff. It may be off-peak right now and rather chilly (some even say it’s hau
nted by smugglers), but the voluptuous Italian owner still fills her bar with fascinating locals. Anyone from tousle-haired surfers to distinguished old sculptors like Johnny Floyd, who’s a bit of a celebrity. A couple of his figures recline on the grass outside their window, in fact. Two incredibly, what’s the word, debauched female nudes clawing at each other and brazenly pushing their breasts out. One has her leg hooked round the other. Their heads are thrown back, mouths open, and if you stare for long enough you can almost hear them moaning, like they’ve given up waiting for a man to see to them.

  ‘Well, Floyd was once based in New York, so what do you expect?’ said Frank, when they took a walk on their first morning there. ‘Debauchery probably runs in his veins.’

  Floyd had told them that the figures were carved before his hands went. Out of driftwood he found on the beach. Old ships’ timbers, he reckoned, which is where he got the idea of sculpting the women as big breasted figureheads.

  ‘Pops! Time for a pre-prandial! Everyone’s down in the bar discussing some Murder Mystery weekend!’

  She doesn’t turn round. ‘I thought you hated fancy dress.’

  ‘Not fancy dress, darling. Acting. Character. You remain in character the entire weekend. I rather fancy twirling my mustachios as the upper-class twit. And I can just see you as an arsenic-mixing flapper?’

  She has loved Frank all her adult life, and will never stop, but these days his voice, even making the most innocent of demands, even when being sweet, tugs on her like a chain as if she was a dancing bear. He’ll be waiting for her by the door, dressed for dinner and tweaking his cuffs. She’s always loved his strong, hairy wrists and his big, warm hands. Just looking at them, knowing how it used to feel when they brushed over her skin and went up inside her, used to excite her unbearably. She still loves to watch them writing, gardening, making a point, cooking. They still hold hands as they fall asleep.

  Otherwise he never touches her. Which is why this hotel room, designed for a second honeymoon, all colonial, polished wood, white muslin drapes, isn’t paradise at all. It’s more like a cage.