‘Yes, you are, aren’t you? You are the daughter of an earl. An earl who also happens to hold a post in His Majesty’s Government. And what do you think the Earl will say when he learns about your behaviour?’
Olivia had gone cold inside, and although her mouth opened, no words came out; the thought of her father being told about the incident was simply too much to bear. The Senior Commander’s smirk grew broader, and crueller.
‘I imagine he will be very cross indeed,’ she went on, ‘very, very cross. Perhaps, when you’re sent home in disgrace, he’ll put you across his knee and smack your naughty bottom?’
Olivia went scarlet; a blush so hot it covered not only her face but her neck and chest, making her now painfully stiff nipples prickle with sweat. The Hatchet saw and gave a brief, harsh chuckle, then continued.
‘Yes, I think he might very well do that, Olivia. He might very well put you across his knee and smack your naughty bottom. Spank you, Olivia, that’s what he’d do, like the little brat you are. In fact, given the way you have behaved, and that you have forfeited any right to be treated like a lady, I imagine that he might even roll up your skirt and slip before he spanked you. Maybe he’d even take down your drawers and spank your bare bottom. How would you like that, Olivia? How would you like your bare bottom spanked?’
Quite unable to speak, Olivia gave a frantic shake of her head. Every single word had been spoken slowly and with obvious relish, leaving no doubt at all of the Senior Commander’s intention, and the implication of her final question. It wasn’t her father’s knee Olivia would be going over, and it wasn’t her father who would be spanking her bare bottom. The Hatchet spoke again.
‘Yes, I think we understand each other. Put the blinds down, Olivia, and lock the door.’
Olivia obeyed, mechanically doing as she was told despite her raging emotions. With the door locked she clipped the heavy blackout blinds into place, save for the last two fastenings, leaving the room full of a dim golden light. As she worked, Senior Commander Buchanan had pushed back her chair, leaving her positioned well back from the desk, with her long, bony legs making a lap. Olivia swallowed hard as she came back to attention in front of the desk. Nothing more needed to be said. She was going to be spanked, and she was going to be spanked bare bottom; just as Susan Pirbright had been spanked, in that same office, and also bare bottom.
‘Very good,’ the Hatchet remarked. ‘What an obedient girl you are. I wonder, did your boyfriend simply tell you to pop your knickers off and spread your legs? No, at the very least he’d have had those fat titties out of your blouse. Yes, I imagine he would have done.’
Olivia gave a single, feeble nod.
‘I see. And did he have you strip, or was this sordid liaison outdoors? More a case of titties out, skirt up and knickers down, I imagine? Perhaps he even had you from behind? Yes, that’s it, isn’t it? You pressed up against a wall, I suppose, with your bottom stuck out and his hands all over those fat titties while he had you? You’re a disgrace to the uniform, Fielding. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?’
All Olivia could manage in response was yet another weak nod. It was true, her shame burning in her head for what she’d already done, but far more for what was about to happen to her. The reference to her breasts had struck home too. She had always struggled between embarrassment and pride for their size. While it was impossible not to feel secretly pleased by the envy of other girls, being so busty was extremely awkward at times; no matter how she dressed everybody’s attention seemed to go straight to her chest. That included Senior Commander Buchanan, who was now admiring the twin bulges that strained out the front of Olivia’s uniform jacket.
‘Undo your jacket.’
It was an order. Olivia felt a fresh blush start to creep up her face, making her cheeks grow hot, and hotter still as she realised that Senior Commander wasn’t going to be content with dishing out a bare bottom spanking, appalling though that was. Olivia was to be humiliated first, in ways that were quite unnecessary for her to be effectively punished.
With trembling fingers Olivia unfastened the buttons of her uniform jacket, allowing it to open across her chest. As she came back to attention the sides opened further still, just far enough to expose the twin bumps where her erect nipples pushed out the material of her blouse. Senior Commander Buchanan gave a knowing chuckle.
‘Now your blouse.’
Olivia obeyed, unable to stop herself but barely able to fumble open the first and highest of her buttons. Her tie got in the way and she was forced to loosen the knot before the button would come loose. The Hatchet watched, patient, amused, her eyes flicking across Olivia’s chest. Button after button popped open to reveal first smooth, pale flesh and then the cotton lace trim of Olivia’s brassiere. Two more buttons and her blouse was wide open, her breasts cupped in white, feeling impossible large and prominent, each straining nipple an added embarrassment. Two more and the top of her girdle was showing, along with a slice of soft, pink tummy flesh and her belly button. For the last two she had to tug her blouse out of her skirt, leaving her feeling scruffy and intensely vulnerable. She closed her eyes, wondering if the display she was making of herself would be sufficient to satisfy Senior Commander Buchanan’s cruel lust, but very sure it wouldn’t. Sure enough, the next command was exactly what she’d been expecting.
‘Now your brassiere.’
Olivia’s hand went to the catch immediately. A moment wrestling with the taught elastic and one obstinate hook among the four and she felt the weight of her breasts loll forward in her brassiere, giving her an acute pang of shame for their size and weight. Wishing earnestly that she was even a little bit smaller, she took hold of the undersides of the cups and tugged them up, spilling out her breasts, plump and pink and bare, her nipples pointing ever so slightly skywards. She knew she made a ridiculous sight, with the two fat globes sticking out with her tie hanging down between them, all framed in dishevelled cloth, and yet she also knew that compared with what was about to happen to her the exposure of her breasts was a only a minor indignity.
She was left for a full minute, standing to attention with her naked breasts thrust out. Her eyes were fixed straight ahead, but she could clearly see the clock on the wall above the Senior Commander’s desk. Each second seemed to last an eternity, with her feelings building to a peak so strong that she came to the edge of breaking before the order she expected finally came.
‘That will do, I think. Now come over my knee.’
Again Olivia obeyed without hesitation, walking around the desk and draping herself into that awful stance, across another woman’s lap: her hands and feet braced on the ground, head down and bottom up, spanking position. That was bad enough, but to have her breasts dangling heavy and naked under her chest added a whole new dimension to her shame. Yet a faint doubt remained in her head, that she would be spanked on the seat of her uniform skirt, at least to begin with. Senior Commander Buchan’s hands went straight to the hem, tugging it up past Olivia’s knees as she spoke once more.
‘Let’s have this up then, shall we? Lift your body.’
Olivia went up on her toes, her eyes tight shut as her skirt was hauled unceremoniously up her thighs and over her bottom. Her slip came with it, exposing the broad white seat of her knickers; big, comfortable, modest knickers that encased the whole of her bottom and sported no more than a half-inch wide trim of the same cotton lace that decorated her brassiere for vanity. The Hatchet took hold of the waistband immediately and Olivia braced herself for the final indignity of having her knickers pulled down and her bottom laid bare. Only for the motion to stop. She was held, the waistband of her knickers lifted and just a little way down, exposing the gentle V at the top of her bottom crease but no more.
‘Or perhaps,’ said the Senior Commander, ‘Miss Olivia would like to keep her knickers up for her spanking?
There was no mistaking the taunting tone of the Hatchet’s voice. Olivia made a face, reluctant to play the humiliating game because she knew full wel
l that whatever she said her knickers would come down in the end. Not to answer would certainly mean a harder, longer spanking to punish her defiance, yet she bit her lip, determined not to speak until the harsh voice came again.
‘Well, would Miss Olivia like to keep her knickers up for her spanking? Would she? Answer me!’
Olivia broke, unable to resist the tone of command in her tormentor’s voice. ‘Yes!’
The Hatchet seemed to be struggling not to laugh as she went on. ‘Is that yes, Miss Olivia would like to keep her knickers up for her spanking because she’s embarrassed to show her bare bottom? Or is that yes, Miss Olivia would like her knickers pulled down because she knows she doesn’t deserve to keep them up and ought to be spanked bare bottom?’
‘Knickers up, please, ma’am,’ Olivia sobbed.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I … I’d like to keep my knickers up, please, ma’am!’
‘I beg your pardon? Repeat what I said, Olivia, and I might just be merciful.’
‘I … I mean, Miss Olivia would like to keep her knickers up, please, Ma’am!’
‘I beg your pardon? Repeat what I said, Olivia.’
‘Please, Ma’am!’
‘Repeat what I said, Olivia.’
Olivia broke once more, the words spilling from her mouth in a torrent. ‘Oh please … Miss Olivia would like to keep her knickers up for her spanking because she’s embarrassed to show her bare bottom. Please don’t pull my knickers down, ma’am, please … please …’
Her words gave way to a gasp as the grip on her knickers tightened, leaving her mouth agape and her eyes wide, as slowly but surely they were peeled down over her bottom. She felt every instant and every inch of her exposure, from the moment her hips and the small of her back came bare, through the unveiling of her cheeks, to the finally ghastly indignity of having her upper thighs and the pouted rear lips of her private parts put on show. Only when Olivia’s bottom was fully bare did the Hatchet speak again.
‘No, Olivia, that is not the right answer, as I suspect you are perfectly well aware. The right answer, and the one you should have given, is that you know naughty girls don’t deserve to keep their knickers up when they’re spanked. Why should you be an exception?’
Olivia didn’t answer. The words had been accompanied by smacks to her now naked cheeks and the spanking had begun. It was not hard, but the simple fact of lying across the stern woman’s lap and having her bare bottom spanked was enough to render her incapable of speech. She hung her head, the tears streaming down her face and splashing on the wooden floorboards beneath her, overwhelmed by her own feelings for what was happening to her.
It rapidly grew worse. After perhaps a minute of applying gentle smacks to Olivia’s quivering bottom, Senior Commander Buchanan made a slight adjustment to the position of her knee. Olivia found her bottom lifted higher still, to make her cheeks part and to add the display of her anus to her woes. Worse still, as the spanking began once more, harder now, she found herself unable to prevent the little puckered hole from opening and closing to the rhythm of the smacks. It was an exhibition at once unspeakably lewd and hideously shameful, and yet there was nothing she could do either to close her cheeks or prevent the winking of her anus, or her other bodily reactions.
The smacks were getting harder, stinging her flesh to make her kick her feet and toss her head. Little cries began to escape her mouth, sobs and gasps of pain and misery, pleas for mercy and desperate, pointless apologies. She knew none of it would do any good, yet that didn’t stop her, her pride quite broken as she whimpered and babbled. The spanking grew harder still, now delivered full across Olivia’s cheeks to make her bottom wobble and set her breasts bouncing and jiggling beneath her chest. She’d begun to grow warm too, adding the fresh humiliation of wet privates to her suffering. The Hatchet gave a chuckle, rich with contempt and amusement, then tightened her grip around Olivia’s waist.
‘So it’s like that, is it?’ she laughed. ‘You can’t help yourself, can you? Even when you’re having your bottom smacked you react like the dirty little tart you are! Oh I do hope you’re ashamed of yourself, Miss Olivia, I really do!’
Olivia was too far gone to even attempt an answer. The spanking had now grown furiously hard, making it impossible for her to control herself at all. Her head was tossing frantically back and forth, shaking her hair and making her breasts jump and slap together. Her hips were bucking up and down to the rhythm of the smacks, making her cheeks open and close repeatedly to show off the pulsing ring of her anus and the wet smudge of her cunt. Her legs were pumping in her knickers, so hard that one shoe had flown off, nearly hitting the Hatchet, who promptly adjusted her grip.
The spanking stopped. Two quick motions and Olivia was trapped between her tormentor’s knees, her bottom still the highest part of her body, her cheeks still well spread, but her legs now firmly trapped in place. Her knickers were adjusted, tugged further down to make sure she was left with absolutely no modesty whatsoever. But as she braced herself for a fresh assault on her now blazing bottom the Hatchet spoke once more. ‘American nylons, I do believe. And the prophylactics were American too, weren’t they? What have you been up to, Olivia?’
As she spoke she had traced a slow line up the seam of Olivia’s stocking to where a low swell of flesh bulged over the top, which she began to tickle. Olivia gasped, then began to giggle, unable to stop her reaction. Her thighs began to kick again, her bottom to jiggle and spread, once more showing off her anus to her tormentor. The Hatchet chuckled, now sounding thoroughly pleased with herself as she continued her exploration of Olivia’s flesh; tickling, then beginning to stroke the hot skin of the well spanked cheeks.
‘What have you been up to?’ she repeated. ‘Trading favours with United States servicemen, I imagine? You are a dark horse, aren’t you? Our own boys and the Yanks too, and all the while I thought you were such a sweet little thing. What does it cost, for a pair of nylons? Do you have to take them in your hand? Do you have to suck their cocks? Or do you have to go all the way, knickers off and legs apart to fuck like the dirty little tart you are!’
The last few words had been accompanied by hard smacks to Olivia’s bottom and the spanking had begun once more. Now it was mercilessly hard, while having her legs trapped made it impossible to dispel the pain. She began to squeal and writhe in the Hatchet’s grip, but that only made it worse, the smacks raining down on Olivia’s dancing bottom until she felt sure she would faint, and all the while that same, harsh voice mocking her.
‘How does it feel, Olivia, with a man’s cock in your mouth while you suck it for a pair of nylons? How does it feel to be a whore, Olivia, because that’s what you are.’
Olivia broke completely. ‘No! I didn’t! I’m not a whore, I’m not! I bought them, that’s all! I … I’m not a whore!’
Again the spanking stopped.
‘Hush,’ Senior Commander Buchanan said, her voice suddenly soft, and as she went on she had moved her hand from Olivia’s bottom and began to stroke her hair. ‘I know you’re not a whore, darling, and I know you never did any of those beastly things. You wouldn’t do that, would you? Oh no, not an invert like you. You just wanted your little bottom smacked, didn’t you?’
Olivia didn’t answer immediately, but allowed herself to be eased gently to her knees. Kneeling to the woman who was now tugging up her own skirt, Olivia stuck out her hot bottom, let her hand slip between her legs, licked her lips in happy anticipation for what she was about to be made to do, and then nodded. Senior Commander Buchanan lifted herself in her chair, slipped her drawers down and off, then made herself comfortable once more, now with her naked sex on offer to Olivia’s tongue. She spoke again. ‘Before you get to work, darling. You do know how that packet came to be in the ATS officers quarters, don’t you?’
‘No.’
‘I put it there.’
From Wanting to Wanton
by Laurel Aspen
Luke looking up at the modest b
rass nameplate: The Worth Collection of English Literature. This Victorian temple to learning and enlightenment would have stood out in any small provincial town. Here, in a side street in the heart of the City of London, dominated by even grander institutions, it became architecturally anonymous.
Pushing open the heavy oak doors Luke stepped into a surprisingly light atrium where a slender woman stood behind a polished wooden counter. Her dowdy dress sense belied her years; early 20s, he guessed. And probably a very pretty girl if she gave herself half a chance, but not so eye-catching without make-up, or jewellery or a discernible sense of style to provide a hint of the personality within.
He introduced himself. ‘I’m researching some material for a book, I’ve got a letter here permitting me access to the library for six months to –’
‘You’re Mr Forbes. Luke Forbes?’
‘Yes that’s right.’ Luke gave his most winning smile. Establishing a rapport with librarians was vital in his experience; getting them on-side could save hours of tedious research.
‘The trustees told me you were coming. I’m Rose Hall, the senior librarian.’
Luke looked around the lofty reading room where rays of weak wintry sunshine illuminated the lofty bookcases. ‘I can imagine it’s often pretty quiet in here.’
Rose frowned. ‘Not many people know of the Worth Collection, even though we’re almost as old as the British Library. So many investigations are done on the Internet these days. Recycling others’ opinions and not bothering to go to the original sources. In my opinion.’
‘You’re quite right. I’m here to do some proper delving, though, so I’ll be grateful for your expertise. Do you work here full-time?’
‘Not enough visitors. Just Monday to Thursday mornings. The rest of the time I’m finishing a PHD thesis on late twentieth-century female fiction. What are you researching?’
‘Erotic writing. Especially that written by and for women. It’s become quite fashionable in the last couple of decades.’
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