by John Argus
Her eyes closed as a mysterious heat suffused her whole being. She was rubbing herself steadily against the corner of the table, memories sweeping in and out of her mind – the feel of his hands on her body, the sight of his aroused penis all slick and gleaming and gliding in and out of her mouth, and the dark hunger she felt as Ms Beacher stroked the cane between her legs before bringing it down across her burning bottom again and again.
She felt an exquisite, pulsing tension in her sex, an intoxicating desire and excitement, as her free hand moved back and forth across her naked flesh, over her swollen breasts and erect nipples, and down to her taut belly.
She was behaving terribly, she knew, but she could not help herself, could not even seem to care. She pressed herself harder against the table, and ached from the pressure against her tender flesh, yet the discomfort only seemed to stoke her arousal.
‘How is your bottom, Zoe?’ his voice went on. ‘Are there livid red lines across that delicate, porcelain skin? Has Beacher lined the perfection of your lovely arse?’
She began climaxing listening to his deep, suggestive timbre, and quickly slammed the receiver back into its cradle, her fingers growing white around it as the orgasm caught and swept her away. She sobbed with pleasure, grinding herself against the wooden table, her eyes closed and her head lolling back as ecstasy gripped her.
Chapter Five
‘This is truly amusing,’ Steven Erasmus said, as he put down the receiver.
Ms Beacher was just entering his office, and she dropped a thick folder on his desk. ‘What is truly amusing?’ she asked.
‘Our little Zoe, naturally.’
She smiled thinly. ‘Please don’t tell me you’re engaging in phone sex with her now. Is there no level to which you won’t stoop?’
‘I wouldn’t define it that way, precisely.’ He pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘But she does seem to respond to choice words.’
The woman shook her head. ‘I suppose I should know better than to disagree with you about how young women can be seduced,’ she acknowledged. ‘You do realise her father will make quite a deal of noise if ever he finds out.’
‘Ah, but I’m counting on him finding out, Veronica,’ the conniving man disclosed, ‘although not until I’m ready.’
‘And when will that be?’
‘When he will do his best to make as little noise as possible about my little bit of fun with his precious daughter by supporting my bid for a knighthood and a safe seat in the House.’
‘Support you?’ She stared at him in disbelief and snorted. ‘But he loathes you!’
‘Yes, doesn’t he, though?’ Erasmus mused. ‘But that won’t matter.’
‘I don’t see how he can be damaged by his daughter having a public affair with you, though. You’re the one who would bear the brunt of the scandal.’
‘Not an affair, you’re quite right, there,’ he said. ‘But what if she was to be found involved in something far more brazen?’
Beacher narrowed her eyes, waiting.
‘Something to excite the minds of the plebs and that would draw enormous media coverage,’ he teased.
‘You’re going to have her sleep with someone from royalty, is that it?’
‘Not quite, but how about Sir Patrick?’
‘Patrick Stewart?’ she gasped, staring at him in shock.
‘The very same.’ He nodded, his demeanour one of amusement. ‘I understand he still has an eye for the young ladies.’
‘An eye, perhaps, but he never touches them these days,’ Beacher argued. ‘He’s harmless. Especially now he’s Minister of State at the Home Office and, I might add, Quincanon’s greatest ally.’
‘How many men do you know who could resist a girl like Zoe should she express an interest in them?’
‘You think you can persuade her to sleep with a stodgy old fossil like Stewart?’ Beacher scoffed. ‘Think again. You haven’t even persuaded her to sleep with you yet.’
‘All in good time, Veronica,’ he assured her with a confident smile, ‘all in good time. The path to young Zoe Quincanon’s heart lies in convincing her she’s doing good, and certainly sleeping with Stewart would be an extremely altruistic deed.’
‘If it didn’t kill him,’ she pointed out derisively.
‘Oh, it’ll hurt a little,’ he agreed with a shark-like grin, ‘but he’ll survive the experience. Speaking of which, how did our little girl take her punishment?’
Beacher shrugged uncertainly. ‘I don’t know. She didn’t complain, and in fact, she acted as if she deserved it. And at times… well, if I didn’t know better, I’d have thought she was secretly enjoying it, in a strange way.’
‘Yes, in a strange way indeed,’ he ruminated. ‘We’ll have to see to more punishments for our chaste young lady. But first, of course, we’ll have to persuade her to be naughty again.’
‘You know,’ Beacher said wistfully, ‘there’s a wonderful thrill to punishing someone like that. The feel of the cane as it strikes innocent flesh, the way she squirms, her reactions…’ She cleared her throat and blushed a little, pulling herself together.
‘You enjoyed yourself, didn’t you?’
‘I wouldn’t say that,’ she replied defensively. ‘It’s just that… I don’t know, the sense of power is rather appealing.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed with an inscrutable smile, ‘I know it is, and soon I hope to be able to feel that sense of power myself.’
It was going to be another hot and humid day. Zoe squinted as she looked out of the window, and then sighed and moved away. She hated humid days; they made her feel uncomfortable and sapped her vitality. Also, her bottom was still sore from Ms Beacher’s punishment and she did not like to think about getting all hot and bothered at her desk.
She did not like to think about work at all, in fact. Her mind shied away from the thought of seeing Mr Erasmus again, and she cringed at the memory of the wicked things they had done together, and the lewd way she reacted as he spoke to her over the phone. It was a new day and she felt ashamed of herself, and of the excitement that simmered every time she imagined doing such things with him again. She would have to stop by church on the way home, definitely. She would ask God to forgive her sinful ways and to help her resist such temptations.
She looked over her wardrobe doubtfully, seeking something cool, and decided upon a lovely new cream dress she had not yet worn. It was made of silk and cut in an Asian style, with a round neck and short sleeves. It was snug but not too tight, and the short skirt was comfortably loose. Flowery green embroidery decorated it over her left breast and meandered down to her waist. Seeing it reminded her of Selina, and she wondered if the girl would like it.
She took the dress out, and smiled. It was very pretty, yet somewhat formal. She imagined herself having tea with Japanese ladies, all of them bowing very politely, and dismissed the concern that the skirt might be considered a little short for work. So she slipped it on and went to examine herself in the mirror.
The appearance pleased her, although her concerns about the skirt resurfaced a little. So rather than leaving her legs bare, she would wear pantyhose. But she wrinkled her nose at the thought; later in the day, especially, it would be uncomfortably hot for hose, and they wouldn’t be comfortable for her tender bottom. So she would just have to wear stockings instead.
Of course, the stockings required a garter belt, which she found in her chest of drawers and put on under the skirt of the dress, and then placing a foot on the edge of the bed, she rolled the first stocking slowly and gently up her slender calf, over her knee and up her thigh. She attached it to the suspender, and then repeated the procedure with her other leg, again rolling the stocking slowly up her smooth skin and fastening it to the waiting suspender.
She turned to the mirror and ran a brush through her hair as she imagined what
Mr Erasmus might think of her. She felt a thrum of excitement at the thought of feeling his touch again, and sternly sought to discipline her mind against such unacceptable meanderings.
Then just before leaving her little flat for work, Zoe hesitated a moment, and then sank to her knees, raising her hands and clasping her fingers together against her chest. She bowed her head and prayed for the strength and character to do what was right and proper.
Feeling a little more at ease and ready for another day at work in the stuffy old building, she slipped into her high heels and examined herself in the mirror again, checking her hair. After her morning shower she had styled it in a cute ponytail, so she adjusted the fringe across her forehead, pronounced herself fit, and headed off to work.
Walking briskly along the pavement towards the corner, feeling good in the crisp bright morning, enjoying it before the oppressive humidity took over, she turned onto the busy street and headed for the bus stop. There were several men waiting ahead of her, and their bored expressions altered as she approached, tongues sliding subconsciously across lips as they preened themselves, smoothing back hair or adjusting ties and shirt collars.
The little queue had been facing forward, but as bored eyes followed her graceful approach, three men eased side-on as she took up her position at the end of the line. Three heads leaned forward and three pairs of eyes flitted sideways to drink in the lovely shape of the young woman in the cream dress.
The bus arrived, slowed to a stop, and the three men stepped back, two with casual glances elsewhere, the third with a bashful grin as he waived her forward. She smiled brightly, and stepped up into the bus as three pairs of eyes drooled over the backs of her thighs to where a briefest glimpse of the lacy borders of her stockings was just revealed. They followed her up the stairs to the upper deck, the first and second man scuffling briefly for the choice position right behind her, their eyes crawling hungrily beneath her skirt for a tantalising peep of soft thighs and white silk panties hugging her gorgeous bottom.
Zoe, blissfully unaware of being lusted after, stepped down the aisle, heedless of the indrawn breaths of the men she passed. She turned at a free seat, sat down carefully, and her hem slid up higher, but she set her purse in her lap and looked past the man beside her and out of the window, wondering what the day would bring.
A few minutes later and there were many disappointed men, and some women, left on the bus as Zoe alighted at her stop and caught the tube the rest of the way to work, arriving in good time as usual. She stopped, as always, in the ladies’ room to inspect her appearance and touch up her hair – she had been raised to have pride in her appearance and always strive to look her best – and was just putting her brush in her shoulder-bag when the door opened and Selina appeared. The Asian girl looked a little surprised to see her, and then smiled.
‘Hello,’ she said cheerfully.
‘Hi,’ Zoe responded happily.
Selina wore a dark business jacket with trousers, and her long black hair was down. ‘You look nice,’ she said.
‘It’s kind of an Oriental dress, isn’t it?’ Zoe asked, looking down at herself.
‘Well, the top half is.’
‘Isn’t the pattern pretty?’
‘Yes, it is…’ Selina’s eyes moved slowly up and down the dress.
‘Anyway, I have to go now,’ Zoe said. ‘See you at lunch, perhaps?’
‘Hmm?’ Selina seemed somewhat distracted. ‘Oh, yes, if you like, see you then.’
Zoe smiled and Selina’s eyes followed her until the door closed behind her. ‘Jesus,’ she whispered; the innocent creature had looked utterly lovely, and Selina found herself actually imagining what it might feel like to run her hands over the mouth-watering curves that lay beneath the shimmering surface of that snugly fitting dress, to cup her lovely bottom, and then on down those smooth, stocking-clad thighs as their breasts moulded together within a sensual embrace…
She shook her head in annoyed confusion – annoyance towards herself and towards Allison, who was putting such thoughts in her head. She had no interest in girls, none whatsoever.
Normand Miller drew in a sharp breath as he caught sight of Zoe crossing the floor towards her desk, watching her come closer and closer to where he sat. She looked stunning in that dress, and could those possibly be stockings she wore? Yet again he felt his groin throb and his cock begin stiffening and rising in his trousers.
‘Good morning, Mr Miller,’ she acknowledged him cheerily.
‘Hello, Zoe, you’re looking… well, this morning.’
‘Thank you,’ she beamed. ‘It’s a lovely day, which makes it all the more hard to be inside, especially in a musty old place like this.’
‘Yes, I know what you mean,’ he said conversationally, enjoying the fact that the innocent beauty had no idea that he was squeezing his cock beneath his desk, imagining her pink lips stretched around it. In fact, he was sorely tempted to take it out of his trousers and have a furtive wank while they exchanged pleasantries. ‘You should be at the beach.’ He was hardly aware of what he was saying.
‘Oh yes,’ she sighed wistfully. ‘That would be lovely.’
An image of Zoe in a tiny bikini entered his mind. Immediately the bottom became a thong, and then the top disappeared completely. He watched her sit down, feasting on the brief sight of her lacy stocking tops as the hem of her dress rode up a little, and then her legs disappeared beneath the desk.
Normand knew that actually having anything physical to do with such a goddess was impossible for the likes of him, but he was suddenly gripped by a desperate need to at least see her naked, to confirm what he already knew; that her body would be as breathtaking in reality as her choice of clothes always suggested it would be. But how could he possibly manage that?
A variety of outlandish and ridiculous plans drifted through his head as he stared at her, all of them improbable, if not impossible. And seeing her naked would not be enough. He actually wanted to see her being dirty – having sex. Surely she was not a virgin. A girl who looked as good as she did couldn’t be. He wondered if she was seeing anyone, some lucky bastard, and if he might be able to follow her, somehow…
The computer gave him her address. She did not live very far away. He thought of going there, hiding somehow nearby, and peering through her windows… no, the address suggested she lived upstairs in an apartment building. Perhaps he could break in somehow… but of course, he did not have to break in! Being such a trusting soul, she often left her purse in the desk drawer when she went somewhere else in the building. He could snatch her flat key, make a quick copy, and get the original back before she even noticed it was gone!
The outlandish yet irresistible plan continued to formulate and race through his mind. He could sneak into her flat, into Zoe’s flat, hide under her bed, or in a closet… and then what?
Zoe tried to concentrate on her work, but despite her cheery mood it was very difficult. Her eyes kept drifting towards the offices before her, nervously waiting for either Ms Beacher or Mr Erasmus to appear. Whenever she thought of them she grew confused, and her emotions oscillated from shame and anxiety to an almost giddy sense of anticipation. When by chance she looked up and saw Ms Beacher striding across the far end of the open space in which her desk sat, her heart leapt into her throat and her chest tightened as her face began warming up. Yet the woman did not even seem to notice her as she disappeared from view.
The morning passed with Zoe getting her work done, after a fashion, her eyes darting about every minute or so, for every small noise startled her. At lunchtime, rather than go out and possibly encounter Miss Beacher or Mr Erasmus, she read a newspaper someone had discarded, leafing dispiritedly through the pages, forgetting her impromptu date with Selina.
In the paper she came upon an odd story that caught her attention, about an orphanage in Leeds about to close down for lack
of funding. The very notion of an orphanage seemed so dated; the term ‘orphan’ was rarely ever used any more. Parentless children without relatives to care for them were looked after by the child welfare authorities and were generally put into foster homes. But as she read on, she discovered that this rarely produced happy living environments. Fostered children grew up without any certainty or security in their lives, bouncing from one place to another, often abused and neglected by the people entrusted to care for them. But the orphanage in Leeds harkened back to older times by housing a large group of children with a staff of teachers and social workers to care for and educate them. Even if their teachers and workers changed from time to time, these children at least had the consistency of their surroundings and of the other children, who became a surrogate family for them. At least that was the theory. There were many attestations from the children housed there about the serenity of their existence, and the misery they had felt as interlopers in foster homes. Some of the stories brought tears to Zoe’s eyes, and she had to dab at them with a tissue as she read on.
The children had gone on a hunger strike and several threatened suicide, when they learned the orphanage was to be closed for lack of funding. It seemed many child welfare authorities were highly indignant about its existence, calling it an antiquated notion in child raising, and demanding the children be fostered out into allegedly loving environments, even if they did bounce from house to house every year or two. The concept of an orphanage simply went against the grain of current child welfare philosophies and theories.
All of this made Zoe both sad and indignant, but there was more to it than that. She knew the department of the PMO that issued grants was currently looking for new and experimental methods to keep children from becoming delinquents, and the statistics that accompanied the article showed that children raised in foster homes had enormously greater odds of becoming delinquents, of using drugs and of getting pregnant out of wedlock. The traditional concept of an orphanage seemed a perfect example of what the grants were designed for.
