by Penny Birch
DIRTY
LAUNDRY
Penny Birch
Contents
Cover
Title
Copyright
Dedication
By The Same Author
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Version 1.0
Epub ISBN 9780753529423
www.randomhouse.co.uk
This book is a work of fiction.
In real life, make sure you practise safe sex.
First published in 2002 by
Nexus
Thames Wharf Studios
Rainville Road
London W6 9HA
Copyright © Penny Birch 2002
The right of Penny Birch to be identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
www.nexus-books.co.uk
Typeset by TW Typesetting, Plymouth, Devon
Printed and bound by
Clays Ltd, St Ives PLC
ISBN 0 352 33680 3
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Dedicated to Lucy, Sue and Nicky
for invaluable experience
DIRTY LAUNDRY
‘I want it!’ I pleaded. ‘Now!’
‘No,’ he answered, ‘you’re going to be seen by some more people first. Come on.’
He had a firm hold on my hand, pulling me along the path, towards the lay-by. I went, thinking of how I must look with my tear-streaked face and my soaking dress, a truly sorry state. I’d done it on purpose, too, I knew that, and I wanted to be punished for it, spanked with my soggy panties pulled down, or stuffed in my mouth, while I was beaten.
We reached the lay-by, and a car passed almost immediately, another behind it. I was sure both had seen, but neither slowed. The third one did, an old white Fiat, and I caught the driver’s eyes, staring right at me, his mouth open.
‘Now bend down,’ Monty ordered. ‘Show the next one the wet patch on your bum.’
By the same author:
PENNY IN HARNESS
A TASTE OF AMBER
BAD PENNY
BRAT
IN FOR A PENNY
PLAYTHING
TIGHT WHITE COTTON
TIE AND TEASE
PENNY PIECES
TEMPER TANTRUMS
REGIME
One
I slid my hand down between my cheeks, into the smooth, powdery valley, parting them with two fingers and applying a third to my jelly-smeared bumhole. It was more than I could resist not to have a little feel, just stroking the slimy little ring, my fingertip caressing the tight, sensitive star shape before popping inside to the warm, wet embrace of the hole. The lubricant went in with my finger, making a rude, squelching sound, and I began to work it up my hole, my mouth coming open in pleasure as I did it.
It was so tempting to masturbate like that, with my bottom stuck out and a finger well up the slimy hole between the softness of my cheeks. A few dabs to my clitty and I’d have been there, in my dirty, anally obsessed heaven, just from the pleasure of lying nude on my bed with a finger up my bum, or over thoughts of being caught like I was, perhaps spanked, and then buggered.
I had to force myself to stop, pull my finger out and get on with what I was supposed to be doing: giving myself an enema before my date. The nozzle was on the towel beneath me, and I groped for it, finding the welllubricated tip instead of the handle. With my fingers slimy with jelly, I poked it between my cheeks, feeling the cool, hard metal push between them, to my anus.
My mouth came open again as my ring spread around the nozzle, the thick end sliding up my juicy hole to give me a new flush of dirty pleasure. I poked it up, right up, until my ring closed on the narrow neck. I was already breathing heavily, with my pussy wet and my nipples in a state of straining erection, and as I reached back for the valve my fingers were trembling so hard I had trouble holding it.
I got it though, between finger and thumb, and held tight, teasing myself by withholding that awful, glorious moment, before I twitched it open and felt the cool water start to flow up my bum. Immediately I was in heaven, my eyes shut and my mouth hanging wide as my rectum began to fill, with the helpless bloated feeling building slowly inside me as I wondered how on earth anybody could fail to find the experience of an enema sexual.
It is sexual, it has to be. I mean, it’s so intimate, so dirty, so intrusive. OK, so I didn’t have to do it in the nude, or so that I could see my rear view in the mirror, with my pussy lips peeping out from between my thighs and my bare bottom with the thick red tube protruding obscenely from between my cheeks. It makes it better though, and I could think of absolutely no reason why I shouldn’t indulge my dirty mind while I cleansed myself.
I opened my eyes, glancing at myself in the mirror, then moving to watch the bag as it slowly emptied its contents into my body. There was a pint of it, and I started to pant as my rectum filled, with the pressure growing and my urgency growing with it. It was getting hard to keep in, and I was clenching my hole on the nozzle and wiggling my toes, with the dreadful feeling of helplessness and panic growing in my head. I needed to run to the loo, urgently, desperately, but I held back, forcing myself to lie there and take it, until at last the full pint was in my rectum.
Even then I held still, shaking my head and gasping in air, revelling in what I had done to myself and the ghastly certainty that if I didn’t move soon I was going to make the most disgusting mess imaginable of my bed and my bedroom floor. By the time I gave in I was nearly screaming, and at last I could hold myself no more and pulled out the nozzle, jumping up from my bed and dashing for the loo, knock-kneed, with my bumhole clenched shut against the awful pressure inside me.
I made it, as I always do, because I know exactly how much I can take and still hold it in. Sat bolt upright on the loo, I let it all out, a feeling almost as good as taking it, a sense of relief close to ecstasy. It left me feeling weak, but only briefly, while I also felt light, and clean, and very, very naughty. The date was going to be good, I was sure of it, and now I was just in the mood for getting pleasantly drunk, indulging in some nice dirty foreplay and fucking until the morning. I could also be buggered with impunity, or at least as much impunity as is possible for a woman having a man’s cock forced up her bottomhole.
I showered, powdered and made up at leisure, not even bothering to look at my watch. I was sure to be late, but it didn’t matter, and anyway, if Damon had any sense, he would prefer me clean, fresh and happy but late to hot, flustered and on time. It was what he was going t
o get anyway.
He was just what I needed: young and good looking and modern, the very opposite of Percy, my pet dirty old man. I was cross with Percy, who had refused to come back from France at the end of summer, simply because he wanted to be in Bordeaux for the vintage. It was really unfair, because I’d had to come back and I was missing my regular spankings and all the other dirty things that only he can really provide. I’d been sulking for over a week.
Being asked out had provided the perfect opportunity to get my own back. While Percy has no claim on me for fidelity, I knew he would hate the thought of me going with someone as highly strung and possessive as Damon. Not only that, but there was something about Damon which appealed to me, a self-absorption that made him callous, cruel even. Not only did that make me hope for some dirty, abusive sex, but it would be the perfect excuse to get rid of him when Percy finally condescended to come back from France.
I’d met Damon at the Café Eperney, my favourite Covent Garden bar, where my friend Ami Bell had been standing him lunch in an effort to get him to sign up for the PR firm she worked for. He was a film producer, making very intense, arty stuff, which was either completely over my head or crap. It was all he talked about, and Ami seemed genuinely fascinated, although I was more taken by his dark good looks and assertive manner. The feeling was obviously mutual, because every time he looked at me his eyes would flick from my face to my chest. Sure enough, once Ami had returned to her office he’d suggested dinner. I had accepted immediately.
What I wasn’t sure of was how to dress. Even the underwear was a problem. It seemed to be too much to hope for that he was actually a spanker, and even if he was it was unlikely that he’d appreciate the sort of English schoolgirl look that Percy enjoys – tight white cotton panties and a plain bra, preferably with old-fashioned stockings and suspenders. Something loose in heavy black silk would have been my own choice, but I didn’t want to risk anything really nice getting torn or pinched for a souvenir. Then again a sporty look didn’t seem to suit his character, while I was sure a G-string and no bra would be too overt.
For a while I sat in a pile of underwear, trying to decide what would make me seem at once alluring yet vulnerable. I wanted to play to his sense of conquest, which is always the best thing to do with arrogant men. He hadn’t told me where we were going, which made it even harder, as I didn’t want to go for an urban chick look and then end up at the Savoy, or a cocktail dress and find myself at some trendy bar in Soho.
In the end I decided to please myself, high briefs under tight white trousers to make the best of my bum, with a lightweight bra and a little top that left my tummy on show and gave just a hint of perky nipples beneath. A tiger’s-eye lavabell through my tummy piercing and sandals completed the look, and if it turned out to be the Savoy then that was just too bad.
His brief scowl of irritation when I turned up nearly an hour late at the Café Eperney quickly turned to a smile, and from then on things went well. He had chosen a Polish restaurant in Bloomsbury, the Borscht, which was good, and popular: packed with people and with a real buzz to the atmosphere. It was so noisy I could barely hear him speak, which was just as well as he was droning on about the film noir he was making. The wine list was hopeless, but they had good beer and an excellent selection of vodkas to make up for it. I was soon drunk, and hornier than ever, just watching the calm certainty in his face as he spoke.
We had chosen a table at the back of the restaurant, well away from the door and, as we ate, the room became more and more crowded, until by the time he called for the bill we were pretty well jammed into the corner. We’d been trying flavoured vodkas, and when I got up I was unsteady on my feet, holding a chair for balance while he went for our coats.
Getting out was not going to be easy, with an enormously fat man blocking the way where he had pushed his chair back to fit in his colossal belly. The sight made me giggle, which he noticed, and when I tried to get past he wouldn’t move his chair. Damon was already at the door, and I was in no mood for being messed about by some fat slob, so I told him to get out of the way, pretty curtly.
‘Say please,’ he answered, grinning at his friends.
‘Look, just move will you?’ I answered. ‘I need to get through.’
‘Say please and I will.’
‘Just move, now.’
‘Watch your manners, or I might just have to sit on your head.’
His friends burst into laughter at that and I felt myself start to colour, with my temper rising at the same time.
‘Just move it, you great lard tub!’ I snapped.
His friends laughed at that too, and he moved, but only after giving me a really dirty look. I joined Damon at the door, dismissing the incident as trivial. It wasn’t, not to me, and not because of what had happened, but because of what he’d said. I like my sex dirty, and I like it submissive. I can’t help it, and having someone threaten to sit on my head is just the sort of thing that gets to me.
It would have been bad enough anyway, but the man who made the threat had been just so gross. I mean, Percy is fat, and the fact that he’s fat adds an extra touch to the sexual humiliation that I crave, especially when he spanks me. This guy wasn’t just fat, he was vast. You could have put Percy inside him and nothing would have stuck out at the edges. It wasn’t just his huge gut either, but everything: great fleshy arms, tree trunk legs, ream upon ream of billowing flesh around his middle, a great fat neck, several chins and a moonlike face under a bush of curly black hair. Worst of all was his bottom, with his buttocks great soft pads which bulged out to overflow the sides of his chair, a quite simply obscene volume of quivering human flesh, and he had threatened to stick it in my face.
The thought made me feel weak at the knees. It was just so obscene. I could imagine it, in appalling detail: being forced down on the restaurant floor, struggling in his grip, the laughter of his friends, the sight of that vast bottom being positioned over my head, my utter horror as he undid his trousers and pushed them down, taking his underpants with them to expose the great soft, hairy buttocks and a set of grotesque genitals, my scream of consternation and dismay as I was smothered in it and ordered to kiss his anus or suck on his dangling balls. It was too much for me, disgusting yet horribly compelling, and I was nearly sick as Damon led me into Gower Street. He didn’t seem to notice, doubtless thinking it was just the drink, which I was grateful for.
He hailed a cab and gave the driver the address of his flat. I didn’t object. I knew I was going to be fucked. It was what I wanted, but my brain was spinning with dirty thoughts and images, and they weren’t of my companion.
In the cab he held me, with his arm around my shoulder, and we were soon kissing and letting our hands wander. I wanted to get his cock out and suck it, all the while imagining I was being forced to do it to the fat man, or to be taken to some lonely park, spanked by him and the cabbie, then fucked comprehensively. Fortunately I had enough sense left not to try, and reached Gospel Oak without disgracing myself. Not too much anyway. Once there it was a different matter. Damon knew I was drunk and willing and made no effort to hold back. Nor did he make any effort to consider my pleasure, which was exactly how I’d imagined it and exactly what I’d been counting on to give me far more pleasure than any eager-to-please little new man could ever achieve.
My top was up almost before the door to his flat was closed, my bra with it, leaving my boobs bare to his groping hands. I responded, scrabbling at his fly in my eagerness, and getting pushed down for my trouble, right on to his cock as it sprang free. I gave him his blow job, right then and there, squatting in his hallway with my boobs out and his hand twisted hard into my hair. It was like he was forcing me, but he needn’t have bothered, I was desperate for my portion of cock and badly wanted him to spunk in my mouth.
He did, right down my throat, forcing his erection in until I was gagging on it while he called me a slut and a bitch. I swallowed the lot, clutching at his firm, neat buttocks as he emptied himself
into my mouth, but still imagining that it was the fat man who was making use of my mouth and not Damon. Even when he had finished I was still sucking, and he had to be quite rough to get me off his cock.
Damon had come and, like nearly all men, he expected that to signal the end of sex, at least for a while. I had other ideas and, even as I sat down on the hard wooden floor, I was struggling with the button of my trousers. It came loose, and I pushed them down, taking my panties with them. The whole lot went to my ankles and I lay back against the door, spreading my thighs open to him as my hand went to my pussy. He just watched, his mouth wide open, as I masturbated, rubbing and snatching at my pussy.
I was playing with my boobs too, one-handed, bouncing them and tweaking the nipples, getting closer and closer to orgasm. It felt so rude, so open, so dirty, with him looking down on me in shock, as if for all that he’d done to me, what I was doing was wrong. That was just perfect, and I was imagining myself doing it in the restaurant, on the floor with my top up over my boobs and my thighs apart to show everyone my pussy, their faces set in shock or delight, outrage or excitement.
It would have been after the fat man had sat on my head, not bare, as I’d first imagined it, but clothed, just to punish me. Only it would have got to me, and once he’d done it I’d have exposed myself and spread myself, masturbating in public like the dirty little slut I am, bare and spread, nipples hard, two fingers up my pussy, my legs so far apart my bumhole showed, coming in a welter of dirty ecstasy, in front of them all.
Then it was different, the three of them ganging up on me, the fat man and Damon and the cabbie. I’d be stripped in the cab, stark naked, my clothes thrown out of the window. They’d take me to a park and spank my bottom, hard, across their laps, punishing me for my insolence, for being a brat and a slut. I’d scream and kick and struggle, so plenty of people saw, but they wouldn’t care, knowing it was just some stuck-up little tart getting her just deserts. Then they’d fuck me, throwing me on a pile of rotting leaves and taking turns with me, or better still, all together, with me mounted on the fat man, the cabbie in my mouth, and Damon up my bumhole . . .
