by Monica Belle
It never came. His hand came down, but gently, little more than a pat, delivered full across my bottom but with surely no more than the tiniest fraction of the force he had to be capable of. It still gave me an immense jolt of shame and resentment and unstoppable erotic pleasure, just to know that I was actually being given a spanking for the sake of a man’s pleasure, but that was all. Again he smacked, no harder than before, and again, setting up a slow rhythm, in time to the bouncing of my bottom cheeks, but never hard.
I still took it trembling and gasping, the thought that I was being given a spanking running over and over in my head, to provoke a dozen contradictory feelings, but above all, arousal. My bottom had begun to glow, in the most extraordinary, delightful way, making me feel dirty and desperately horny all at once. There was no inhibition either, the very fact that he had me bare bottom over his knee removing any trace. If a man could do that to me, it didn’t matter what I showed him, how far I’d let myself go.
As he continued to spank me I started to stick my bottom up, sighing with pleasure and giggling. I let my thighs apart, stretching my knickers out and showing off between my legs and cheeks, my pussy and the tiny star of my bottom hole too. Still he spanked, a little harder now, making my flesh sting and filling me with the most glorious glowing sensation behind, but cool and collected despite having me writhing and wriggling my bare bottom across his knee.
He wasn’t all that cool though. I could feel the lump of his cock growing against my side, his excitement rising at the pleasure of spanking me just as mine was rising at the pleasure of being spanked. Already I wanted him, to suck his cock while I was punished, or to have him put me over the desk and fuck me while he continued to smack my cheeks. I tried to wriggle back, eager to play, but he merely tightened his grip and began to spank harder, calling me a naughty girl as my cheeks began to bounce under slaps.
It was hard now, but it didn’t hurt, my bum too warm and my excitement too high. I was laughing as he applied himself to my bottom, and by clutching the leg of his desk I’d managed to get my hand to his fly, burrowing for his cock even as my spanking continued. He told me I was a naughty girl again, but he didn’t try to stop me, just the opposite. Letting my body slide a little lower down his legs, he changed the way he was spanking me, alternately slapping my cheeks and stroking my hot flesh.
I pulled down his zip and allowed my hand in to find his cock hot and hard within. Even as I pulled him out he was still spanking me and groping me more intimately, touching between my thighs as I pulled at his cock. I was lost, completely enthralled by the warmth in my bum and the idea of being spanked by a man and then made to toss his cock off because he’d got excited over having me bare.
Not that there was any coercion in it, none at all. I was more than eager, pulling on his lovely thick erection as he spanked me and touched me up, now teasing between my sex lips and around my bottom hole. I tried to wriggle off again, eager to take him in my mouth or sit in his lap with his cock inside me. Again he held me firmly in the spanking position, telling me off for being so wanton even as he slid a hand under my belly. His thumb went inside me, his fingers pushed between my lips, and he began to masturbate me even as he told me, calmly, casually, that he was going to bring me off.
I screamed out at his words, my emotions as overpowering as the feel of his fingers on my clitoris. He’d got me bare, he’d spanked my bottom, and now he was going to bring me to orgasm under his hand as I writhed and squirmed across his lap, in helpless ecstasy and clinging desperately to his erection. I’d have done anything for him at that moment, any dirty thing he wanted, even let him try to put it up my bum, but he was just going to masturbate me, at least first.
A moment later I was there, wriggling in his grip as wave after wave of blinding ecstasy flowed over me, utterly uninhibited, with my hot, smacked bottom wide open, showing everything and glad of it, still tugging on his cock, and as a second equally exquisite peak hit me I felt hot, slippery come running down my hand.
6
I HAD BEEN spanked over my boss’s knee. It was impossible to get it out of my head, that awful, mind-numbing truth that not only had I allowed a complete suit to put me across his knee and smack my bare bottom, but that I had thoroughly enjoyed it. In a sense it was worse than having it done against my will, because at least I’d have been able to tell myself I’d put up a fight. I hadn’t, far from it. I hadn’t even made a fuss about it, or pretended to be unwilling the way I do with Steve. I’d revelled in it.
He’d taken me by surprise too, which was really unfair. I’d expected it to be painful, and hadn’t even fully understood why I wanted to accept it, aside from guilt. Only he hadn’t done it to hurt me or even to punish me. He’d done it to turn me on, and he had succeeded in a way that had anybody suggested to me how I’d react beforehand I’d have laughed at them, or hit them.
Despite all that, I knew full well I’d be coming back for more. After he’d finished with me, Stephen had given me a cuddle, holding me for as long as it took to get over my emotions. Even after that the glow in my bum had kept me on a high for hours, full of nervous energy like a kid who’s been overdoing it on artificial flavourings. A part of me still felt deeply humiliated, but the physical sensation was too good to resist, like a drug.
The other reason was the one that had helped me accept punishment in the first place: the fact that I had misbehaved to Stephen, and that if ever a girl had deserved her spanking, it was me. I’d always suffered a bit from my conscience, and more so in recent years, thoroughly enjoying being bad but with an underlying sense of guilt and a conviction that I should be punished. Beforehand I’d always managed to fight back that feeling, easily in fact, because what society deemed appropriate consequences for my behaviour went far beyond what I’d have accepted as just. Now it was different. I’d misbehaved and I’d paid with a smacked bottom, which counted for me even if the man who’d spanked me didn’t know.
I was about to earn myself another spanking. Just because Stephen had taken me off the database hadn’t changed my conviction about what I should do. That would have been selfish. It had made it easier, while the remainder of the test we’d done under Town Bridge showed that a tightly held hoodie was adequate protection against the facial recognition program, if not necessarily old-fashioned human observation. My face had been absolutely invisible from the ZX-2, but my office clothes had made me unmistakable.
My plan was based on the idea that councils hate to lose money. They love to spend it, but only on the things they want to, like sixty grand on the weird-looking arty thing in the middle of the roundabout by the station. Surveillance cameras definitely come in the same class, especially when they allow fines to be issued and make more money than they cost. That was what Stephen and Paul were relying on to make their profit: that however much they charged the council it would never be more than the resulting fines brought in. However, if the cost of the pilot scheme far exceeded the amount made in fines, the council would, I hoped, decide against it. I was going to vandalise the cameras.
At first I’d wanted to get as many people as I could to help, but when I’d looked at what that would actually mean I’d changed my mind. Once the likes of Dave and Pete got involved it was sure to be a disaster. There were enough problems as it was. For one thing the cameras would be recording people’s faces, and anyone who was about was sure to look suspicious. That meant waiting until the early hours of the morning, and I had to be very careful not to get recognised by Stephen or Paul.
I also wanted an alibi, but I couldn’t think of a way of making people think I was in two places at once. Instead I accept Stephen’s suggestion that he take me to dinner at Cuatro Cortado on the Saturday night. Mum was also going there, with Archie as usual, and was delighted to hear Stephen was taking me out. I already knew that as far as she was concerned he and I were the perfect match, but it was amusing to wonder what she’d have thought if she’d known what a pervert he was.
Mum’s matc
hmaking at least meant that Stephen and I got a table to ourselves, and he was really sweet all evening, which made me feel a complete bitch. I pretended to knock back the sherry, but managed to pour most of it into an unfortunate pot plant next to my chair. Stephen completely failed to notice, in full flow on a dozen subjects, including Spain, cathedral architecture and classical music. We left only when the bar finally closed, and he had his arm around me as we walked back.
I was acting drunk, but I was genuinely amorous, turned on as always by his sheer presence and despite my feelings. Outside my house he took me in his arms to kiss me and I responded, not even bothering to kid myself that it was part of the act as I allowed my hand to slip down to his crotch. His response was to suggest returning to his flat instead, a problem I solved by slipping his cock out of his fly and into my mouth.
He protested, not surprisingly as we were in view of several houses, but allowed me to lead him into the back, where I indulged myself in the fantasy I’d had about him since we’d first met, down on my knees as I sucked and licked at his cock and balls. Despite being well in among the shrubs he was nervous, and hurried, pushing himself deep and using a hand to finish himself off before I’d really got into it, but I didn’t mind, too tense to fully enjoy myself and pretty sure there would be a next time.
It was gone midnight when he left. The house was completely dark, with Mum doubtless getting hers from Archie, a thought that always made me wince. Everybody else was asleep, and I sneaked quietly upstairs after a jolt of Pepsi Max from a bottle in the fridge. I was still feeling a bitch to Stephen, and more nervous than ever as I changed into black trainers and black jeans, a T-shirt and a black hoodie, with my hair wound up into a bun.
I was shaking as I left the house, feeling very lonely and not a little scared, with a hundred reasons why I should abandon the scheme running through my head. I ignored them all, having been through the whole thing a thousand times, and convinced myself it was for the best. The map showing the positions of the cameras was in my pocket, along with a torch and various other bits of equipment. My route was even planned out, keeping the chances of me being seen, let alone recognised, to a minimum.
Nobody seemed to be about, although my heart was jumping at even the tiniest noises as I made my way along the footpath beside the church, and when I mistook the outline of a decaying tree for a man standing motionless by the side of the path I was very nearly sick. I had to go slowly too, because of poor light, despite a bright half moon only occasionally covered by slow-moving clouds.
To get beyond the line of cameras meant taking a wide loop and coming back across fields, but I finally reached the river path just a hundred yards from the ZX-4 mounted on a pole beside a group of river cruisers moored along the bank. Bushes gave me cover until I was directly beneath it and out of sight, but it was much too high to reach, forcing me to squeeze myself up between the pole and the wall behind it until I was close enough to aim a spray can at the lens, putting the camera out of commission and, I hoped, wrecking it completely.
I’d done it, one anyway, filling me with both triumph and guilt as I climbed down. Nobody had seen me, I was sure of that, and that the camera wouldn’t have caught me either, or if it had, merely as a black figure moving among the shadows. Again I felt a strong urge to turn back, mission complete, but again I resisted. One was not enough.
With the ZX-4 out of action I could get behind a fixed ZX-2 positioned to cover a gloomy alley mouth which led from the river path down between the buildings of the Hattersley Estate. It was across the river, and I’d never have noticed it if I hadn’t known it was there, but a few minutes later it had been spray-painted and pushed down so that lens was no longer even aiming straight.
Two down. As I moved towards the next one I heard voices and ducked in among the bushes. A couple passed within inches of me, completely unaware of my presence. He called her Malteser, a pet name so silly I had to put my hand across my mouth to hold back a giggle. I was gaining confidence, so much so that after levering a ZX-1 clean off the wall I had to stop and make myself slow down. There was a sort of manic energy inside, similar to the way I’d felt driving stolen cars or after my spanking, but now I knew I had to keep myself under control.
My fourth was the main one covering the long straight stretch of path opposite Neal’s Boatyard, my fifth a sneaky ZX-2 designed to catch graffiti artists on the same stretch. That I managed to detach completely, an effort that drained more than just physical energy, and with that I decided to call it a night. I knew how much the things cost and I was sure my efforts would make the council think twice before buying any. Not that I was finished, not by a long chalk.
I went out again on the Sunday night, using spray paint to ruin the set of cameras covering Foulds’ and a little further along. The ones by Town Bridge were too risky, but I’d now done eight in all. That had to at least attract attention, although as I walked into work on the Monday morning I was as tired as if I’d played a gig and then sat up drinking for most of the night. I was worried too, imagining that Stephen would catch me out despite all my precautions and dreading the prospect of a confrontation.
He was already there, just opening up, and the look on his face made me go cold, a sensation only partly relieved as he spoke.
‘Good morning, Felicity. We’ve had trouble, I’m afraid, several cameras vandalised along by the Hattersley Estate, it seems.’
‘Oh dear. Do you know how much damage there is?’
‘No, only that eight cameras are out of action. We need to get this sorted out, and fast.’
‘I’ll help in any way I can, of course.’
‘Good girl. For a start, let’s see what we’ve got on disc.’
He opened the door and went straight to my work station, taking the seat. In view of the way we’d parted on the Saturday night I’d expected at least a welcoming kiss, but he seemed completely focused on the problem I’d created. So was I, largely because I was terrified I was about to be revealed as the culprit.
I moved close beside him, peering at the screen as the first image came up. It showed the river path from the ZX-4 I’d done first, a set of pools of dull orange light from the streetlamps with shadows between and a frame of absolute black. Stephen moved the image forward in time until it suddenly vanished, then back, and my heart was in my mouth as it began to play.
Nothing showed, not a flicker of movement, not so much as a change in the shadows. I could make out the bushes I’d used for cover, just, but nothing more, until a black gloved hand appeared, holding a spray can pointed directly at the lens, then a blur, then nothing. Stephen hissed in vexation.
‘Bastards!’
‘How did they get up the pole?’
‘Not too hard, I dare say, for a kid, but anti-climb paint will soon put a stop to that.’
‘How do you know it’s kids?’
‘Bound to be. Who else would do that? Anyway, look at the size of his hand.’
He moved the image back, freezing it on the gloved hand. My thick black glove made it impossible to pick out any details, but you could certainly see it wasn’t a grown man holding the can, or almost certainly not.
‘It could have been a dwarf.’
‘That’s hardly likely.’
‘I was joking.’
‘This is no time for levity . . . Sorry, Felicity, as you can imagine, I’m not particularly happy about this.’
‘Of course.’
I kissed him, to which he responded with a smile before moving on to the next camera. This time there was nothing to be seen at all, just the fixed image of the alley mouth looking ghostly in the infrared, then nothing. I began to allow myself to relax, just a little, as Stephen moved on through the cameras, the five I’d done on Saturday and the three on Sunday. Not once had I given anything away, beyond the appearance of my gloved hand and once the edge of my hoodie. Stephen had obviously been hoping for more, and grew increasingly frustrated, finally banging the mouse down.
�
�The little bastards are damn good at locating the cameras, I’ll give them that. Right, I want the entire system up and running again by lunchtime.’
‘Can we do that?’
‘I certainly hope so. It will be easy enough with the ones they spray-painted anyway. The others we may have to replace.’
He’d marched into the main body of the warehouse as he spoke and I was left at my desk. I spent a moment flicking back and forth between the camera images, just to make absolutely sure I hadn’t given myself away. There was nothing, but it was interesting watching what else had been going on that night, and more than a little scary.
I saw the couple who’d been sweet-talking each other, both as they’d passed my hiding place and earlier, coming down the steps of Town Bridge and pausing for a snog among the shadows, blissfully unaware they were being recorded and identified. Then there was the bit next to Foulds’, where a middle-aged man in a heavy greatcoat passed not five minutes before I put the camera out of action. His face showed clearly, angry and morose, his mouth twitching with strong emotion. Most likely he was harmless, perhaps somebody who’d gone out for a walk after an argument with his wife, but I was glad I hadn’t bumped into him, a thought that gave me fresh qualms about what I was doing.
When Stephen emerged from the warehouse he was carrying a large box. I held the door for him and helped him put it in his car, but he didn’t explain until he was locking up.
‘I’ve got everything we need here. Paul’s at the council offices, calming Phelps down, and they don’t even know how much of the system is down. I aim to keep it that way. If we can put it down to a few kids with spray paint and show how easily we get back in operation this might actually do more good than harm.’
‘Won’t we have to replace the cameras?’
‘No, that’s what’s great about this system. It seems that only two are badly damaged, so yes, we have to put new ones up there, but that’s all.’
