Strip Girl

by Aishling Morgan

  ‘Yes!’ he grunted. ‘That’s you, Sarah, my dirty little tart … my filthy dirty fat little tart.’

  She was in orgasm, his words burning in her head, her resistance gone, and she was babbling, the awful words breaking through a final pang of despair.

  ‘Spank me, Giles … spank my bottom … fuck me, spank me, punish me … oh shit!’

  Her orgasm exploded in her head, the awful admission only making it stronger, and she was still rubbing at herself and sobbing in ecstasy as he pulled his cock from her vagina and finished himself off all over her upturned bottom cheeks and in the crease between. As she sank slowly down onto the bed she could feel his spunk trickling down into the tight dimple of her bottom hole, for the second time. He spoke.

  ‘You are such a trollop, Sarah. I think I’m falling in love with you.’

  Four

  The rest of the weekend passed in a rosy haze, spoilt only by the memory of what had happened in Paris and the obligation to admit, if only to herself, that it had not merely excited her physically, but that it represented the deepest craving of her sexuality. Giles seemed not to have noticed, and possibly he hadn’t, as he’d been on the edge of orgasm himself when she spoke the fatal words.

  Whether he’d heard or not, he had clearly decided that now they were officially together he could give free rein to his obsession with her bottom, taking every opportunity to squeeze her, stroke her, pinch her, fondle her, pull down her panties, lick her, and beg to be allowed to teach her to accept his cock in her anus. Embarrassed but also flattered, Sarah accepted everything except the final surrender, and had soon begun to wonder if asking him to put her across his knee and apply a few firm swats to her bare cheeks would be so bad after all.

  She couldn’t bring herself to do it, the act of asking simply too undignified for her to accept, yet she found herself hoping he would do it anyway, taking the decision out of her hands. He didn’t, but his constant attention to her cheeks made it harder and harder to resist, building an awareness of her bottom as the focus of her sexuality and making her feel appreciated as she never had before. There was no lack of attention to her breasts either, and by the evening she was wandering around the flat stark naked, not merely unconcerned, but actively enjoying being in the nude.

  The following morning they were still in bed, with Sarah giving Giles’ cock a leisurely suck as he fondled her bottom cheeks, when the bell rang. Sarah was blushing pink as she ran for the bathroom, but Giles was as casual as ever, merely slipping on a dressing gown before going down to answer the door and let his sister in. Rebecca proved to be rather different to the picture Sarah had built up of her; she was red-haired rather than blonde, pretty, with a splash of freckles across her nose, nearly as tall as Giles and notably busty. She also shared something of her brother’s character, friendly and open, yet self-confident to the edge of arrogance and apparently indifferent to the opinions of others.

  Rebecca stayed for dinner, which Giles put together with a skill that surprised Sarah. Afterwards they walked her to the tube, Sarah kissing Rebecca goodbye in a way that felt entirely natural before she descended to the Piccadilly Line. Left alone with Giles once more, Sarah wondered if he would want her to spend another night, and if she should do so rather than getting back to her flat.

  ‘Time for bed?’ Giles asked as his hand moved down from her waist to the swell of her bottom.

  ‘Why not?’ Sarah answered, smiling as he began to steer her back towards the street.

  She moved his hand from her bottom as he began to fondle, South Kensington tube station being a little too public for reality, however appealing it might be for a fantasy. He complied, but took her firmly by the hand instead, leading her back across the street and up to his flat without ever once letting go. The moment the door was closed behind them he was tugging her top out of her jeans and trying to kiss her, making her giggle and put a restraining hand on his.

  ‘Not so fast!’ she urged. ‘There’s no rush.’

  ‘After eight hours?’ he answered. ‘There’s plenty of rush.’

  Sarah squeaked as her top was jerked high, and with the thrill of sudden exposure she gave in, holding it up for him as he began to work on her jeans. They were soon down, and he was turning her around and easing her forward across the telephone table.

  ‘Couldn’t we go to bed?’ she asked, but gave no resistance as she was put in position.

  ‘Sod the bed,’ he answered. ‘Right, bra up, knickers down.’

  He suited action to words, grasping the wires of Sarah’s bra and flipping it up to spill out her breasts. A brief squeeze and his hands went lower, to the waistband of her panties. He sank into a squat as he began to pull them down, his face just inches away from her bottom as she came bare. A sigh escaped Sarah’s lips as she was unveiled, then a second, deeper one, as her cheeks were spread and his face pushed between. She stuck her bottom out, her eyes closed in bliss as he licked her anus.

  She bent over fully, resting her arms on the telephone table as she gave in to the idea of being taken across it. He was clearly urgent, fumbling his cock out as he licked her, already erect, and quickly standing to press it between her cheeks. For once he didn’t suggest buggering her, but simply spent a moment rubbing himself in the wet valley between her sex lips before pushing himself deep. She gasped as she was entered, and he immediately began to pump, the slapping of his belly on her bottom cheeks once more bringing thoughts of spanking into her head.

  Determined not to give in to her need, she bit her lip, telling herself she’d think about it but not say anything. Maybe she could come while he fucked her, imagining him making her bend over the table to be punished, punished with a good firm spanking delivered to her bare bottom cheeks. It would be done the way he’d said, bra up and knickers down, to add to her exposure and shame while she was beaten. The thought sent a shiver the length of her spine, and she pushed her bottom out onto his thrusting cock as her hand began to sneak back between her legs.

  ‘Too much,’ he gasped suddenly and his cock was out, hot spunk spattering Sarah’s bottom as he brought himself off over her. ‘Sorry … sorry, Sarah but I just cannot resist that darling bum.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ she answered, a little surprised.

  ‘I’ll make it up to you later,’ he promised, still puffing a little from the sudden vigour of their fucking.

  Sarah shook her head, reaching back to take hold of her bottom cheeks. They felt heavy, a little warm from the way he’d been pushing into her, and wet with his come.

  ‘Watch me,’ she said, and began to stroke herself, rubbing his come into the chubby globes of her bottom.

  Just a moment of rubbing his come into her hot slippery skin and one hand was back between her legs. He made a little choking sound as she began to masturbate and she turned to see that he was watching, his eyes wide in delight, his cock still in his hand. Made bold and rude by his attention, she pushed her fingers down between her cheeks, deliberately spreading them to show off her anus.

  Giles gave a low sigh and called her a tart as she shut her eyes, concentrating on her fantasy as she masturbated. The first part was real enough, having her top lifted and her jeans pushed down, then turned around and made to pose. The only difference was that she wanted it as a punishment, and for him to say those same rude words to shame her before she was spanked, bra up, knickers down, such a rude intrusive thing to say to a girl as she was stripped.

  He’d done it too, lifted her bra and pulled down her panties, and fucked her. It was only a shame he hadn’t spanked her first, and made her hold her bottom cheeks apart to have her anus inspected. Yes, that was it, the way she should be handled, in an exquisitely dirty sequence, her body put on show, front and back, her big cheeks spanked just as it’d been done in Paris, her anus inspected to really bring home her shame to her, then fucked and spunked over by the man who’d punished her.

  She came, her teeth still set tight against her lower lip as wave after wave of ecstas
y swept through her body, her bottom cheeks still held wide to show Giles the dirty little star between, holding a state of bliss until at last her legs began to give way and she was forced to stop, sinking to her knees on the floor.

  ‘That was something to see,’ Giles breathed from behind her, ‘but if you tempt me like that, Sarah Shelley …’

  He left the sentence unfinished, but she knew exactly what he meant.

  Sarah felt her cheeks tighten in her panties as for maybe the thousandth time the thought of being either spanked again or sodomised entered her head. Yet for now it was irrelevant. She had to draw, and that was what mattered. Picking up her pencil, she focused on the blank sheet of A2 spread out in front of her. Her mobile was off, the landline was on answering machine and out of hearing. Everything she could possibly need was within hand’s reach, including an open bottle of the same rich Australian Chardonnay that had helped her complete the first sheet. There was even a second one in the fridge just in case one was not enough, and she suspected she might need it. To draw Céleste stripping for a man was bad enough, but to draw her on her knees and sucking his penis was a vastly greater outrage.

  Her attitude had changed over the few days since she had been with Giles, his lust, and maybe even love, increasing her confidence and making it easier for her to accept the very male-oriented sexual thrust of the story, while her own responses made her better able to appreciate the dirtier elements of the story, although they still shocked her. Only Céleste’s character remained immune from Giles’ influence, hence the wine.

  She poured a glass and took a healthy swallow, then began to pencil in the frames, setting out both pages at once. As before, the work was fully formed in her mind, needing only to be transferred onto the page. This time, it was the right hand page that was easier emotionally, involving no sexual imagery at all, yet it was a challenge artistically. She needed to convey the darkness of the graveyard and the sinister aspect of Monsieur d’Orsay’s face, yet leave detail visible and not show Céleste as too much of a ghoul.

  Nearly two hours later she was satisfied with her efforts and could achieve nothing more without ink. The bottle of wine had barely been started, but she finished her glass and poured another before turning her attention to the other page. In the first episode Céleste had been left with her panties just beginning to come down, so the readers would be hoping for a bare bottom. At least that was Giles’ reasoning, and Sarah could find no fault. A bare bottom it had to be.

  The first frame would show Céleste posed as before, only with her panties pushed down and the full beauty of her perfect buttocks on show. Maybe she would even be bent a little to hint at the rear shape of her sex lips between her thighs? No, it was too much. Sarah took another swallow of wine. Yes, it was perfect, guaranteed to get the boys’ blood pumping. Monsieur d’Orsay would be visible in the background too, the bulge in his crotch showing plainly beneath the desk.

  As Sarah began to work, all the questions she would have to answer to complete the page were running through her mind. Would Céleste put up a fight, or would she consider it beneath her dignity to bargain? Exactly how much should she show? Perhaps smudged lipstick would add a dirty touch, or was that just a female thing? What would Monsieur d’Orsay’s cock be like? The last question was the easiest to answer. He would be big, big and ugly, with lots of veins and a thick, wrinkly foreskin, and huge balls, which he would pull out of his trousers as well. The thought made her wince even as her pencil began to move over the paper.

  The idea of taking him in her mouth was repulsive, and as his genitals took form on the page it grew more repulsive still. If there was a certain horrid fascination as well, then she knew that was only her dirty mind working. Maybe, just maybe, if she was provided with a really good excuse, she could have sucked him, and secretly enjoyed it. Sarah, yes, but Céleste could never have so debased herself. Yet that was exactly what Céleste had to do in the story, and kneeling with her bottom to the reader so that the rear view of her sex and her anal star showed, just as Giles had described.

  Sarah paused, shocked by what she was about to do. She remembered what the woman in Paris had threatened, and had to tell herself not to be ridiculous. Yet it was true: for her to put Céleste’s anus and vaginal pouch on display to one hundred thousand lecherous men deserved a spanking to end all spankings, to say nothing of the cock-sucking.

  ‘I am a professional artist doing commissioned work,’ she told herself, out loud. ‘Céleste du Musigny does not exist and cannot take her revenge, no matter how much I deserve it.’

  The last few words came out as a mumbled afterthought, but Sarah had begun to draw, holding her mind deliberately blank. Shapes quickly began to come to life on the page in front of her: Monsieur d’Orsay’s face, the mouth slack with pleasure as he was sucked, a little drool visible at one corner; the look of disgust on Céleste’s face as she bent to take the heavy dirty penis in her mouth; the shape of her bottom sticking out from beneath the desk with the slim cheeks slightly parted to hint at a tight, brownish anus and pouted sex lips, a sight at once ridiculous and thoroughly indecent.

  It was also arousing, and Sarah found her hand going between her thighs, to press at the plump bulge of sex beneath her jeans as she admired her handiwork. Yes, she had it right, Céleste’s anus would be dark, and very tight, undoubtedly virgin, just like Sarah’s own, the only difference being that while the immaculate young Frenchwoman was clearly inviolable, the plump English slut had begun to feel that a good buggering might not be so very inappropriate for her after all.

  Then again, why shouldn’t Céleste be buggered? What was so precious about her? A lot of men would like to do it, that was for certain. Yes, if she was going to entertain three scumbags, men rough enough to accept money to rob a grave, one of them was sure to bugger her. After all, she had three convenient holes, just like any other woman, so why should she be exempt from taking a cock in the dirtiest of them?

  Sarah knew that the wine was getting to her, but it was still a satisfying thought. Unfortunately the script didn’t call for Céleste to be buggered by Monsieur d’Orsay, or the stuck-up French bitch would be over his desk with her cheeks bulging and her eyes popping in a truly comic expression designed to show that her rectum was being crammed with fat ugly cock, that part of the shaft still protruding from her anus wet with spit from her own mouth. Better still, she could show Céleste in breathless ecstasy, her precious dignity well and truly lost as she clutched at her breasts and sex while the foul greasy Monsieur d’Orsay buggered her.

  There was no room, and the scene probably exceeded the guidelines anyway; but there was something Sarah could do, a minute touch designed to show that, deep down, precious perfect Céleste du Musigny was a slut, a salope, une cocotte. With her face set in a wicked smile, Sarah carefully began to pencil in the tips of Céleste’s fingers, shown pressed to her sex as she sucked on Monsieur d’Orsay’s cock under the table. Céleste was now masturbating as she gave fellatio.

  Sarah was laughing as she sat back in her chair. She wasn’t going to need her second bottle. One was plenty. In fact, just a half, which was all she had drunk. Now grinning, she went back to work, accentuating the full pear of Céleste’s out-thrust bottom; adding beads of sweat to Monsieur d’Orsay’s corpulent face; and last, on the second page, where Céleste stood reading the document she had sacrificed so much to obtain, smudged lipstick and a trace of spunk in her raven-black hair.

  ‘You know something, Sarah doll,’ Hugh Bowle said, ‘and I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but when I hired you I thought maybe, just maybe, there was a risk you’d turn out to be a bit prudish for this kind of thing. I take it back. You’re the best.’

  Sarah found herself blushing and smiling as he threw the copy down on the desk. She had come in on the promise of another long afternoon lunch, but made sure that Giles was invited as well, ostensibly as he was part of the team, but in practice because she didn’t want the embarrassment of having to turn
Hugh Bowle down if he propositioned her. Now, as he sat behind his great polished desk with his hands folded over his paunch and his eyes moving alternately between her chest and the copy, she was sure she’d made the right decision.

  She had also decided that as Giles had obviously had nothing to do with events in Paris, Bowle had to. However unlikely it seemed, however inscrutable his motive, there was no other choice. Evidently his friendly manner hid more than a shifty desire to exploit her for her breasts, knowledge that created odd and highly disturbing feelings as he continued to talk.

  ‘There’s good news too. You are going to be syndicated.’

  ‘Excellent!’ Giles responded immediately. Sarah threw him a puzzled look.

  ‘You’ll be in more than one magazine,’ Bowle explained. ‘Our sister publication in the US, some outfit in France, and another in Japan. That pushes your readership up to over half a million, so there’ll be a nice fat increment in your next pay cheque and all.’

  ‘Wonderful,’ Sarah breathed, her delight tempered by shock. ‘Half a million people are going see my work?’

  ‘That’s sales,’ Bowle explained, ‘so maybe a million readers, maybe more. You’ve been well on time too, and you haven’t given me any bullshit, so I’m giving you a little treat, and the chance to soak up some atmosphere. Two tickets to Paris, Eurostar, plus accommodation in a five-star hotel, on the house.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Sarah managed, and meant it, despite the alarm bells already ringing in her head.

  ‘Lunch then,’ Bowle said, slapping his hands on his desk as he rose. ‘Sid’s coming along.’