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Saturday, 16 September 2017

Payment Behind - Part 1

From Blushes Supplement 17
CONNIE’S LUCK CHANGES — AND SO DOES HARRY’S
‘She’ll ‘ave to go,’ said Mrs Brown. Irritably she rang up £1.25 which one of her early morning customers had just tossed on the counter after he’d snatched his fags and a copy of The Sun.
‘Always pays in the end,’ said her husband Harry. ‘Not such a bad kid.’
‘Kid!’ Mrs Brown’s mousey eyebrows went up. ‘She’s no kid. A grown woman now she is.’
You can say that again, thought Harry as he continued to mark up the newspaper round. Damn it, that boy was late again. He should have been there to help. God, what a dreary existence it was! Up in the morning early, every morning doing the papers, during the day scraping about with sweets and cigarettes to make a living. If you could call it that. Nowadays there never seemed to be any money to spare. Damn it, there was a time when he could sneak up West, spend a tenner or so and have a right good time. A piece of arse included. Not now though. Times were hard and if it weren’t for the couple of flats they let above the shop, they’d be harder still.
Grown woman, Madge had said. Well, she was right about that. Connie Harris had got all it takes — and then some. Lovely big tits, a super bottom, and real shapely legs. What age would she be? Could be anything between 18 and 25, Harry reckoned. Difficult to tell with young women these days. Harry, now in his middle fifties, felt a twinge of the Old Adam. There’s still life there, he told himself. Just a question of being able to make use of it. Madge was out of the question, of course. Now just a dried-up old stick. She’d told him to keep his filthy hands off her some ten years ago now. Some wife! He looked across at her on the other counter, seeing her straggled hair. the colour of dirty sand, seeing her tight-pinched mouth with lines running down at its sides, seeing her bony, flat-chested figure. Some wife!
‘Yes, she’ll ‘ave to go,’ repeated Madge Brown.
‘If you say so, my dear,’ responded Harry, not wishing to get in an argument with Madge.
‘She’s over a month behind now, you know.’
‘I’ll see her. I’ll tell her she’s got to go. Unless.’
‘Yes... unless she pays right up to date. Then goes on paying every week. I’m sure we’d easy get someone more respectable than ‘er.’
‘She’s respectable enough,’ protested Harry. ‘Works in that estate agent’s in Maybury.’
Madge snorted. ‘Reckon she’s no better than she ought to be,’ she said.
Harry vaguely wondered what was meant by that. He finished marking papers just as the boy arrived. ‘You’re late,’ he snapped.
‘Alarm clock didn’t go orf,’ answered the pale-faced boy. Harry saw that the boy’s nails were grimed as he picked up the pile of papers for delivery. Typical of today’s kids, he thought. What was the world coming to?
‘I’m goin’ off for a cuppa,’ announced Madge. The ritual was always the same. Harry glanced up at the clock. Yes... the time was 6.45 am. He’d be on his own for half an hour then Madge would come back in time for the main morning rush. I’m like a mouse on a wheel, thought Harry. Round and round, day after day. No escape. A modern-day version of an old-time slave. Admittedly, he’d got a few thousand saved up for his old age. Then Madge’s mum ought to pop off soon and there’d be another few thousand there. Still, it wasn’t enough to ‘break out’. Nowhere near enough to do what you wanted. To live in the sun, pull young birds, have all the booze and fags you could take. Above all, get away from the old woman... and the daily grind.
With a sigh, Harry opened one of parcels delivered the night before by his wholesaler. A copy of Mayfair lay on top and Harry’s beady eyes homed in on the glossy colour pictures displayed. A nude girl was crouching, back to the camera, head half turned, displaying the most splendidly curvaceous hindquarters. My God, what an arse! How provocatively it jutted, thought Harry. What couldn’t he do with that! What wouldn’t he do... if only he had the chance! Yes... yes... first he’d smack it. My God, he’d really smack it! Harry began to fantasise as he so often did these days. Yes, he’d smack it till his hand hurt and his arm ached. Then, maybe, he’d cane it. Mmm... yes... it would be a lovely bottom to cane. In fact, he might cane it first. Before he... he...
‘A packet of green papers, Mr Brown. If you can spare a moment.’
Harry jumped. Damn it, there was young Billy Fraser grinning at him. He felt his cheeks colouring as if he were no more than a kid himself.
‘Er... yes... green papers, Billy...’ He handed them over, taking the cash automatically.
‘Nice bit of crumpet that, eh?’ leered the young man as he turned and left. Angrily, Harry threw the magazine back on its pile. How annoying to be caught out like that. I suppose Billy thought he was past it, said Harry to himself. Thought he could only get any fun by just looking. Well, it wasn’t so. Harry assured himself. Not, mark you, with a very great deal of confidence. Anyway, he’d have a thorough look at Mayfair a little later on. In private. Usually there were quite a few bottoms on display which were what Harry classified as ‘very smackable’.
The number of customers began to increase. Mirror, Sun, Sun, Express... packet of Embassy... bar of chocolate... Sun, Sun... packet of nuts... ounce of Gold Leaf… Mirror, Mirror, Sun, Express, Exchange and Mart. On and on it went, with the till piping away its merry tune. If only all the receipts were mine, thought Harry. But he was hardly more than a bloody tax collector, what with the cigarettes and the VAT. Was it really worth it?
It seemed even less worth it when Madge returned and started bitching and binding in between serving an increasing stream of customers. Harry was glad when 9 o’clock came and he was allowed off for a breakfast and a couple of hours rest.
----//----
Connie Harris lay awake cursing her luck. She didn’t smoke, drank very little, but she did gamble. Which was strange considering how unlucky she was. Take last night when she’d gone to Walthamstow dogs. She’d been nicely up after two races, level after four, well up again after six. It was at that point she decided to have a really big gamble... a Combination Forecast of dogs 2, 4 and 6. She put on all her winnings, reckoning she could clear a lot of her debts if one of the Forecasts came up. All the way, 2 and 4 had led. It looked as if, for once, her luck was in. Then that damned 1 dog had come like an express train from the last bend. He’d just — but only just — got up into second place. It had gone to a photo and 1 had got home by a whisker. It really was the cruellest of luck. Just an inch or so making the difference of hundreds of pounds. Getting her off the hook. For the time being anyway.
As it was she still was overdrawn by about £300 at the bank, still owed H.P. on the fridge, washing machine and telly and was still five weeks behind with her rent. And that rent was the most worrying. Those Browns would be hammering on her door any day now. She wouldn’t put it past them to have her evicted. Then where would she be? Connie knew her rent was very reasonable... and she’d have to pay more, and find ‘key money’ to get somewhere else.
In short, she was in one hell of a fix, with no one to turn to. She’d borrowed from all her friends and never paid them back; the bank had had enough of her. Certainly nothing doing there. Oh Lord, why couldn’t she be lucky for once? Just once!
Filled with self-pity, Connie found herself crying. But, deep down, she knew it was all her own fault.
Connie cried some more, before finally falling into a restless sleep.
----//----
‘You goin’ to have it out with ‘er then?’ enquired Madge Brown. ‘Better you than me. You’re the man.’ Madge was not exactly in the advance guard of Women’s Lib.
‘Suppose so...’ Harry was not exactly keen. He didn’t like asking people for money, especially young women. Basically, he was weak and good-hearted, probably that was why he had never been successful. There was always the Kingdom of Heaven left, of course.
Harry finished his tea (sausages, chips, baked beans and brown sauce) and went to have a wash. Then he actually put on a clean shirt and tie. For some reason he felt he had to make a good impression and he felt strangely nervous of the young woman he was about to confront. It was as if he were in the wrong and not she. Madge would be much harder on her than me, he thought. He went through the shop and turned left to the grimy yellow door which ensured the flats above were ‘self-contained’. He pushed the buzzer marked, ‘Harris’.
‘Yes?’ asked a voice through the tiny loudspeaker grille. ‘Who is it?’
‘Mr Brown,’ said Harry formally.
‘Ah... is it?’ There was a pause. ‘Come up then.’ There was a louder buzz, the door gave a click and Harry pushed it open. He mounted the narrow stairs, noting how worn the gaudy flower-patterned carpet was.
The door of Connie Harris’s small flat was open. ‘Come in,’ she called as he came along the passageway. In Harry went, feeling even more nervous. Yet there was somehow an exciting intimacy about entering a young woman’s flat. This was where she slept... where she had her... well... her... better not go into that. There was a faint smell of past cooking intermingled with air-freshener plus a background of other distinctly female scents. Young females, that is. You did not get such scents in the Brown’s living quarters. Harry was slightly taken aback to see that Connie was wearing a white dressing gown of some sort of thin material. Admittedly it was full-length and tightly belted, but there was quite an opening at the top. He averted his eyes from a deep cleft between two swelling mounds. Then wished he hadn’t done so. He wondered what was under the dressing gown.
‘Please sit down, Mr Brown,’ smiled Connie, indicating a rather grubby armchair. It was a furnished flat so the girl couldn’t be blamed.
‘Er... thank you... Miss Harris...’ Harry didn’t quite know what to do with his hands.
‘Connie, surely?’ Another sweet smile. ‘It used to be. I suppose it’s about the rent, Mr Brown? Or may I call you Harry?’
Harry coughed. ‘Er, well... if you like I suppose...’ I’m in the flat of a young woman and she’s maybe only got her dressing gown on, thought Harry, feeling suddenly hot all over. Crikey! Who’d have believed it? He remembered that bare bottom he’d been studying in Mayfair during the afternoon and almost choked.
‘Is there anything the matter, Harry?’
‘N-no... no... M-Miss Harris... I mean... Connie... yes... I’m afraid it is about the rent. The wife sent me.’ Coward! Why couldn’t he take the responsibility himself?
‘I’ve had a hard time. My dear old mum... I’ve had to send her money.’ Lies of course. Still, one had to say something. ‘It’s just not possible for me to pay at the moment, Harry.’
Was it Harry’s imagination or was that dressing gown opening further at its top? He could see an awful lot of succulent white flesh. A lovely lot. Another of those hot flushes went all over him.
‘Madge won’t like that,’ he mumbled, striving to keep his eyes off that inviting flesh... and failing. ‘She... er... said you’d have to go. If you didn’t pay, like. I’m sorry... but there you are. Madge insists, see?’
‘It seems to me, Harry,’ said Connie, ‘that you should be in charge of this situation.’ She smiled winningly. ‘Surely a man like you... a mature man I mean... doesn’t let his wife run his affairs?’
‘Well... er... no... not exactly...’
At that moment Connie crossed her legs, the dressing gown fell open and the whole of a bare leg and most of a bare thigh were revealed. Harry’s throat went dry. This is it, he thought suddenly, feeling panic and excitement in equal proportions. You read about such things... but now it was actually happening to him. To him! Harry Brown, miserably married, with a conf./tob.
‘Don’t you think we might come to some arrangement, Harry?’
‘A-arrangement?’ Harry knew he was flushing; looking foolish. But the intensity of his excitement was growing by the moment. Could it be possible there was going to be a little adventure in his life at last? That one of his many fantasies was going to become a reality! He felt himself shaking and there was a kind of buzzing sound in his head.
‘Yes, an arrangement, Harry,’ said Connie, standing up. ‘Care for a drink? Scotch... gin?’ Go for broke. Connie had pledged her credit for the last time at the off-licence.
‘Scotch... ’ croaked Harry. ‘Please...’
Connie Harris poured two large ones. ‘Sorry about the mugs,’ she said, ‘I seem to be out of glasses.’ She made sure that her dressing gown fell even further open at the top. She could see the way Harry’s hand shook as he gulped down his drink that she was winning. Now it was only a question of what she was going to have to do.
----//----
Two more large drinks later, Connie went across and stroked Harry’s still thick hair. ‘I’m sure, Harry, there’s something I can do for you. Something which will get me out of this financial mess. Don’t you think?’
Harry was becoming feverish, his mind filling with erotic images. I’ll get her to show me her bottom, he thought, feeling a lust he had not known for years. Maybe I’ll even smack it! That lust intensified. I suppose she thinks I want sex with her, he thought, but he didn’t reckon he could quite do that. Not right now. With all the Scotch... and what with one thing and another. That Mayfair had excited him rather a lot during the afternoon... and, well, the expected had happened.
‘I... I suppose... we might arrange something,’ he heard himself saying. ‘As long as Madge doesn’t know.’
‘She’ll never know,’ promised Connie. And she meant it. Suddenly it looked as if she were going to be living rent free. If only she knew what she was going to have to do!
‘That’s alright then.’ Harry swallowed his drink. ‘There’s about £280 outstanding,’ he said. ‘A lot of money.’
‘Not all that much really,’ smiled Connie, still stroking Harry’s hair. ‘What would you like me to do, Harry? Come on, be honest. Trust me.’
Could he ask her? Dare he ask her? Probably she’d just laugh at him. Then the whisky gave him an unexpected courage. ‘I... I’d like to... to smack your bottom,’ said Harry.
Perhaps it was a shock but Connie expressed a vague sense of relief. So he was one of those, was he? Been dreaming about it for years, no doubt. But at least it wasn’t actual sex. At least, it seemed not. ‘Is that so, Harry,’ she said smoothly. ‘You are a naughty boy, aren’t you?’
Harry managed a weak grin; he knew he was half drunk. ‘Suppose I am,’ he replied, watching Connie glide across the room and open a drawer. She came back with her rent book and opened it. ‘Just sign, Harry,’ she said smoothly, ‘and you can smack my bottom for as long as you want.’
Harry looked at her. He might be half drunk but he wasn’t that far gone. He grinned again. ‘Not all £280, dear. Not for one spanking.’
Connie’s pretty face twisted in annoyance. He wasn’t just a Dirty Old Man, he was a mean one as well. She had hoped the whisky and the prospect of her luscious body might have removed all such inhibitions. The mean old bugger; that shop must make a bomb.
‘Look, what d’you expect from a respectable girl. I mean you want me to bare my bottom for you. What if I told Mrs Brown?’
‘I’d tell her you made it up,’ said Harry. ‘And you’d still be owing £280. Come on, be sensible. I’ll wipe off £20. That’s fair.’
‘Twenty bloody quid!’ Connie sounded incredulous. ‘You’re joking!’ A pause. ‘Let’s say £50.’
But money talks, they say, and Connie didn’t have any. It was finally decided that £25 would be wiped off the slate. And Harry, making sure he got full value, decreed that his tenant had to lift her dressing gown right up round her waist. Connie made a show of reluctance but £25 was after all not to be sneezed at and she had been considering maybe having to do something more than submit to a spanking. There was, of course, all the rest of the arrears but there was no point thinking about that now. She got Harry to sign her rent book.
As for Harry, a marvellous vista was opening up before his eyes. He was going to have this young woman’s bottom to spank, week after week! It would cost him, of course, but wouldn’t it be worth it? Oh yes, it would, it would! The alcohol was making everything seem rosier and rosier. Everything was possible. What did it matter if he spent his life-savings so long as he got what he really wanted.
And what he wanted was a lovely piece of arse...
To smack and smack!
‘Are we ready then?’ he asked.
Connie nodded. Harry watched the gown slowly lifted. Yes, she was nude underneath. He saw a curving belly... a dark triangle below...
Then Connie was spread across his lap and he was presented with the sumptuous curves of her buttocks. They were quite magnificent. Literally taking his breath away for the moment. This was far, far better than that Mayfair bottom. This was real!
For the moment Harry hesitated; he couldn’t quite believe it was actually happening. Perhaps he’d wake up with a whacking great hard-on and a sense of frustration. Then he lightly patted Connie’s lush bottom, seeing the white flesh quiver. No. That was no dream!
‘Something wrong, Harry?’ Connie sounded calmer than she felt. She had never imagined she would have to use her bottom in this fashion. All the same she wasn’t scared. If Harry started to get too rough, well, there was always that Mrs Brown downstairs.
‘N-no... no... I was just thinking what... what a marvellous bum you’ve got.’
‘Thanks, Harry... but kindly get on with it, will you? I’m beginning to feel cold.’
Harry took a deep breath... and got on with it.
He slapped the cheek furthest from him, then the one nearest to him. It felt terrific and he loved the way the flesh quivered. Like jelly. He repeated the slaps, raising more red splodges. Then he smacked that big bottom fully in its centre... up the top, in the middle, right low down. It quivered and bounced even more. All Connie did was make little gasping sounds. Harry could see her nails digging into the pile of the carpet. Back he went to slapping alternate cheeks. He wondered how much he was hurting her. He began to smack harder as he gained more confidence. This produced some ‘Ow’s’ and ‘Ahh’s’ from Connie who also began to twist and turn from side to side. That only added to Harry’s pleasure. He could feel the softness of her belly bouncing on his thighs... and also the steadily increasing hardness of himself. She must feel it too, he thought. His brain seemed to be glowing. God... this was wonderful! He was actually smacking a young woman’s bare bottom. Smacking it and smacking it! Hard... hard... hard... harder! Never before... never... had Harry known such an intensity of lustful excitement.
Suddenly, Connie twisted down on to the floor. She was half-sobbing. ‘Th-that’s enough... that’s enough...’ she gasped. Her bottom was now a bright pink-red all over and she pressed her hands to it. Harry felt elation, yet a sense of disappointment too. Still, he’d had a real good go at her; couldn’t expect to go on for ever. My, how his palm was burning! So what must her bum feel like! ‘Go and get me a cold flannel from the bathroom, Harry,’ he heard her say.
Harry went to get a flannel, dripping with cold water, and watched as Connie pressed it to her glowing flesh. She gave a little groan. ‘OK?’ he asked sympathetically.
She nodded. And shortly was sitting up and seeming unconcerned that she was showing him a pair of breasts that were as splendid as her hindquarters.
‘I suppose you enjoyed that,’ she said wryly.
‘I’ll say!’ Harry replied with enthusiasm. ‘How about you? Does it hurt?’
Connie said a rueful ‘Yes.’ Because it did still. A hot, stinging glow.
‘When shall we do it again? I mean there’s all the rest of the rent.’
Connie made a face. It had really bloody stung. ‘What about your wife?’ she asked.
‘Ah,’ said Harry. It was like a dash of cold water. Yes, Madge. His dear wife.
----//----
‘You get it?’ enquired Madge. What a contrast, reflected Harry. Two ends of the spectrum of the female sex.
‘Giving me the lot tomorrow,’ he replied.
Madge looked astounded. ‘She must ‘ave come into some money,’ she said. ‘You sure?’
‘Course I’m sure. I had to be firm with her though. I reckon she’ll pay on the dot in future.’
‘Cor... you stink of whisky!’
‘She gave me a drop.’ And a lot more besides, thought Harry happily.
‘Told you, she must have come into money. Keeping spirits in the ‘ouse, indeed!’
‘She’s not a bad girl, really,’ said Harry. He felt like adding, she’s got one of the best backsides you’re ever likely to set eyes upon. He thought for a moment about the financial aspect. He didn’t like not getting the rent. It would cost him. But then, it’s only money, he told himself. What was that compared with having access to a bum like that?
‘What makes you think she ain’t bad?’ said Madge sourly. ‘Reckon I might be able to guess where she come by the money.’
‘Madge... how can you say such a thing!’ said Harry indignantly. ‘She’s respectable, she is. I’m sure of it!’
With a disbelieving grunt, Madge stalked out of the room and it was only with difficulty that Harry stopped himself bursting out loud with laughter. If only the old bag knew!
Oh dear... oh dear... if only she knew!

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