The second of a four-part story, from Blushes 4
Wandering idly down the columns of the Financial Times, for want of some other occupation that might convey an impression of patient unconcernedness as to the predicament which his youthful assistant presently found herself in, Henry listened keenly nevertheless, and not without amusement, to the girl’s sotto voce imprecation as she struggled with the zip of her skirt, which had chosen this most inconvenient of moments to stick fast. Out of the corner of his eye he followed her mounting exasperation as she tugged fiercely at the tab, getting steadily pinker in the face and more brutal in her assault on the zip by the minute, and all without result unless one counted the expression of flustered pique on her face and the breast-enhancing dishabille of her pale yellow blouse, occasioned by her having wrestled the hip-situated fastening of her skirt part-way round her waist in the course of her battle with its unhelpful zip.
One good look at Amanda’s boisterously-provided young body — and anyone might have been forgiven for taking such a look, or even a second one — would immediately have absolved the zip from all blame in the matter of its non-cooperation; in attempting to perform its designed function it clearly had been working in an over-strained capacity and had quite blamelessly become the weakest link in the tightly-stretched skirt’s task of clothing the girl’s hips. ‘Plump’ might have been the word that sprang to mind to describe Amanda’s lower anatomical bestowal, yet had the notion of plumpness implied any measure of oversizedness then ‘plump’ would have been an inadequate description; Amanda’s body owed its exuberant contours entirely to the firm-fleshed blossoming of youth and its appearance of being too full for the charcoal grey skirt only to the dictates of the particular fashion which the girl followed, precociously aware of — yet apparently indifferent to — the enervating effect that tight-bummed skirts on well-shaped bottoms could have on gentlemen with a liking for the smackable ends of young office girls.
At last, though only after a frustrated whisper which started with an indefinite consonant and ended with an ‘uck’, Amanda gave up. A week ago Henry would have winced at what he thought she’d said — now he merely smiled behind his newspaper. Polite, helpful and well-brought up though she was, and despite the fact that the use of such a rude word less than a month ago would have earned her a detention and a bare-bummed slippering from the headmistress of her boarding school, Amanda occasionally let slip the odd word which contrasted earthily with the respectable reality of her excellent education, and these slips of the tongue, pronounced as they were with a middle-class inflexion and a suggestion of schoolgirlish naughtiness, taken together with the rather un-middle-class bounciness of her breasts and the working girl sauciness of her bottom, tempted one to think of her as a clergyman’s daughter who had somehow grown up to be a sweet and paradoxically naive little tart. Henry did allow himself a slight lift of his eyebrows though, which the girl caught as she looked up guiltily as she realised what she’d said. To cover her lapse, or perhaps to attempt to excuse it, she blurted out plaintively:
‘Sir — its stuck, sir! I can’t make it work at all!’ She still fumbled with the fastener but without enthusiasm, her blouse rucked up and a bottom button undone, a strand of hair adrift across her forehead.
‘Tut-tut. Come here…’ Henry’s purposely indulgent tone, his quiet chuckle of paternal amusement at the fruitlessness of Amanda’s efforts to undress herself — really, one would have thought that at her age — encouraged Amanda to affect a childish pout as she came with a deliberate show of hesitation to his knee, a purposely juvenile gesture no less appealing for its lack of sophistication, tried on, no doubt, in the hope that it might elicit a little sympathy for a girl who really didn’t want to have her bottom spanked, not again, please sir, and doubly arousing by its wideness of the mark. For of course, if there was anything calculated to enhance the pleasure of spanking an office girl’s bottom, it would be the suggestion that despite her attempts to appear grown-up she was still, underneath, a schoolgirl who could pout at the mention of smacked bottoms and make rueful faces when told to take her knickers down in order to facilitate the chastisement of her bum.
His enjoyment of this little ritual already heightened therefore by the girl’s ill-judged attempt at the art of coquettishness, Henry coaxed her to stand between his knees so that he could study the problem at close quarters, turning her with a hand at either hip until she was sideways on, and brushing her own hand aside as she said, ‘See, sir…!’ and pulled petulantly at the tab to demonstrate its stuck-fastness.
Henry perceived at once that the zip was beyond the scope of cunning to dislodge; several teeth were now missing and others were bent out of line — brute force alone would serve. Undismayed at the prospect of having to rip the girl’s skirt off— it wasn’t quite so dramatic as that, of course, but the notion was still attractive— Henry dithered over undressing his assistant whilst his left hand took the opportunity to slide confidently down the inward-sloping curve of her tummy to the point where the tightness of the skirt across the front of her thighs just barely allowed knowing fingers to discover the beginning of the plump swell of her pubic mound under the material, his other hand meanwhile traversing the pert cheekiness of her buttocks and discovering the faint tactile trace of her knickers cutting up diagonally across her bum-cheeks under the tight grey cloth. The underlying touch of warm girl-flesh begging mutely to be undressed and rendered nakedly accessible to the chastising hand prompted him to pat the firm weightiness of those cheeks whilst Amanda pouted the more and risked a plea that she shouldn’t be spanked please sir, because she really hadn’t been very naughty and it made her bottom so sore, sir, all of which, though he affected merely to ignore the girl’s protestations, simply excited Henry’s enthusiasm for the feel of hot, well-spanked buttocks under his palm.
One carefully-managed pull at the weakened stitching parted zip from skirt; in the vee-shaped split which opened a hint of bareness and the stretch of yellow nylon knickers across smooth skin encouraged immediate investigation. Prising Amanda’s fingers from their nervous grasp of the skirt’s waistband, Henry tugged it down over her hips, tight-fitting as it still was, and a bit of bare tummy appeared below her suspender belt before her hands came reluctantly to his assistance. Amanda’s help wasn’t really needed, and she only did it anyway as a gesture of compliance that belied the anxiety tweaking emptily in her belly. Another determined tug and the skirt pulled down off her hips, taking her knickers with it by reason of its close fit around her bottom and upper thighs. Her suddenly exposed pubic hair was hidden instantly behind a hand as the girl realised the extent of her nakedness and groped unsportingly with the other hand for her knickers.
‘No, no, no —!’ He chided her patiently and slapped the back of a thigh by way of emphasis. ‘They’ve got to come down anyway,’ he said, and looked up into her flushed face. ‘Haven’t they, Amanda? Hmm?’
‘Er y-yes sir…’
‘Turn round.’ She turned, her hips warm under his hands, her skirt slipping to the floor and her bottom-cheeks, huddling petulantly together above the pulled-down stretch of her knickers, wobbling with an inconsistent firmness as he slid her pants down to mid-thigh level. ‘Come along now…’
There being no point in delay, he turned her sideways again and tipped her across his left knee; there being no point either in haste, he let her arrange herself across his knee, with wriggles of her hips and faint pants as she lifted herself a little this way and slid a bit that way, until at last she had settled nervously over his thigh. He crossed his free leg over the backs of both of hers, bending her so that with her weight chiefly on the far side of his thigh, her bottom was pushed out neatly and provocatively and in just the right place for a leisurely spanking to be applied to it.
‘Hands!’ She reached back with her hands, putting them together behind her back so that they could be held well out of the way of the spanks which were about to be applied to her bottom, restive as he patted her helplessly proffered cheeks and complaining uncertainly as several of the play-pats turned out to be more like smacks and some of those proved to be spanks-in-earnest, and then didn’t she make a fuss! More playful slappings, a downward readjustment of her mid-thigh knickers and then two more of those bum-stinging spanks, one applied determinedly to each cheek. Amanda wriggled, bouncing her hips on her boss’s leg, and whimpered fearfully that those really hurt, sir!
‘Dearie me,’ sympathised Henry, and spanked her a second time just as hard, again one on each cheek.
‘Ooow! Oooh-oooo!’ Amanda squirmed unhappily and more of the I-like-the-feel-of-this-little-bottom pats teased the tender bits of her bum where the real spanks had landed.
‘Please sir — please don’t, not too hard — please!’ More pats, a hefty spank or two, resumed protests from the gasping Amanda, more cheerful, teasing slaps just to keep her nervous bottom skittishly animated, then another two or three good, hard spanks.
Ten minutes slipped pleasantly by, though those same minutes were more than a little fraught for the young office girl, whose composure was entirely undermined by the unpredictable arrival of those real bum-tweaking spanks; but Henry enjoyed himself enormously.
After fifteen minutes, with Amanda now not exactly weeping but not exactly not weeping either, with her bottom, trembling under the lightest of pats, swerving convulsively away with every medium-weight slap and jerking spasmodically whenever one of the really meaty spanks arrived, Henry paused for a moment’s reflection, felt tempted to give her the thorough, no-nonsense spanking she’d never had as yet, settled for a couple more of the good hard spanks that made her squeal and then told her, as patronisingly as ever, to stand up and dry her eyes and to stop being silly or he’d give her some more!
Sheepishly the girl scrambled to her feet, her cheeks flushed and her knickers slithering embarrassingly to her feet as she groped for them at her knees.
‘I’m not crying!’ she blurted defiantly, though they both knew that that was a situation which another half-dozen good, hard spanks would have altered without any trouble at all.
‘Show me your bottom,’ said Henry, conversationally.
‘No,’ said Amanda, though she backed away as she said it.
‘Show me your bottom, Amanda.’The girl’s tongue peeped briefly in nervous defiance from between her lips. She edged a little further away as she realised that perhaps she shouldn’t have done it, then reluctantly she turned her bottom for him to see, keeping one eye on him over her shoulder the while. A tear, which no doubt she would have hotly denied had he teased her about it, rolled down the flushed freshness of a cheek. He smiled. There would be plenty more tears from this young lady on Saturday night — she wouldn’t be standing in the middle of the circle pretending that she wasn’t crying then! Her only hope was that the committee might realise she had more to offer than a spankable young bottom; he would have to have a word with Alfie and see if he could fix it.