The third of a four-part story, from Blushes 4
At the top of the house the noise from the party downstairs is reduced to a distant rhythmic thump, with raised voices occasionally combining in what could be cheers or shouts of encouragement. The room is a bedroom, the windows curtained and the only light coming from a shaded bedside lamp which sheds a soft glow on satin sheets and on lace-edged pillows at the head of a wide bed.
Seated on the bed is Henry, his spectacles poised pedantically half-way down his nose whilst he lectures Amanda, not for the first time, as to what is expected of her.
The girl stands with a half demure, half resentful tilt to her hips, her wide blue eyes nervous, her mouth softened by a trace of her characteristic childish pout. She has been spanked, and thoroughly; her saucy bottom, briefly knickered in an insubstantial pair of black nylon panties with one cheek barer than the other where the knickers have been pulled aside and left lodged in the cleft of her buttocks, is hot with fresh spank marks and hued overall with a suffused crimson glow. She nods attentively now and then and whispers ‘Yes, yes, sir,’ touching gingerly with the tips of her fingers at her smacked bottom as though to remind herself, perhaps, that ‘yes’ is probably the safest thing to say this evening no matter what the suggestion might be.
|‘Come on — over onto your back.’|
She shifts her hips, uncertain and uneasy, and pushes a toe into the pile of a soft cream-coloured rug, her toe-nails painted iridescent pink to match the sequined choker at her throat and the straps of her shoes. A single pink bow, very small, nestles between her breasts, attached to a half-cup bra, black to match the knickers and adjusted tight and high to make the most of her full young tits. The aureole of an erect nipple rises like a little rose-coloured moon behind the minutely-laced cup-edge of the bra, the nipple bud itself only just out of sight.
|‘Tears won’t change anything —’|
Asked at length if she thinks she’s ‘got all that clear’, Amanda nods meekly and says she thinks so, sir, most of it, but she takes a little tip-of-the-tongue lick at her lips, wanting to protest that it’s all a bit more than she’d bargained for when she let him inveigle her into this party thing, but too shy of making herself seem silly actually to say so. She isn’t entirely clear on a few points though; timidly she requests elucidation…
‘Um, sir — do I h-have to get — um — spanked anymore sir. I-I mean, if I’m really, really good. Do I sir — have to get spanked?’
Henry raises his eyebrows. Stupid child — what else does she think happens at spanking parties if the girls don’t get spanked!
‘It rather depends, Amanda. Perhaps, perhaps not.’ It’s the best he can do without telling either the truth — yes, her chubby young bottom is going to get spanked and spanked until she won’t even be able to feel if she’s even got her knickers on or not — or a downright lie. He smiles encouragingly.
‘You’ve done jolly well so far, my dear. You’ve made quite an impression on some of the people here.’ Some of them had already made a marked impression on the girl’s bottom too, of course, but that was all part of the fun — ‘That’s the kind of public relations that does the firm good — you’re an asset to the company if you can get people to remember your face, you know.’
Amanda, whose spank-tender bottom is what she’s going to be remembered for, brightens a little and she ventures a tiny smile.
‘That’s the spirit, Amanda,’ coaxes Henry. ‘Now then — perhaps you’d better make yourself comfortable before — er, before you come down eh?’ Amanda looks uncomprehending. ‘What I meant was, you’d better go to the lavatory.’
‘Oh,’ she doesn’t really take the point, but she nods and says she will. Henry leaves her and goes downstairs, chuckling at the thought of his contribution to the party fun wetting her knickers across someone’s lap whilst he’s giving her a good spanking. Perhaps he shouldn’t have mentioned it after all.