Bad Penny (10 page)

‘Me please, Katie,' I said, putting my paws up under my chin to imitate a puppy begging.

She smiled, a mischievous grin, and pointed to my shorts. I let them slip to the ground and stepped out of them, suddenly finding my breathing coming deep and my pulse hammering. There was something commanding about her now, something deliciously commanding. Without warning, she reached out and took me by the hair, pulling me abruptly forward and over the shelf. I realised what she intended an instant before it happened and opened my mouth to catch my breath, only to have it filled with gooey peach as my face was pushed into i:he tray.

I wriggled and squirmed, pretending to struggle but at the same time lifting my bottom in the hope that Kate would smack it. I was sure she would and, just as I had expected, her palm came down hard, full across the cheeks of my bum. It stung and made me jump, but she held me firmly in place, planting another hard smack and then going to work in earnest, spanking me while I wiggled and danced in my exquisite pain. My face was covered in peach flesh, Kate pushing it back in each time I came up for air, and I could picture my bottom going pink, then red as the stinging slaps covered every square inch of my cheeks.

Finally I could take no more and begged her to stop, which she did after one final hard slap on the plumpest part of my bottom. I felt no urge to move, but lay whimpering with my face in the remains of the peaches. My bottom felt warm and tingly and I was acutely aware of my exposed position, T-shirt up around my neck, little breasts dangling naked, bare scarlet bottom raised high, legs open and my pussy completely vulnerable to Kate.

‘Lick me,' I begged.

She didn't reply, but traced a long line down my back with a fingernail and then moved round to kneel behind me. I couldn't see her, and there was an agonising moment of suspense before I felt her tongue touch the smarting surface of my freshly spanked bottom. It felt cool and wet against my hot flesh, dabbing at my cheeks, then moving into the centre, touching within an inch of my anus and finally finding my pussy. For a moment she teased, flicking her tongue on my pussy-lips, only to suddenly bury her face in my rear and start licking my clit. I groaned and pushed my bottom into her face, instantly in ecstasy and knowing that I would come without difficulty. Spanking always helps me to come, but even with Alex I'd never known such a quick hit of pleasure – and, goodness knows, he used to spank me and lick me often enough. Maybe it was because Kate was a girl and had her own pussy, but she seemed to know just what to do. I came in her face, calling out her name as my orgasm hit me and her tongue pressed hard on my button.

When I had finished I turned and we drew together, cuddling blissfully into each other's arms. Our bodies were wet with peach juice and sweat and she felt warm and soft in my arms as I kissed her and squeezed her. We stayed like that for a long time, just cuddling, which was something that Alex never really did. Finally we pulled apart and looked at each other, then simultaneously burst out laughing at the state of our hopelessly peach-sodden clothes and hair. I turned to show her my still-smarting bottom and gave her a look of mock reproach.

‘I've wanted to do that for ages!' she said brightly.

‘And I've wanted you to do it for ages,' I admitted. ‘Thank you, it was lovely.'

She didn't reply, but looked shyly at the ground and flicked her foot at a piece of peach flesh.

‘I . . . I'm really glad you came to me,' she said at length. ‘I can't remember the time when I didn't want to do that, but I never dared.'

‘Me, too,' I responded and held out my arms for her.

6

Teenage Reprieve

My first year at university changed my life completely. I was still technically a teenager, yet with my new-found intellectual confidence and my relationship with Alex Shaw, all the insecurities and uncertainties of adolescence had gone. Or, at least, I thought they had. It wasn't for another five years that I discovered otherwise.

The Channel Island holidays that had been so much a part of my life from my earliest childhood had come to a stop when I had gone to university. In the summer after my first year, I spent most of my time with Alex and hadn't joined my mother and aunt on holiday. After that the habit lapsed, and when my mother finally gave up on the grounds that the place was just too crowded, that appeared to be the end of it. Only when I was a first-year PhD student and had come to think of myself as a confident, modern young woman, did I go back.

It happened as a result of the collapse of my relationship with Alex. We'd been together over five years and had really got rather bogged down. He still had the smutty, schoolboy-like lust for me that had appealed so much at first, yet, for all the time we'd been together, he still wasn't as cuddly and loving as I felt I needed.

We had organised a trip to the Loire Valley together, camping and visiting the great chateaus and vin eyards. The idea was to revitalise our relationship, but unfortunately it didn't work, making things worse instead of better. It came to a head one night in a campsite outside Chinon, and the next morning we went our separate ways without a word.

Fortunately, my parents had been generous and I had enough money to see myself safely back to England. More than enough, in fact, and so I decided to take it slowly. I was feeling confused, but actually quite happy and liberated, and so decided on a tour of Brittany and Normandy. This was great fun, and included a couple of worthwhile sexual encounters as well. The first of these was hitching a lift and ending up being fucked in the cab of a lorry by the huge, hairy French driver. There was something primevally lustful about the way he mounted me and just fucked and fucked until I was sore. The second was getting drunk in a café in Cherbourg and ending up in bed with a French girl and her lover. We put on a show for him, stripping and playing with each other's breasts. Just as we were climbing into a sixty-nine, the door burst open and her husband came in.

That left me on the streets of Cherbourg at two in the morning, drunk, horny and without the foggiest idea what to do. Most of my stuff was in the auberge I'd booked into before getting drunk, and that was firmly closed up for the night. I didn't dare wake the fiery old matron who ran it, although the idea did give me a rather nice fantasy about being put over her knee and spanked for being a drunken slut. It was warm enough, so I began to walk the streets, ending up down at the harbour. I sat down on a bench to watch the gentle waves lap at the quay, feeling more free than I ever had before. All I had was a light dress and my bag. In the hurry to escape what looked like blowing up into a nasty fight, I'd left my panties on the floor and was completely bare under my dress.

My bench was set back into a dark recess and I was completely alone, so I pulled my dress up and began to play with myself: just gently, not really intending to come but just for the soothing pleasure of stroking my pussy. I started to think about the girl I'd been going to lick. I hadn't even known her name, but we'd been intending to lick each other to orgasm in front of her lover. Just knowing that I'd have done it felt so dirty, and I was much too drunk to feel any guilt at all. My thoughts went back to my cousin Kate and my first lesbian experience, wallowing together in a mess of peach pulp and bringing each other to orgasm. Twice at university I'd ended up in bed with other girls, always drunk and always guilty and ashamed in the morning. Not that it stopped me going back for more.

It was noticing that one of the boats in the harbour had a Guernsey registration that turned my thoughts further back still, to the Channel Island holidays of my childhood and teenage years. I hadn't made a very good teenager, lacking the qualities needed in such a restrictive, structured social environment. This had been especially true on the Channel Islands, where my experience with the perverse Ryan had been my only really worthwhile sexual experience. At the time I'd felt used and had been rather shocked. Now it would have been different. I'd have given him a long, slow striptease, allowing him to concentrate on my bottom, which was what he liked best. I would have pretended to be coy, getting him more and more wound up but making sure we fucked and ended up with his cock deep up my bumhole.

Looking at the boat, I began to think of the rough, manly fishermen I'd known. None had ever shown much interest in me, preferring Kate's more opulent curves and extrovert character. Her boyfriend Carl had been the best of them: big, strong, swarthy and lusty, not unlike the lorry driver who'd fucked me the week before. The boat in front of me was not his father's, or I think I'd have borrowed a rowing boat and gone out to it. As it was, the proximity of the island started to tempt me and I began to wonder about going there.

There was no reason why not. I was completely free, with no obligation to be anywhere or to see anyone for over a month. My mother would be cross when she heard I'd been wandering around France on my own instead of coming straight home, but that was something I could handle when the time came. Nothing was stopping me and, by the time I had soothed myself into a light sleep, I was on a full-blown nostalgia trip for my teenage years.

The next morning I retrieved my bags from the hotel, showered and breakfasted. The big Frenchwoman was a bit sniffy with me, but unfortunately didn't whip me over her knee for a panties-down spanking, contenting herself with a remark I didn't understand as I left. I was determined on the course of action I had decided on the previous night and made straight for the airport.

The journey is so short that the planes barely get to a cruising altitude before coming down again, and before noon I was looking out of my window at the fields and cliffs of the island I was so familiar with. I could even make out the Val de Fret, and the German bunker in which I had had my encounter with Ryan. I felt so nostalgic for it all that there were tears in my eyes, with all the bad times forgotten and all the good enhanced a thousandfold.

One sniff of the air as I stepped from the plane and everything changed. It was a hot day, with a light breeze blowing the smell of the sea over the tarmac. Everything came rushing back with a force that made me feel weak. All my sorrows and insecurities returned, as strong as ever, and I almost booked a ticket for Eastleigh and left without ever stepping outside the airport terminal.

I've always had a streak of stubbornness, and that was what made me pick up my bags and start for town, not really sure where I was going, but determined to at least try and lay the ghost that had sprung on me with such unexpected force. Just walking into town was an extraordinary experience; I recognised every field and building, yet felt strangely detached, as if I were walking though a scene from a film. I booked into a tiny hotel-cum-pub just off the square and went into the bar for a badly needed glass of orange juice.

That was the moment that I really felt as if I'd stepped back in time. It was a bar that my parents had favoured for pre-lunch drinks, and six years might as well not have happened. The bar was the same; several of the customers were the same; even the barmaid was the same. She was Linda, a pretty local girl who I mainly remembered for always being jealous of Kate.

‘Hi, Penny, you've cut your hair!' were her first words.

I hadn't seen her in six years and the first thing she did was comment on my haircut. It had been long then, but I'd had it cut into a short bob when I'd first started with Alex, some five years before.

‘Hi, Linda,' I answered. ‘An orange juice please, pure.'

She poured my drink and we began to chat, pretty inconsequentially, but more and more about the island and old friends. Some things had changed, but not much, and to all intents and purposes life was much as I remembered it. I didn't let it show, but her reminiscences did nothing for my self-confidence. It had nose-dived, the moment I'd smelt the air of the island, and had been in free fall ever since. University, my PhD work, Alex – even events in France the previous night suddenly seemed like things that had happened to someone else. Little, shy Penny who never went out with anybody couldn't possibly have done anything as outrageous as have sex with a French couple and get thrown out of the house by an enraged husband.

If there's one thing I pride myself on, it's knowing when my emotions are leading me and remaining aware of reality. Even when drunk or in the throes of orgasm, there's always a little piece of my mind that stays detached and observant. Now it was telling me that I had a stark choice: either leave or do something that would lay the ghost of my teenage years completely.

It was Linda who decided my choice.

‘Are you coming to the Barn tonight?' she asked cheerfully.

The Barn was the scene of Kate's greatest triumphs and my greatest failures. It had always been very much the place to be for the more trendy teenagers, and many, many times Kate had been chased by all the best men in the place while I'd had to put up with the attentions of every sort of man except what I wanted. If I could go there and have a good time of it, then I knew it would all be OK.

‘Sure,' I answered.

Logically, I knew that I would be able to hold my own. I'd developed a lot in six years and was also no longer in Kate's shadow. Emotionally, it was a very different matter, and there was a horrible queasy feeling in my stomach as I walked into the Barn that night. Like everything else, it had hardly changed; indeed, the only obvious difference was that many of the people who'd been too young to go when I'd last been there now made up a fair proportion of the crowd.

Still feeling rather delicate after the previous night's excesses, I ordered orange juice and propped myself up at the end of the bar, waiting to be recognised. There were a fair number of familiar faces there but, unlike Linda, none of them had immediately recognised me. Even when Carl appeared and I smiled right at him, I only got a smile back: just that, not a flicker of recognition.