Bad Penny (22 page)

The door opened and my resolve vanished on the instant. It wasn't the mild, timid Marcus who stood at the door, but Colin, the department janitor. He was similar in build to Marcus, but there the resemblance ended. A rather curt, short-tempered man of indeterminate age, he was just the sort who triggered the dirty-old-man fantasies I occasionally like to come over, as indeed he had. Of course, I would never have dreamt of actually having sex with him in reality. Only I had: I'd sucked his cock through a glory hole in Hulme Green public lavatories.

‘Dr Birch?' he asked, sounding puzzled as to why a junior lecturer should be calling on him on a Sunday afternoon.

But we both knew. If he had the intelligence to operate a website, he clearly wasn't as dim as people thought him. The difference was that, while I knew that he was a dirty bastard, he had no idea about me. At least I thought he didn't.

Even as I struggled for something to say, his expression of surprise turned to a dirty grin. He reached out and took my arm and I let him draw me into the flat, unresisting. I knew what was coming, even as he started to fumble at the peg fastenings of my coat. I helped him, popping open the pegs as I wondered why he was so certain that he could just have me on the spot.

‘You dirty bitch,' he drawled as my coat came open. ‘I've watched you wank, but I never thought you'd come and get some.'

Then I knew. Of course he'd watched me come. I'd done it in the staff loos more than once. He had just kept the rudest film for his own viewing.

‘How did you find out it was me?' he demanded as he started to push me to the floor.

I didn't answer and he didn't press the point. He was hitching my skirt up, then I was on my back and his hands were fumbling at my panties. I lifted my bottom so that he could pull them off, opening my thighs even as he started on my blouse buttons. I lay passively as he opened them and pulled my bra up to get at my breasts. He began to fondle them with one hand, the other going to his trousers. I sighed as my nipples popped up under his rough fingers, revelling in his delight in my body, in his sheer lust for me.

His gross cock burst from his fly as he scrabbled round beside me, his balls following and the whole lot being pushed in my face as he took me by the hair. I let him put his balls in my mouth, then his cock, sucking eagerly just as I had done in the Hulme Green lavatory. I put my fingers to my pussy and began to frig, opening the hole that was about to be invaded by his cock. I was panting as he pulled away, climbing over my leg and mounting me without further preamble.

Then he was in me and I was being fucked on the floor, hard and fast as I lay in my undignified position with my tits bare and my panties discarded on the floor beside me. Soon I was gasping and grunting without restraint, begging for his cock deeper in me with my legs curled up and his fingers locked hard in the soft flesh of my thighs.

I really thought he was going to come, but without warning he pulled back and took me by the hips, turning me bum up without difficulty. For a moment I thought he was going to bugger me and was about to demand lubricant and a condom when his cock bumped once against my pussy and was rammed up me from the rear. He did it hard, making me grunt as my breath was knocked out. My coat was wrenched up, then my skirt.

‘You've got a lovely arse, you fucking little slut,' he gasped, taking me by the hips and starting to hump me with even more vigour than before.

I didn't reply. It was all I could do to breathe, with him ramming his prick in and out of my pussy. I was thinking of my position too, kneeling on the floor with my coat thrown up over my head and my bottom spread in front of me. He'd be able to see my bumhole, watch his cock glide in and out of my sodden pussy, smell my excitement. I put my face to the floor and my hands back between my legs, finding my pussy and starting to masturbate, spreading my thighs open to be sure he knew what I was doing.

‘You're nothing but a fucking little tart, aren't you?' he spat.

I groaned my agreement and then grunted as he planted a hard slap on my bottom. It stung, and made me feel even more at his mercy. He could beat me, bugger me – anything, just as long as it kept up my feeling of being used roughly and without thought for my dignity. He slapped me again and I started to come, clawing at my pussy, and squealing as he rammed his cock into me. My mouth was open against the floor, my fingers wet with my own juice, the muscles of my vagina and anus starting to spasm, my whole being centred on the cock inside me and my clit. My climax hit me and I screamed, getting another hard slap on my bum in answer.

As my orgasm died away, rose again and then began to fade in earnest, he was calling me a tart, a slut and a whore as he rode me. Then he was out, his cock rubbing between my bottom-cheeks, then his hand. He groaned and I felt the head of his cock pressed down between my cheeks to touch my anus. I was still whimpering with the aftershock of my orgasm as his sperm splashed in between my buttocks, wetting my pussy and bumhole, only to be rubbed in as he finished himself off over me.

Well, it was a choice of talking things out with him or walking home with my panties sodden with sperm and pussy juice, so I chose to talk to him. I really had to, anyway, and in a way there's no better time for honesty than immediately after sex.

Given his character, I expected him to be fairly obdurate, or even try to blackmail me. He had the power to make my life unbearable at the university and, while I could easily have had him sacked, he had judged correctly that I wouldn't risk the exposure.

As it was, his attitude was very different. He'd planted the camera mainly for the thrill of voyeurism and watching women do something usually too intimate even for their partners to see. He'd also done it because he resented the staff's attitude to him, and that was also why he'd posted the pictures on the web. When he'd filmed me masturbating on the loo, he'd been surprised but had realised that I was more highly sexed than my colleagues. He'd started to fantasise over me more and more but had never intended to make an advance.

Then came the bit that made me feel less than clever. He'd seen me on my first visit to Hulme Green and put two and two together. He'd then decided that I probably was beddable. Unlike me, he had had the time and patience to stake the loos out and had seen me return in my disguise. He wasn't gay at all, but had known full well who was sucking his cock through the glory hole.

After that, he had expected me to meet him at the old hut and hoped that I would surrender myself there. That had been a bit too optimistic, although in other ways he seemed to know my sexuality about as well as I did myself. He had been genuinely surprised to see me when I called at his house, but had judged correctly that all I needed was a little push and my legs would be open for him.

Perhaps it was arrogant of him to assume that I was game, but he'd been right and I suppose that, if he'd been wrong, he might have used the pictures as a lever to buy my silence.

We finally agreed that, as long as he behaved as normal in the department and took the pictures off the net, then I would come round every other weekend for sex. In return for taking the other girls' AVIs off, I agreed to the occasional after-hours blow-job in my room, just as long as nobody else was in the building.

He really knew how to push my buttons because, when we had finished talking, he pulled out his cock and told me to suck it – not asked me, but told me. I did it, although it took ages to bring him to his second orgasm of the afternoon. He then spanked me over his lap, ‘to remind me of my place' as he put it, and sent me home with a sore bottom. I went with a smile, looking forward to the prospect of an indefinite supply of rough sex without any strings.

13

Golden

I thought the flat was empty when I first came in, and went straight to the bathroom to dry my hair from the light spring rain that had been falling all day. It was only as I passed the bedroom door that I realised that my guest was actually in.

This was my cousin Susan, who had come up to stay with me when she had tired of her ageing hippie boyfriend. Unable to bear her mother's delight in the failure of what had been her first heavy relationship, she had asked if she could stay with me for a while. I had agreed willingly, having really taken to her since she grew up. The fact that, on the one occasion I had visited them together, the boyfriend had buggered us both and put me through one of the most erotic and possibly the dirtiest experience of my life was seldom mentioned, but it contributed a lot to the casual intimacy that quickly grew up between us. After all, if you've licked a friend's pussy while her boyfriend buggers you, you hardly need feel concerned about anything less intimate.

I was also coming to appreciate her character. I'd always thought of her as a quiet, rather thoughtful girl who took a really wicked delight in mischief for its own sake. Mischievousness was certainly a strong part of her character, and indeed it was mainly that and the knowledge of how much it would shock her mother that had prompted her to go off with Neville the hippie. There was actually much more to her, and in many ways she was more like me than her elder sister, Kate, who was my age and with whom I'd always been much more intimate. Susan was six years my junior, and, until the incident with Neville, I'd always thought of her as a little girl. Now she definitely wasn't; we weren't lovers in the sense that Amber and I were, yet we shared a bed and sometimes our bodies without really thinking about it. I didn't feel the slightest guilt, although we were cousins; it was just that we were very close and sometimes we got a bit carried away. She also used to give me the occasional spanking when I needed it, which was really nice and did a lot to keep me happy.

I looked in, but she was so lost in a book that she had failed to notice my arrival. She was lying face down on the bed, legs kicked up and one foot bare, the discarded slipper lying on the counterpane behind her. She only had a T-shirt on, her pert bottom showing beneath the hem in careless display.

‘Hi, Susan,' I ventured as she turned at the noise of the door opening. ‘What are you so absorbed in?'

‘Frazer,' she answered with just a hint of embarrassment.

‘That's a bit heavy,' I replied. ‘Which one?'

‘“The Magic Art” from
The Golden Bough
,' she said, again with that catch in her voice that suggested that she hadn't really wanted to be caught reading it.

‘Is that the one with all the pig spirits and symbolic virgins?'

‘No, this is about pagan magic and so on; silly, I know, but I was having a bit of a nostalgia trip.'

‘Tell me, then,' I asked, settling myself on the bed by her side.

‘All right, but if you laugh . . .' Susan said as she rolled over and folded her hands across her tummy, giving me a shy smile before continuing. ‘I was just remembering how Barbara Trowleigh and I tried to use one of the rituals to make the boys we fancied interested in us.'

I began to giggle; I couldn't help it, especially thinking of Susan's friend Barbara, a strapping, no-nonsense woman who was a broker in the City. I'd only met her once, and she was perhaps the strongest, most sensible woman I knew, making the image of her using magic rituals to pursue boys seem quite ridiculous. Susan blushed but then made a sudden grab for my waist. Almost before I could protest, she was turning me face down on the bed and straddling my back.

‘I told you not to laugh!' she said as my skirt was pulled up and a firm smack planted on my bottom.

‘Ow! Susan!' I protested, only to have my knickers pulled down and my bottom smacked again.

‘Promise you won't laugh,' she demanded, ‘or I'll use the hairbrush on you.'

‘OK, I promise!' I squeaked, not at all in the mood for a bottom-blistering spanking with my long, wooden-handled hairbrush.

She gave my bottom a couple more playful slaps for good measure and then dismounted from my back, rolling once more into a comfortable position as I rearranged my dishevelled clothing.

‘OK,' she said, ‘it was like this. Barbara had a crush on one of the boys from the village but didn't have the guts to do anything about it. Now, we had an art teacher called Phaedra Mace who used to go around in a kaftan and wear lots of beads, and she was always going on about paganism, the earth mother and natural magic. Barbara was a great favourite of hers anyway, and so she ended up borrowing books from Miss Mace, including
The Golden Bough
, and it wasn't long before she'd decided to make a ritual doll to attract the boy and, as her best friend, I naturally got roped into it.

‘Even then I felt a bit silly about it, and I think Barbara did, too, but it was fun and, what with all the Christianity that used to get rammed down our throats every day, it felt deliciously naughty to be indulging in pagan practices. First we tried the ritual of piercing the doll's heart, but of course nothing happened. It's so silly really, when you think how gorgeous Barbara is: with all that hair and her lovely round titties, I'm sure he'd have jumped at the chance of going out with her, if he'd thought for one instant that she was interested. Anyway, nothing happened, and then at one art class Miss Mace posed nude for us to draw and, when some of the girls were a bit embarrassed, we got this long lecture on how we shouldn't be ashamed of our bodies and nudity was beautiful and close to nature. She was very convincing and ended up talking some of us into posing as well – including me, actually, stark naked with a bowl of fruit in my lap.'

‘Slut,' I interjected, giving her a playful slap on the thigh.

‘Honestly, I never thought of it as sexual,' Susan continued, ‘though, looking back, I'm sure Miss Mace fancied Barbara. Nothing ever came of it – at least, not that I know about. Anyway, deriving our inspiration from Miss Mace, various books and our own imagination, we concocted increasingly elaborate rituals, none of which worked, but by this time we were doing it as much for the fun of the thing as for the original purpose. The thrill of going naked in the woods was something else, especially as we were terrified of getting caught. We began to do slightly sexual things, like gently whip each other's bottoms with twigs. Barbara would be the priestess, and part of the ritual was for me to kiss her buttocks. I even kissed her bottom-hole once, after which we walked all the way back without saying a word to each other. That was the last time before end of term exams got in the way . . .'