Black Lipstick Kisses (14 page)

My hand was resting on his stomach, and I slid it further down, to where I would find the fun zone. There was a satisfying bulge in the front of his trousers. Hegave a pleased sigh as I squeezed gently. I made to kiss him, only for him to turn away and take hold of my questing hand at the same moment.

‘Hang on, this is the best bit.'

I turned towards the screen, feeling pretty irritated, to see Maureen O'Hara climbing out of a window in
nothing but a black and white corset and some fancy Victorian underwear. It was funny, and I promised myself I'd watch and then get my own back by teasing Stephen later. Then everything became very, very clear as the on-screen chase reached its climax, with John Wayne turning an outraged O'Hara across his knee and spanking her with a coal shovel. Stephen was absolutely silent. Not me.

‘So that's what you want to do is it, you dirty old sod!'

He went purple, real beetroot, and began stammering denials. I just laughed and put my hand over his mouth as I climbed on top of him, to sit right on his cock. Seeing I wasn't angry, he shut up, biting his lip as I took my hand away. I really didn't know what to say, or do, but I was enjoying his embarrassment even as I was genuinely put out by the idea that I should let him spank my bottom. My hands went to my hips and I looked down on him in outrage that was only partly fake.

‘You have got a cheek, Stephen Byrne. What, you want to show me where a woman belongs, do you?'

‘No, I just . . .'

‘Oh yes you do, and don't give me any of your bullshit. You'd love it, wouldn't you? What would you do, spank my little bottom all pink and then make me go down on you?'

He went red again and swallowed. His cock was getting hard under my pussy, so I gave him an encouraging wiggle and laughed at his sudden intake of breath. I wiggled again, rubbing myself on him to send a jolt of pleasure right through me. He reached out to take my hips, still a little doubtful but well turned on. I shook my head.

‘That's what you've been after all evening, isn't it?
All that trouble getting me drunk and mellowed out, then the funny film which just happens to have a girl being spanked in it. You were going to suggest it might be fun to do the same, weren't you? Yes you were, just as if you'd thought of it on the spur of the moment. And then you were going to put me across your knee, weren't you? You were going to pull up my dress, and take down my knickers, and spank my bottom, weren't you, Mr Stephen Byrne, MP. Admit it!'

He nodded, his face still beetroot and his penis a rigid bar in his trousers. Much more and he would come, I was sure, and if it hadn't risked missing out on my own fun I'd have made him. As it was I gave him another little wriggle and climbed off, sticking my nose in the air in mock disapproval. If he'd had any sense he'd just have done it to me, because now he was in real trouble. He was so repressed, for all his dirty mind. It was just too tempting to make him suffer for it.

‘Well you're not going to, at least not . . .'

‘Anything, just say how much you . . .'

‘Uh, uh, don't be sordid, Stephen.'

‘Clothes then. Any designer you name. Or high boots. Or a corset. Do you like corsets?'

‘Yes, but you're missing the point. The reason I'm not going to let you spank me is because it would make me feel that I was the lesser person.'

‘No, not at all, I would respect you more if anything, I . . .'

‘Shh . . . that's how I feel, Stephen, but then, maybe I would quite like to do it to you, or something similar.'

‘To me?'

‘Yes. Why not, if you can do it to me?'

‘Well . . . no reason, I suppose. It's just that . . . dammit, I'm a man! And how do you mean something similar?'

‘So what if you're a man? Similar means similar, something a good girl, a nice girl, wouldn't even think about.'

‘So, so don't you think a man should take . . . No, I don't suppose you do. So what you're saying is that I can spank you if we do something you want in return?'

‘No, I don't, if you were going to ask if you think a man should be in charge in bed. I suppose that sort of attitude's acceptable for your generation, just about, but it won't do with me. As for taking turn and turn about, maybe, but I have a better idea. If you want to indulge your dirty little perversion with me, you have to win the right.'

‘How do you mean? By proving my respect for you?'

‘No, nothing so soap-opera. In a game.'

Suddenly the wicked glint was back in his eye.

‘Fine. Backgammon? Chess?'

‘No. I bet you're ace at both, and I don't play either.'

‘Let's toss a coin then.'

‘No, too quick, and I think I should choose, that's only fair.'

‘Cards? Poker maybe?'

‘No. Pinball.'

‘Pinball!? What, you want us to go out to an arcade?'

He was fit to burst, and didn't look too pleased. I laughed.

‘No, silly, on your computer.'

‘I don't have it. I don't have any computer games.'

‘Yes you do. I'll show you.'

He had a PC, so he had pinball, which was one game I was absolutely sure I could win. Every time I visited home I spent hours on it, usually with my parents
shouting at each other downstairs. Stephen didn't have a prayer. He knew it too, and was complaining the moment I'd got it on screen.

‘But I've never played this!'

‘Good.'

‘That's hardly fair!'

‘You're starting to whine, Stephen. Do you want to smack my botty or not?'

I stuck it out and wiggled for him. He immediately tried to slap me and I danced away, laughing. He was red-faced with a hard bulge in his trousers. I sat down on the computer chair to protect my rear.

‘Well, are you going to play?'

He sighed.

‘OK. My side of the bargain is what you suggested, a spanking for you and then you suck me.'

I nodded.

‘And yours?'

I hesitated, not really sure what I wanted. I could whip him, and probably enjoy it, but it wasn't really me. What I need is a setting, somewhere special, and his flat was just too mundane, too domestic. I did want something from him though, something I'd been sure he would be reluctant to do.

‘I know. You have to take me to a cemetery, Highgate or maybe Abney, and do just as I say.'

‘Just that?'

‘Just that.'

‘OK, if you're sure, so long as you realise that I can't afford to take risks.'

‘No more risk than shagging on Eliza Dobson's tomb.'

‘OK . . . that's if you're sure. Isn't there anything you'd like to do, some fantasy you need to express?'

‘Not that I couldn't ask you for anytime.'

‘Fair enough.'

I put my fingers to the keyboard, feeling thoroughly pleased with myself as I cued up a ball. It was good to see him in such a state, and more than I could resist not to draw out the agony. He was watching as I began to play, and I could feel his growing frustration as my score started to mount up. It just made me worse, and I began to bat the ball on the flippers, pretending to let it fall only to send it up again. Unfortunately I was just a bit too clever for my own good and dropped it the fourth time. I had nearly two million and two balls left, so I wasn't worried, laughing and patting his bottom for him as we swapped seats.

He made a big show of it, reading the rules, testing the sensitivity of the keys and trying different positions for control of the nudges, then flexing his arms and fingers before he started. The first ball fell without scoring, allowing him to replay but leaving me laughing so hard I could barely stand up. He cued up again, and this time managed to hit the ball, driving it straight up the launch ramp with a lucky shot. As it came down he caught it on a flipper, tapped it to try and get himself a mission, and missed.

I was trying not to laugh as I watched his desperate attempts to control the ball. He was not doing well, and it showed, mumbling and cursing under his breath every time something didn't work as he wanted it to and slamming his fist down on the desk when he fell, at under the half-million.

‘Not bad . . . for a beginner.'

All I got was a grunt. I took his place, fully confident that he couldn't even match my first ball, never mind
all three. I was on a roll too, making up to Ensign just before I fell to an unlucky rebound. My score stood at well over three million.

He took over, and was soon swearing again, but he'd hit a lucky streak and again and again missed falling by a whisker. Not that I was worried, but I gave him an encouraging little clap when his score topped the million. He'd stopped grumbling by then, and was playing with a quiet intensity, sometimes even making the ball go where he wanted it to. It wasn't enough, and he fell short of the two million mark.

As I sat down I was already planning out my blind communion in my head. Stephen was the right person, because he'd do as he was told without interfering, and if I dangled the carrot of his little perversion in front of him I could count on immaculate service. I should have been concentrating on the game, because I fell before I'd completed my first mission, to leave the score just over three and a half.

He had to double his score to win, and he'd been lucky so far. He was getting better though, and I watched with interest as he played, amused by the expression of tight-lipped determination on his face. He made two million, getting a fluky mission to reach Ensign. It took him past two and a half, and I started to get a bit worried. He began to whistle, some old tune from the 70s, now playing with easy skill. I was getting very worried as he passed three, three-one, three-two, now playing with cool certainty and real flair. I was biting my lip as he got a mission that was going to take him clean over my score if he completed it. My bottom cheeks had began to twitch in trepidation as he passed three-three and I realised I might actually be
going to get a spanking, and my mouth came open in shock as the mission came in and his score shot up over four.

‘Shit! You bastard!'

‘Got you! The old touch hasn't deserted me after all.'

‘What old touch? You said you'd never played!'

‘I haven't, not on a computer. On the front in Yarmouth I was the best, the original pinball wizard. Those were real machines, of course, back in the 70s – Blue Note, Foxy Lady, Wild West, I could take any of my friends on any one of them.'

‘Oh, shut up!'

‘Temper, temper!'

‘You might have told me, bastard.'

‘Now, now, that's no language for a young lady, not when she's about to have her bottom warmed. Come along then.'

He let his last ball fall and reached out for my hand. I let him take it, feeling numb and seriously resentful as I trailed after him into the main room. My brandy glass was there, and I poured myself a hefty shot, downing it in one. I was going to take it, I felt I had to, but it was not going to be easy, and I was trembling badly. Stephen looked well pleased with himself, leering and rubbing his hands together in anticipation, then steering me into the bedroom with a firm swat to my bottom. That touch really brought the shame of what I'd let myself in for home and I found myself babbling.

‘Look, could we . . . could . . .'

‘Not backing out, are we?'

‘No! It's just . . . just . . . I don't know. I've never been spanked, and . . .'

‘Well, you must at least admit you deserve it, after that phone call.'

‘No!'

‘No? I was in a meeting, Angel, with the chair of my constituency party and half a dozen bluestockings!'

‘Whoops.'

‘Whoops is about right. Now come across my knee, young lady, and no more nonsense.'

He sat down on the edge of the bed and patted his lap. I swallowed, desperately telling myself that it was just a game, that I could take it, that it was not a total surrender of my dignity. For a moment I just couldn't make myself do it, until I told myself I was being pathetic. Still I was burning with embarrassment as I laid myself down across his knees. I was also fervently wishing I'd taken him up on his suggestion of swapping kinks. That way at least I'd have been able to do something horrible to him in return, maybe bugger him like Dave in ‘The Goat of Mendes', whip his backside so he knew how it felt or piss all over him.

‘You do realise that your knickers are going to have to come down, don't you?'

‘Yes. I'd guessed.'

I had tried to keep the sulky tone out of my voice, but it hadn't worked. He gave a dirty little chuckle and cocked one knee up, lifting my hips, and it had begun.

He was a real pig about it, fondling and patting my bottom through my dress for ages before he pulled it up. When he finally did, he tucked it high and began to explore my bum again, making me giggle by tickling the tuck of my cheeks and the flesh between them and my hold-ups, stroking the seat of my panties, and patting me, more firmly now. I didn't want to admit I liked it, but I couldn't help but react. There was no real pain, which I'd expected, but for all the indignity of my position it was making me warm and ready. Before
long I was starting to push my bottom up and wish he'd take my knickers down.

Eventually he obliged, pushing a thumb down the back of my waistband and peeling them down around my thighs. Then it was back to feeling me, patting and stroking my cheeks, pulling them open to show me off behind, teasing my thighs, my bottom crease, my pussy. When his thumb slid into my body I could no longer hold back my reaction and let out the sigh that had been building in me since the beginning. He cupped my pussy, probing me and rubbing while he smacked my bottom with his other hand, more firmly than before.

I was being spanked, and it was not at all what I'd expected. In the occasional darker moment I had imagined punishment, not being spanked, but whipped in some dungeon or crypt, with evil men revelling in my pain. I had thought spanking would be a lesser version of the same, my pain for Stephen's pleasure, not the gradual bottom warming he was giving me, dirty, but closer to worship than punishment.