Butter Wouldn't Melt (16 page)

My skirt was already up, and she'd yanked my knickers down, pulling them out from where they'd ridden up between my pussy lips on the bike. It hurt, and so did the smacks she began to apply to my
bottom, one cheek at a time, hard and accurate, to set me kicking my feet and struggling in her grip.

‘I'll tell AJ!' I warned, realising how pathetic the threat sounded even as I said it.

She didn't even bother to reply, but twisted my wrist a little harder, keeping me firmly pinned down across the desk as she spanked me, now full across my cheeks before beginning to pepper the meat of my bottom with little hard slaps of her fingertips. I knew I'd be going pink, and was praying I wouldn't have to take my knickers down in front of Mr Mulligan, but I was getting warm too, with inevitable consequences. By the time she finished I could smell my own pussy.

‘That should do,' Maggie said, releasing me, ‘and there's a certain natural scent about you too, which should appeal to him, if only subconsciously. Now come downstairs and I'll get the paperwork ready for you.'

I quickly adjusted myself, pouting furiously as I followed her, my bum warm in my knickers. My gusset was soaking wet by the time she was ready, but I did my best to compose myself before stepping outside to find a cab. She'd really got to me, making me angry and excited at the same time, with my resentment for the spanking hot in my mind even as I yearned for more. One thing I was sure about was that Mr Mulligan wasn't going to be giving me what I needed, and I promised myself I would get the job done, but with the absolute minimum of personal humiliation.

When I got to Stepney Customs they had the big double doors wide open and Fitch was driving out the Ford I'd seen to a waiting customer. I'd had the cabbie drop me some way down the line of arches on purpose, and was glad I had done so. The owner of
the Ford was there, and his girlfriend, and while it didn't seem likely that Mulligan would simply up-end me then and there, I didn't want to take any chances. I pretended to study some graffiti in one of the empty arches until they'd gone, then walked cautiously forward. Mr Mulligan himself emerged from the doors just as I reached them. He smiled and rubbed his greasy hands on an equally greasy cloth as he spoke.

‘Ah ha, what have we here!'

‘Good morning,' I said brightly, fighting to keep the tremor out of my voice.

‘So they've sent you to collect, have they?' he asked, leering at me.

‘Yes,' I admitted, ‘if you could just sign a couple of things, and . . .'

‘Come in the office,' he said, cutting me off.

I followed him into the garage and across to the little shack he used. His son looked up from where he was putting the finishing touches to the Bonneville, watching my progress with what seemed to me an unhealthy interest. My cheeks began to colour up as I wondered how much they knew, if anything, and I was glad to find the shelter of Mr Mulligan's office. He sat down and motioned to the chair opposite the desk, which I took. I wasn't at all sure what to say, but he had no such reserves, leaning back and putting his hands behind his head as he spoke.

‘So you want your money? That's fair enough, but seeing as I'm being so generous, I think it's only fair if I get a little something in return, don't you?'

‘What might that be?' I asked, trying to sound coy and flirtatious despite the hammering in my chest and huge lump in my throat.

‘Ooh, I don't know,' he replied. ‘It all depends on what you want to give, don't it? Morris tells me you like a good spanky, in public?'

‘No!' I squeaked before I could stop myself. ‘I mean, yes . . . maybe, for the right person, in the right place . . .'

‘Am I right?' he asked, grinning.

I began to stammer an answer, my efforts to remain calm collapsing in ruins at the prospect of him spanking me in front of his son and Fitch, but he cut me off again.

‘I'm not one of these bastards who likes to hurt a girl,' he explained. ‘With me it's nice and slow, knickers down easy, a bit of cuddling, and I know how to warm a girl properly too. So how about it?'

‘I, um . . . yes, that sounds nice,' I managed, ‘but not right now, please? It's a bit embarrassing, but I'm on my period. Perhaps at Morris's party though, if you're going?'

‘I'm going,' he assured me. ‘Wouldn't miss it for the world, not now I know you'll be there. So you'll give me first go, yeah?'

I nodded, my hope rising. He seemed perfectly content with my suggestion, and had reached out to take my documents. I handed them over and watched as he signed, then reached for his cheque book. It had been easy, far easier than I expected, or so I thought, until he stopped short of signing the cheque and laid his pen down.

‘Give us a little preview then,' he said, ‘just a little twirl, bare bum. Then I sign.'

My heart was back in my mouth, my hope shattered. He had sat back again, in the same position as before, waiting.

‘Now?' I asked, and immediately realised what a stupid question it was.

‘Yeah, sure,' he said. ‘Nobody can see.'

That wasn't strictly true, because if I stood up both his son and Fitch would be able to see me, or at least
my top half. Neither of them were visible though, and I quickly stood up, knowing I had to do it and keen to keep my exposure to a minimum. Mr Mulligan was smiling broadly, no doubt enjoying my red face and shaking fingers as I stepped clear of my chair. I turned my back, quickly tugging my skirt up and pushing down my knickers to show him my bare bum, only to realise that both mechanics were now in the garage, both could see me, and both were close enough to the window to get a full moon of my bum.

‘Heh, heh, give us a chance,' Mr Mulligan said as I snatched my panties up. ‘Go on, pretend you're getting ready for a spanking. Stick your bum out and push 'em down, nice and slow, then just a little twirl and you're done. Nice panties, by the way, and did anyone ever tell you how gorgeous your arse is?'

I didn't answer him. I couldn't, because I was biting my lip to hold in the sobs of humiliation as I stuck my bottom out a little and took my knickers down once more.

‘Slowly, doll, slowly,' he urged. ‘What's the rush?'

‘Your son's watching,' I sobbed, ‘and the other man.'

‘Let 'em,' he said, ‘they deserve a treat now and again. One more time, nice and slow, and stick it out properly. I like to see pink.'

I was choking on the lump in my throat as I pulled up my knickers again, close to panic, but determined to bring the cheque back to Maggie. Yet he wanted to see pussy, which meant he might realise I didn't have a tampon in, and he'd tell me to get over his knee, and he'd spank my bottom in front of his son, and they'd take turns to fuck me . . .

‘That's my girl,' he said, ‘out with your bum, and down they come.'

My bottom was thrust out, and I hadn't even realised it. I hadn't even pulled up my panties
properly either, half my crease already on show, and more as I began to push them down, sure he'd only complain if I didn't do it slowly enough. His eyes were glued to my bottom, drinking in every inch of bare white flesh as it came on show, and I was praying I wasn't still pink enough for him to realise I'd just been spanked. I was wishing I had a fatter bum too, because even stuck out a little way my anus shows, and at the thought that he'd be the first man ever to see the tiny pink bud between my cheeks I lost my nerve.

‘Oh you little sweetheart,' he sighed, as I hurriedly pulled my panties up. ‘Oh you little tease. I am going to enjoy spanking you, Pippa, I am going to love it. One last show then, and this time, pull your knicks right up first, so they're nice and tight over your cheeks. I love the sight of a nicely shaped bum in white panties, I do.'

‘You said just once!' I protested, turning, and my mouth came open in shock.

Both mechanics were at the window of the office, grinning at the display I was making, still with the seat of my panties on show.

‘Mr Mulligan . . .,' I began.

‘Come on, doll, don't be shy,' he interrupted. ‘Not like it's the first time, is it?'

‘I . . . I'll pull them up tight for you,' I said, ignoring what he'd said, ‘and you can . . . you tell me what to wear for Morris's party, but that's all for now. I'm on my period, Mr Mulligan!'

‘Oh that's the problem, is it?' he responded, not unkindly.

‘Yes! I told you!'

‘OK, pull 'em up, pull 'em down, quick twirl and you're done. I promise.'

I didn't hesitate, pushing my bottom out and pulling my knickers up tight to lift my cheeks in the
cotton pouch, holding the pose for just a moment and then easing them down, but turning before my bumhole came on show, to provide him with the briefest possible flash of pussy before hastily covering myself up. I was now facing the grinning mechanics, who were laughing at me, making my blushes more furious still.

‘Beautiful, and so shy,' Mr Mulligan commented. ‘Who'd have thought you were one of Morris's girls?'

I very nearly told him I wasn't, but managed to hold back, grabbing the cheque and the documents I needed the instant he had signed. The mechanics were still outside, and I fled in confusion, scampering across the oily floor in my heels and thrusting one leaf of the big doors wide. It hit something, bounced back and nearly knocked me over. I just managed to keep my balance, and ran, only to turn at the sound of a bang followed by a metallic clatter from directly behind me.

The door was swinging slowly back, to reveal the 1969 Bonneville, almost on its side, the gorgeously painted petrol tank against the low iron bollard which marked the boundary between the properties. I slowed to a stop as what I'd done sank slowly in, my mouth falling wide in horror. The bike was obviously dented and scratched, the brand-new paint job ruined, and possibly the tank as well. Mr Mulligan wasn't going to want to spank me any more, he was going to want to murder me, crucify me, stick a spit up my bum and roast me for dinner.

He'd come out, and the others, staring aghast at the damage I'd done. I made to run, only to stop. They knew who I was, where I worked, everything. It was all their fault anyway, and I tried to hold that thought as I walked slowly back towards them, but I didn't manage to express it.

‘I'm sorry,' I said. ‘I'm really sorry. I didn't know it was there!'

‘You stupid little cow,' Mr Mulligan mouthed.

‘That's hardly fair,' I answered him, but I could hear the whining note in my own voice. ‘You freaked me out!'

‘We were only having a laugh with you,' he answered. ‘Oh for fuck's sake!'

Fitch and the younger Mulligan had lifted the bike. As I'd feared, the petrol tank was badly dented, along with a long, deep scratch where bright metal showed beneath the paint. I made a face, feeling sick to the stomach for what I'd done and the trouble I was in, despite the little insistent voice telling me over and over that it wasn't my fault at all.

‘You're going to have to pay for this,' Mr Mulligan said.

‘That's not fair!' I protested, now close to tears.

‘I suppose you think we should?' he demanded.

‘Well, no . . . yes . . . no . . . I don't know, but . . . I haven't very much money, and . . .'

‘What, a posh piece like you? Get Daddy to fork out.'

‘I'd rather he didn't know,' I answered, ‘but if . . .'

I stopped, realising that if I told Dad what had really happened I would end up in far more trouble than I was already. He'd call the police, immediately, and Mr Mulligan would inevitably defend himself by saying I'd agreed to show him my bum and was into spanking anyway. After that it would become a nightmare.

‘How much will it be?' I asked weakly.

Mr Mulligan sucked his breath in between his teeth.

‘All depends. Looks like we might need a new tank, and they're not so easy to get nowadays. And then
there's the labour. Skilled job, that. Big Mel's not going to be too happy about it either, and I'm sure you know what Morris is like about getting a discount.'

‘Morris? Mel? Is it Melody Rathwell's bike?'

‘Yeah. Maybe she'll take it out on your hide, if you ask her nice?'

He wasn't joking. He was completely serious, sympathetic even. Unfortunately it was out of the question. AJ would never allow it, not with Melody. It was worth calling AJ though, if only to get an expert opinion on the cost of repairs, because I was sure Mr Mulligan would try to take advantage of me.

‘Give me a second,' I told him, and stepped away to make the call.

AJ grumbled a bit but said she'd come over, and I spent an embarrassing half-hour waiting. When she saw the bike she was nearly as horrified as Mr Mulligan, but she wasn't standing for any nonsense about the estimate, and he realised she knew what she was talking about. The final figure they agreed was still far more than I could comfortably afford, and I had to promise to pay it by instalments.

‘What happened?' she asked as we walked back to where she'd left her own bike.

I could see a world of trouble opening up if I told the truth, but I didn't want to lie.

‘I was collecting a cheque,' I explained, ‘and when I came out I pushed the door open a bit hard.'

‘Hard enough to knock a motorbike over?'

‘Maybe it wasn't on its stand properly?'

She gave a doubtful cluck and went silent for a few seconds. ‘Mulligan's a spanker, isn't he? Did he try it on?'

‘No!'

There must have been something in the tone of my voice, because she gave me a distinctly puzzled glance, then spoke again.

‘What's been going on, Pippa?'

‘Nothing!'

‘Show me your bum.'

‘AJ, we're in the middle of the street!'