The Carrot and the Stick (17 page)

She knocked on the adjoining door with the padded tip of her twirling baton, and Chester Hampton opened it, looking the same as he had ten minutes earlier. ‘You must be Candy,' he said, a little shyly. ‘Please, come in.'

He closed the door and led her to the centre of his huge sitting room. ‘Let me have a look at you,' he said, sitting in an easy chair. She stood before him, one knee slightly bent while he looked her up and down. ‘Now the other side - turn round.'

She did as she was told, standing still until he spoke again.

‘You know why you are here, don't you, Candy? I am told that you have been slacking in the cheerleading class.' She hung her head. ‘I am also told that you have been fooling around with some members of the football team, but we'll get to that later. First, I'd like to see you go through your paces. March up and down for me.'

She marched back and forth in front of him from one wall to the other, lifting her knees extravagantly, like a high-stepping horse in a dressage contest. She felt her skirt lift with each step and she knew that the white of her knickers would show tantalisingly.

‘Fine,' he said, as she began to flag. ‘Now, let's try leaping. Some good high cheerleading leaps, if you please.'

Standing facing him, she leapt in the air, her arms and legs wide, her head thrown back. After the third leap he stood up and walked around behind her. ‘Keep going,' he said. After three more leaps she stopped, gasping for breath.

‘You are out of shape and you are not very supple,' he said. ‘It just won't do.' He sat down again in front of her. ‘Let me see you touch your toes.'

She raised her arms above her head and swung them down to the floor. Her feet were slightly apart, but she could feel the muscles and tendons on the backs of her thighs stretching. ‘Keep going,' he said, rising again and walking around behind her. ‘There's a lot of work yet to do.'

Again she swung downwards, trying to reach her toes. ‘Hold it there,' he said from behind. ‘It's good for the muscles to stretch like that.' She knew it was not just her muscles that were stretched, but her knickers too. She could feel them as taut as a drum skin across her bottom.

‘We need to work on that position,' he said. ‘Have a rest and then we'll get back to it. Show me some baton twirling in the meantime.'

Beth was glad to be standing upright again. She picked up the baton and tried to twirl it between her fingers. She was hopeless and she knew it. After she dropped it for the fourth time, Chester picked it up.

‘There's more than one use for a stick like this,' he said pensively, running one hand up and down its length. ‘And I can certainly think of one way to use it.'

She hung her head again. ‘Get your breath back,' he went on. ‘Have a drink. And then we'll start again, only this time in earnest,' he said, pouring her a coke in a tall glass. She drank it gratefully.

When she put the glass back on the table, he continued. ‘Now, I think you should take your panties off. They seem to be restricting your movement.' She did as she was told, peeling them off and placing the delicate little white bundle alongside the glass.

‘Let me see you leap again.'

She leapt in the air as before, head back, arms and legs apart and her skirt flying up to her waist. ‘Your legs should be wider apart,' he ordered. Three times more she leapt as high as she could. ‘Now touch your toes,' he commanded, without allowing her to stop for breath. He prowled around, studying her from all sides but particularly from behind, as she swung her arms high in the air and down as far as her boots. ‘Lower,' he said.

When he finally allowed her to stand upright again, her cheeks were flushed and she was panting. ‘You look hot,' he said. ‘Take off your sweater.'

Grasping the hem, she lifted it carefully over her head, and then stood in front of him again in only her boots, skirt and mask. Her head was hanging down and she saw her small nipples, standing proud on her breasts.

For at least ten more minutes he made her do a series of exercises; bending, flexing, leaping and falling back on her hands to make a bridge. Finally she collapsed on her stomach on the floor, exhausted and with her skirt up around her waist, her bottom fully exposed and her legs apart.

‘You are unfit and lazy,' he pronounced, standing over her. ‘So now I am going to show you how we deal with that. Come here, and lie over my lap.'

He sat on an upright chair beside the table and she lowered herself across his legs. With one hand he folded up her skirt and began to stroke the delicious naked bottom in front of him. She was glad to be still and relatively relaxed; all that leaping about had been truly exhausting.

He began to spank her, not hard at first but thoroughly, covering every inch of flesh from the creases at the top of her thighs to the dimples in the small of her back. She could feel the heat from the spanking and knew that her bottom would be glowing red, as it had been in the photographs.

For a while he stopped spanking her, only to pull gently at her flesh with his fingers, revealing first her sex and then her anus. Then the spanking resumed, harder and more painfully.

‘Now I am going to teach you another use for that baton,' he said in due course, his voice tight with emotion. ‘I want you to stand up and touch your toes again, and every time you try I shall offer encouragement.' As he spoke his fingers were undoing the catch on her skirt, so that when she stood up it shimmered to the floor.

Again she stood in the centre of the room with him behind her. She swung her arms up and then down. As her fingertips touched her boots he brought the short stick down across her buttocks. ‘Lower,' he said, over and over again. The exercise and the beating seemed to last for ages. The baton was too short to hurt much, but she knew her bottom would be heavily striped. He was panting almost as hard as she was.

Suddenly it stopped and he resumed his seat, leaving her bent double. When he had recovered his composure he told her to stand in front of him.

‘Now there's the question of your misbehaviour with members of the football team,' he said. He raised the baton and touched her nipples with the round, padded end. ‘Have any boys seen these?' he asked, and she nodded. He put the baton between her legs, and rubbed it back and forth against her sex. ‘And this?' She shook her head. ‘Are you sure?' he persisted, rubbing faster and probing between her moist lips. She shook her head again, her blonde locks swaying back and forth. He pushed his arm forward so that the end of the baton slid between her legs and up into the crease of her bottom. ‘How about this?' he asked, and she shook her head vehemently. ‘Then it must be this,' he said, raising the now damp baton to her lips and patting them. ‘Suck it.' She opened her mouth and took the end of the baton inside, as if sucking a large lollipop.

‘Show me what you do to the quarterback,' he said, putting the baton to one side. She leaned forward and unbuttoned his shirt, then helped him to stand. She undid his belt and zip and pushed down his trousers and underpants, putting them neatly to one side. She pushed him back into the chair and knelt before him. She ran her tongue along the flesh of his upper thighs until it could go no higher. With both hands she lifted his scrotum and began to lick the wrinkled sac, rubbing her warm cheek against his penis. Opening her lips wide, she gently took his testicles into her mouth, moving her tongue from side to side and around the tightening balls.

Letting them go, she traced with the tip of her tongue the line from his scrotum, up the soft vein running the length of his penis to the shiny, purple head. She twirled it around the helmet and poked it into the tiny slit before opening her lips and swallowing all of the head and half the shaft. Slowly, very slowly so that he would get maximum enjoyment, she moved her head up and down, filling her mouth with warm saliva to lubricate him. With each movement she swallowed a little more of him, taking his rigid penis deeper and deeper into her throat.

He slumped back and closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable that was about to come. But as his muscles tensed and he began to pant, she stopped and pulled her face away.

‘Don't stop,' he said, but she shook her head and clasped his penis with one hand. ‘I said don't stop.'

She shook her head again, and began to move her hand up and down the shaft.

‘You might tease the lads in the football team like that,' he said, pushing her hand away, ‘but you don't do it to grown men.' He reached forward and grasped the back of her head with both hands, pushing it back down into his lap. ‘I want you to drink it,' and as she again took the purple plum into her mouth, he added, ‘all of it.'

Seconds later she did just that, swallowing every drop of his ejaculation and licking her lips as she withdrew her head. He flopped in the chair with his eyes closed, deep slow breaths making his chest rise and fall as she quickly collected her clothes and left the room the same way she had come.

 

Beth again stood at the door of Chester Hampton's suite. She was wearing her business suit, familiar deep red lipstick and her hair was properly brushed.

‘Candy has gone,' she told him, and she was not lying. ‘Did you like her?'

Hampton looked ruffled but happy. ‘Yes, very much,' he said. ‘I can't think how to thank you.'

‘I can,' she said, her eyes shining brightly.

‘Well, for a start, you should stay in the suite,' he said, ‘as it's all paid for. Enjoy a little luxury for the night.'

She waved the plastic key she was holding. ‘Okay - good night then.'

As she turned he took her by the arm. ‘Beth,' he said conspiratorially, ‘I'll be back next week. Would it be possible to see Candy again?'

‘It might be,' she teased, ‘but it'll cost you.'

He smiled. ‘Well I expect there's an easy way to pay my debt to Cross, Carstairs and Denton.'

‘Yes,' she said, feeling very pleased with herself, ‘there is. Good night, Chester.'

 

Beth sunk lower into the scented water of the bathtub feeling the bubbles erupt around her hips. She stretched out one leg and wiggled her toes between Celeste's thighs until they relaxed and opened to allow her access.

Celeste had arrived just twenty-two minutes after her call. ‘Grab a toothbrush and come and join me in my luxury suite,' Beth said, adding, ‘and don't worry about a nightie.'

Celeste slid forward in the tub so that her sex pressed against the ball of Beth's foot. ‘Tell me all about it,' she said. ‘Every detail, every inch,' she giggled.

After Beth had told her, Celeste asked, ‘So is your bum sore?' When Beth nodded, Celeste said, ‘So is mine. T.J. never leaves me alone. If it's not a spanking, it's the cane. And if it's not the cane, it's the slipper.'

Beth reached towards the shelf along the side of the bath. ‘There should be something here among all these luxurious freebies that we can rub on each other.' She held up and studied a series of multi-coloured miniature bottles and sachets. ‘Ah,' she said. ‘Cold cream.'

Ten minutes later she was lying naked on her stomach on a huge bed with an equally naked Celeste kneeling beside her. ‘Your poor bottom,' Celeste cooed, leaning forward to kiss and lick the punished flesh before slapping a dollop of cold cream between the cheeks.

‘And yours,' Beth muttered into the counterpane, remembering her friend's buttocks as they had been a few minutes before when she dried and powdered them. The delicate skin was smudged with pink and purple blotches.

Celeste smoothed the cream over the two soft mounds and down into the valley between. ‘We need someone else to help us take the strain, and the pain.'

‘Mm,' Beth murmured, enjoying Celeste's touch. ‘I've been thinking the same thing.' She opened her legs to allow Celeste greater access. ‘There could be someone...'

Celeste smoothed the cream into the lips of Beth's sex. ‘Oh? Tell momma.'

Beth raised her hips so that Celeste's finger slid inside, a place already so wet that no cream was needed. ‘Well, I think the person I am thinking about might be one of us. I'll say no more for the moment. Just let your fingers do the talking for now.'

 

 

 

Beth was on the telephone in the office talking to Peter Parnell. She thanked him effusively for the proofs of the Rybix shoot and asked him about his availability for another job. Just before saying goodbye, she asked casually, ‘Peter, you don't have the home telephone number of Natasha Perry, do you?'

‘Natasha who?'

‘Perry. One of the girls in the Rybix shoot.'

‘I've probably got it here somewhere,' he said. ‘Why?'

‘Because I need it, Peter. Would you have a look?'

‘I will if you give me Charlie's number,' he said.

‘Her name is not Charlie,' Beth retorted.

‘She'll always be Charlie to me. Hang on, I'll go have a look.'

In less than a minute he was back with the number. ‘Remember you owe me, Beth. Send Charlie around here on another errand. She's the sweetest creature I've ever met.'

Beth laughed. ‘Don't be offended, Peter, but I think she likes her men just a touch more masculine than you.'

As soon as she'd said goodbye and put down the receiver, she picked it up again and dialled the number.

‘Natasha Perry,' said the same bright voice that she recalled from before.

‘Natasha, this is Beth - Beth Forrester from Cross, Carstairs and Denton. You probably don't remember me but we met...'

‘I remember you well, Beth,' Natasha interrupted. ‘Very well indeed... and I'm extremely glad you've called.'

‘Oh, great,' Beth said, the promising tone of the girl's voice making her pulse quicken. ‘Well forgive me telephoning you at home, I know I should go through your agent, but as this is just an exploratory call, I thought you wouldn't mind.'

‘Not at all, Beth,' Natasha replied. ‘I'm only too pleased to hear from you. I've thought a lot about the other day...'

Beth did not want to pursue that particular subject - not for now, at least. She tried to sound businesslike. ‘Good, well, I'm planning, or at least thinking about a new and different campaign. I thought you might be very good for it. You've the right looks.'

‘Sounds fascinating,' Natasha said brightly. ‘I'm certainly game for anything. Things are rather quiet right now.'

‘Excellent. So we should meet, just to discuss things.'

‘Any time,' Natasha said. ‘You say when and where, and I'll be there.'

‘I noticed when I was calling you that you have the same telephone prefix as I have at home. Where do you live?'

‘Pimlico.'

‘Then we're neighbours,' Beth said. ‘What are you doing tonight? How about coming to dinner.'

‘Mm, I'd like that.'

‘It won't be much,' Beth warned. ‘Neither I nor my flatmate are cooks.'

Natasha laughed. ‘I don't mind. I'll bring a bottle of cheap wine to kill the taste. What's the address and what time?'

At the appointed time that evening, Celeste called from the kitchen, ‘So where is she?'

‘Don't worry about it; she's always late,' Beth replied, just as the doorbell rang.

Natasha stood on the threshold holding out a bottle wrapped in tissue paper. Beth thought she looked adorable. Natasha was small and slender, dressed completely in black, in a polo-neck sweater, slacks and flat-soled shoes. Her black hair was loose and framed her face, curling inwards slightly under her chin.

Beth smiled her welcome. ‘You don't look old enough to drink,' she said, taking the proffered bottle.

‘You'd be surprised,' Natasha replied, walking into the sitting room.

Beth introduced Celeste and fussed around pouring drinks. After chatting for five minutes or so about the pros and cons of living in Pimlico, Celeste started to ask Natasha about her life as a model, but Beth cut her off in mid-sentence. ‘Get back to the kitchen, wench,' she said playfully. ‘I want to talk business with Natasha.'

Celeste pouted, but got up anyway. ‘Remember, I can hear every word,' she said, disappearing around the corner.

To try to put her visitor at ease, Beth queried Natasha about herself and her background. ‘Where does your family live?'

‘I don't have any family,' Natasha replied bluntly.

Beth flushed, fearing she had entered forbidden territory. ‘Do you live alone?'

‘Yes, just two streets away.' Natasha looked around her. ‘But it is pretty squalid; nothing like this. May I look around?'

‘Don't show her my room,' Celeste called. ‘She hasn't even seen squalid until she's seen in there!'

When the two were sitting down again, with their second glass of wine, Beth spoke about business. She talked at length about marketing and advertising, the difficulties of being an account manager, the need for fresh thinking and originality in each campaign, how each message should be geared to the medium that would carry it and how client companies judged only by results.

Natasha listened carefully and when Beth stopped, she said, ‘It sounds fascinating, and so much more interesting than my job. I am nothing more than a clotheshorse.'

Beth nodded. ‘It is fascinating, but it is also very demanding,' she pointed out. ‘It takes all my skills, everything I've got.'

She went on to explain that she was just thinking about a new campaign. It would be deliberately designed to shock, to command attention and to cause controversy, and would feature a series of photographs in underground magazines.

‘Is that where I come in?' Natasha asked, sitting forward on the sofa, indicating her interest.

‘Possibly,' Beth said. ‘You wore a swimsuit in the studio for the ice cream shoot. Have you ever modelled underwear?'

‘Yes,' Natasha confirmed. ‘It's all the same to me.'

‘You don't think it's degrading?'

‘Not at all. Why should I? It's all money in the bank.'

Beth poured Natasha a third glass of wine. ‘Would you consider posing in the nude or the semi-nude?' she asked.

Natasha smiled, looking directly into her eyes. ‘Like you did the other day?'

Beth resumed her seat. ‘I hoped that was not going to come up, but yes, something like that.'

Natasha stroked the stem of her glass. ‘I would,' she said eventually. ‘I am not certain my body is attractive enough though; not as attractive as yours, leastways.'

Beth waved a hand in the air dismissively, brushing Natasha's protest aside. ‘We're not talking about me here. Anyhow, as far as I can see you've got a gorgeous figure. You shouldn't be so modest. Now, would you mind showing me?'

Natasha put down her glass. ‘No, I don't think I would... now?'

When Beth nodded, she stood up and with natural sexiness pulled her sweater over her head and unfastened her waistband to wriggle her trousers down. Then she stood unselfconsciously in the centre of the room with her arms to her sides so that Beth could study her. She wore a low-cut brassiere and a g-string, both of them black. Beth was pleasantly surprised how full Natasha's breasts were, for someone so petit and slender. She had not really noticed the other day during the photo shoot and this evening they had, until now, been hidden under a loose sweater. Now they were standing full and proud, creamy flesh cradled in black lace.

Beth let her gaze roam downwards. The bikini style pants hid little other than the slight mound of the girl's sex. Her hips were gently rounded, her groin devoid of visible hair, the thighs slender and straight. Natasha obviously looked after herself, as a model always should.

There was the sound of a low wolf-whistle from the doorway and both girls looked round to see Celeste standing there with a saucepan in her hands. ‘Not bad,' she announced approvingly, and then added quickly to Beth, ‘It's okay, I'm going. I know my place,' before disappearing again.

Beth smiled an apology to Natasha. ‘She's right; you're not bad... not bad at all.'

She rose and led Natasha to her bookshelves, which stretched from floor to ceiling against one wall, and placed her with her back to the books. ‘Stand with your arms outstretched, feet together and head down,' she instructed.

Without another word Natasha adopted the pose, and Beth stood back to admire her model. ‘Perhaps without your bra,' she decided.

Again without a word, Natasha unhooked the skimpy lace garment and threw it onto the sofa with the rest of her clothes, and then resumed the pose with her head bowed and her black hair falling loosely forward. Beth thought she looked stunning. The girl's breasts were even more beautiful than she had previously imagined, firm and proud with soft, pink nipples.

‘Turn around, would you?' she said. ‘Arms above your head.'

Natasha turned to face the books, raising her hands. Beth took a velvet tieback cord from one curtain and then stood on a chair to fasten Natasha's wrists above her head, tying them to a metal stanchion that supported the top shelf. ‘Bondage,' Natasha purred, as Beth climbed down and stood back to admire the sensual tableau.

Her eyes travelled down Natasha's slender arms to her smooth back, its muscles stretched and the spine indented, to a waist so narrow Beth was sure she could span it with two hands. A dimple on either side marked the place where the waist flared out into a bottom as round as an apple, the two perfect cheeks divided by the neat black line of the girl's g-string.

Beth could not resist it. She let her hand run down the length of the valley of the girl's spine until it reached the waistband of the g-string. ‘You have glorious skin, so soft,' she said, clearing her throat a little as she spoke. ‘Do you mind?' she added, hooking her fingers into the g-string.

When Natasha made no protest, Beth pushed it downwards, over the soft flesh and then down the girl's legs. As she worked them off Natasha's feet, she deliberately placed her cheek against the girl's bottom, feeling the soft warmth pass from flesh to flesh. With some difficulty she resisted the urge to kiss it.

‘I'll take a quick snap with my digital camera so you can see,' she said, and she did, and then untied the girl, telling her to adopt the original pose. She used the viewfinder to study the innocent beauty from the front. Natasha's skin was as white and as unflawed as the best porcelain, made even whiter by the pink of her nipples and the shiny black of the tiny patch of pubic hair discreetly obscuring her sex.

‘Beautiful,' Beth breathed, using the camera to study the photos she'd taken.

‘Let me see,' Natasha said eagerly, and seemed totally unconcerned by her nakedness, both in digital form and in reality.

‘Just one more,' Beth said, when Natasha leant down to put the camera on the coffee table.

‘Let me guess,' Natasha said sexily. ‘Would this last one have anything to do with corporal punishment? Is this how you want me, for example?'

She turned away from Beth and bent at the hips, grasping her knees with both hands. ‘Isn't this the way you were the other day, Beth?' she said provocatively, looking back over her shoulder. ‘Does it give you any ideas? It certainly gives me ideas.'

Beth said nothing. She stared at Natasha's lovely bottom and at her sex peeping between her parted thighs, the neat line dividing the moist lips that, it seemed to Beth, were pouting an invitation. She wanted to smack those buttocks and kiss those lips, but instead she put the camera to her eye and pressed the button.

‘What do you think?' Natasha asked, when she was dressed again and sitting on the sofa, drinking more wine.

‘I think you're gorgeous,' Beth said.

‘Do you really?' Natasha replied thoughtfully. ‘Then that explains it.'

‘Explains what?'

Natasha sipped her drink. ‘I've been posed like that before,' she admitted. ‘Quite a few times, in fact, but I never knew what I looked like before. That's why I stared at you so much in Parnell's studio the other day. It must have annoyed you, but it brought back many memories for me.'

She lifted her feet and lay back on the sofa, closing her eyes with a deep sigh.

‘Are you going to tell me then?' Beth gently prompted, after a minute's silence.

‘Tell you what?' Celeste asked, entering the room. ‘It's all cooking nicely. It'll be about half an hour,' she said, sitting down. ‘Tell you what?'

Beth held a finger to her lips and nodded at Natasha, still lying with her eyes closed on the sofa. She was giving the girl time to think.

Finally, Natasha spoke, still not opening her eyes. ‘It brought it all back,' she said, ‘bending over in front of you.'

She sat up, her normal bubbly self slightly deflated. ‘You asked me about my family. I never had a family; I never knew my parents.' Beth and Celeste listened but said nothing, so Natasha went on.

‘I was raised by foster parents in Kidderminster. When I was about eight they thought I was too difficult to cope with properly. They had other children in their care, so I was moved on to other foster parents and so on. Between the ages of eight and thirteen I had four sets of foster parents. It didn't make things better, you can imagine. I started to bunk off school, to smoke dope, things like that. I must have been pretty difficult.