Blushing at Both Ends (25 page)

‘No, I suppose not. Well, better be going.' Mike collected his papers and shook McMullen's hand. ‘Bye then, Jim. Good to see you.'

‘Bye, Mike, and good luck with the new job. And thanks again for standing in for me. I really appreciate it.'

Mike Philips smiled cheerfully. ‘Believe me, Jim, it was a pleasure. A real pleasure.'

15

Corrective Measures

I'M AN ACCOUNTANT.
Instant conversation-killer, that. Polite people say, ‘Oh . . . that must be very interesting,' and hastily change the subject. Less polite ones snigger, or mutter ‘Get a life' and dredge up the punchline of some ancient
Monty Python
sketch. Either way, the reaction's much the same: accountancy equals grey, boring and duller than a wet Sunday in Grimsby. Right?

Well, as it happens, no. Wrong. Dead wrong.

OK, if you work for one of the big traditional firms, it must be pretty monotonous, stuck in the same old office day after day. I'm more by way of a troubleshooter: a travelling freelance who firms call in to vet their books when annual meetings are due. And some of them aren't above cutting a few corners. That's when the job really grips – when you first sense that someone's trying to con you, and that somewhere in those sober columns of figures there lurks, like a wily old fish in a deep dark pool, the scam they've hidden so carefully. Then you get all the joy of the chase, the blind alleys, the battle of wits – and at last, as you catch the first glimpse of a telltale glitch, the sheer adrenalin rush: got you, you bugger! Think figures are dull? You'd be amazed.

Of course, the majority of firms are anything but crooked. But, even when they're straight as a die, I'm mostly dealing with smallish, ambitious outfits that tend
to
be run by lively people, interesting to meet.
Very
interesting, sometimes.

Wainwright Design were based in Somerset, near Taunton, an up-and-coming outfit just starting to make their name in the design world. I was shown in to see the MD, Robin Wainwright, an amiable, slightly distracted guy in his thirties.

‘Mr Lewis? Mr Jeff Lewis?'

I always enjoy that glance of involuntary surprise. They think, ‘Accountant? Where's the grey suit?' With me it's more likely to be an open-necked shirt and chinos. Who needs a uniform? I'm known for the quality of my work, not my sartorial conformity.

That small hurdle over, we got down to business. ‘I'll take you in to see my sister Katie,' said Robin Wainwright. ‘She acts as the company secretary, though she's also one hell of a designer in her own right. She'll have all you need ready for you.'

In the next office, a chestnut-haired woman was standing at a design slope with her back to us. She wore jeans, which she filled to perfection. Long legs and a slim waist accentuated the lush swell of her deliciously rounded bottom.

‘Katie?' said her brother. ‘This is Jeff Lewis. He's come to audit the books.'

Katie Wainwright turned. I liked the front view as much as the rear (which, coming from a dedicated bottoms man, is quite some tribute). She was about thirty, and beautiful rather than pretty in a refreshingly unconventional style. She favoured me with a frank direct gaze from grey-green eyes, and a firm handshake.

‘Thanks, Rob,' she said. ‘All the stuff's in the next office, Mr Lewis. I'll take you through.'

Next door, a desk was piled with invoices, bills, print-outs and account books, along with a computer. Katie switched it on and accessed the spreadsheets. ‘I ought to warn you, Mr Lewis –' she began.

‘Jeff, if it's OK with you?'

‘Fine by me. OK, Jeff – I should warn you that I'm a designer first and company secretary very much second. So, if you find the odd cock-up in the accounts, put it down to incompetence.'

I grinned. ‘Don't worry,' I said, appraising the methodical heaps of documents. ‘Compared to some companies I've seen, this looks like a pretty well-organised job.'

She grinned back. ‘Better not speak too soon. Like a coffee? OK, I'll leave you to it. I'll be right next door if you need anything.'

As -she left I cast another appreciative glance at that superb rear end, then settled down to work. Despite what she'd said, Katie had done an excellent job, especially for someone without training, and the accounts were clean and systematic. By midday I was well advanced, and felt sure I'd have it all finished that day. I'd found just one or two minor discrepancies – nothing in the least dishonest, simply the kind of small error in presentation that a non-professional would make. I mentioned as much to Katie when she came in to see how I was getting on.

‘Nothing to worry about,' I added. ‘I'll just take corrective measures.'

Unthinkingly, I'd used the accountant's jargon term for this kind of tidying-up process. Katie's reaction, though, was unexpected. She gave me a quizzical look from her grey-eyes, then held out her hand, palm upwards, like a schoolgirl expecting punishment.

I smiled and slapped the proffered hand, just hard enough to sting slightly.

‘Ow!' said Katie, shaking her hand with an exaggerated grimace, then laughed. ‘We're just going to lunch,' she said. ‘The local pub – food's not bad. Like to join us?'

Besides Katie and Robin, four other designers came along, two male and two female. They were young and
bright
and the atmosphere was relaxed, with plenty of friendly teasing. No one deferred to Robin as the boss. Wainwright Design was evidently a good place to work.

From some of the joshing, I gathered that Katie was currently between boyfriends – ‘playing the field', as one of the young men flirtatiously put it.

She gave a dismissive shrug. ‘Field? More like a sodding mud-slide round here, I reckon.'

Back at the office I got back to work. It still went pretty smoothly. I was all but through when Katie came in again around five o'clock.

‘All OK, Jeff?' She came and stood beside me, close enough that I could smell the scent of her.

‘Fine. Just one or two small details again.'

‘Ah. More corrective measures needed?'

I glanced up. She was looking at me meaningfully, with an enigmatic half-smile. Her lips were slightly parted. Have I mentioned that she had a temptingly full sensual mouth?

Did she mean what I thought she meant? I wondered. Could I really be that lucky? Keeping my tone light and jokey, I responded, ‘Yeah, maybe so. Your place or mine?'

‘Well, most people leave here by six. But I could always stay later . . .'

This time there was no mistaking her meaning. I reached out and stroked her arm. ‘My pleasure, Katie.'

She stooped and kissed me lightly on the lips. ‘Mine too, I hope. Till then.'

Over the next hour I finished off the accounts, trying hard to keep my mind on my work and ignore the visions of Katie's denimed curves that swam before my eyes.

Just before six Robin Wainwright popped his head round the door. ‘All in order, Jeff?'

‘Fine, thanks, Robin. Katie's done a grand job. I'm just finishing off.'

‘Great – thanks. Send us your invoice. Katie will see you out.'

I heard the last people leave. Silence descended. Then Katie's voice came: ‘In here, Jeff.'

I went into the next office. Katie was sitting on a plans chest, swinging one leg. She indicated a nearby couch.

‘OK, Jeff,' she said when I'd sat down, ‘just what corrective measures did you have in mind for me?'

‘Well, I couldn't help noticing that you have an exceptionally lovely bottom . . .'

‘Why, thank you, kind sir.'

‘So I thought I'd rather like to give you a spanking.'

‘Mmmmm,' said Katie. The sound came from somewhere deep in her throat, pitched between a purr and a growl. ‘Would you now? And were you planning to put me across your knee like a naughty girl?'

‘Of course.'

‘Take down my knickers?'

‘Absolutely.'

‘And spank me on my bare bottom?'

‘You bet.'

‘Hard?'

‘
Very
hard.'

‘Oooh!' she said in mock-terror, giving a coquettish little wriggle. ‘And if I told you I was awfully sorry, and promised to be very careful about the accounts from now on, and begged to be let off – that wouldn't help a bit, would it?'

‘Not a bit,' I responded cheerfully.

‘Mmm, that's rather what I thought. Well, in that case there's no help for it, is there? I guess I'll just have to resign myself to being spanked.'

‘Yes, I guess you will. So over here with you, please, my girl.'

With a dramatic sigh she slipped down off the plans chest and came and stood beside me, close to my right
knee
. In the warm sunset light flooding the room she looked even lovelier. Her eyes were sparkling, and a flush of anticipation coloured her cheeks. I'd noticed before that she didn't wear a bra; her breasts were small and firm, and now the nipples stood out against her shirt, erect with excitement. But, then, so was I.

I reached round and patted that glorious bottom. It felt just as spankable as it looked. My throat was dry. ‘OK, Katie,' I said, ‘let's have these jeans down, shall we?'

Obediently she unfastened the belt, unzipped the front and slid the jeans down over her hips, letting them fall around her ankles. Taking her by the hand, I drew her down across my lap in the classic spanking posture, and lifted the tail of her shirt, pushing it up to expose the small of her back.

Black nylon panties, fringed with lace, covered less than half the expanse of Katie's delectable rump. The luscious mounds curved invitingly upwards, perfectly placed for my hand. I lightly twanged the elastic on the panties. ‘Nice,' I said. ‘But even nicer with them down, I think. Such a lovely bottom deserves to be spanked on the bare.'

‘Cruel beast!' murmured Katie, but she helpfully lifted her hips as I slid the flimsy garment down over her ripe rearward curves and left it dangling around her thighs. As she felt her most intimate covering being removed she wriggled nervously on my lap, making the soft globes of her bottom quiver enticingly.

Full, flawless and voluptuously rounded, Katie's bottom was a joy to the eye – and to the touch. Enchanted, I rested my hand on the cool smooth hemispheres, squeezing them gently, prolonging the exquisite moment of anticipation. ‘You do have the most gorgeously spankable bottom, my sweet,' I told her. ‘Ever been spanked before?'

‘Oh yes,' said Katie. ‘My last-but-one boyfriend used to spank me a lot.'

‘I hope that wasn't why you left him?'

‘No, on the contrary, I think that's what got us together. I chucked him because he was a two-timing shit.'

‘And your last boyfriend?' I asked, still stroking the lush orbs, relishing their yielding softness.

She laughed. ‘Oh, he was a nice guy. Too nice. Wouldn't spank me, however hard I tried. Said he was afraid he'd hurt me. I told him, ‘‘That's the whole point,'' but he just didn't get it.'

‘More fool him,' I said. ‘Still, I'm glad to know such a superb bottom hasn't been entirely neglected. OK, young lady, prepare for corrective measures!'

With a feeling of sensuous delight, I began to smack the tender trembling mounds of Katie's shapely bottom. She gave a swift intake of breath as she felt the first strokes sting her soft rump, then relaxed over my lap, giving herself up entirely to the sweet sharp pleasure of being spanked.

At first I spanked her quite lightly, just hard enough to sting, revelling in the feel of the plump flesh as it wobbled and flattened beneath each smack. Her pale skin coloured readily, and after only a few spanks a delicate pink blush suffused the lovely cheeks, making them look even lovelier. Gradually I increased the force of my strokes until I was spanking her lustily, landing hard ringing slaps left and right on the lush quivering globes. As the heat and sting built up in her soundly spanked rear end Katie began to yip and squirm, but she made no attempt to escape, or to put a protective hand over the target area.

Even the distant traffic noises had faded, and all was quiet in the room except for the sweet music of spanking: the crisp clean sound of hand smacking down on soft bare female bottom-flesh, and the yelps of mingled pain and excitement from the spanked girl. Once I thought I heard a sound by the door and glanced
that
way, but after that there was nothing to distract me from the joyous task of reddening Katie's adorable bottom.

Since she was clearly deriving as much pleasure (or maybe even more, who knows?) from this supposed punishment, I felt no compunction about spanking her long and hard, taking my time and enjoying myself to the full. By the time I finally paused and stroked the well-warmed mounds, the sunset glow outside had faded from the sky; but it was emulated by the radiant glow that now adorned the whole expanse of Katie's delectable rearward curves.

‘Ow-ooooh!' said Katie, reaching back and gingerly rubbing her fiery cheeks. ‘Jeff, you certainly know how to spank a girl! Is your hand sore?'

‘A little. But nothing like as sore as your bottom, I bet.'

‘Mmm, I think you're right. But you know, if you wanted to –' She peered over her shoulder with a provocative little grin.

‘Wanted to what, exactly, young lady?'

‘Well – there's a hairbrush in my desk. Top left-hand drawer.'

‘You
are
a glutton for punishment, aren't you? OK, on your own head – or, rather, your own bottom – be it.' I helped her up off my lap. ‘While I'm getting it, why don't you go and stand over there by that plans chest with your back to me? Tuck your shirt up, so I can admire my handiwork.'

Katie grinned. ‘Whatever you say, O Master.'

In the desk drawer I found the hairbrush. It was a classic oval-backed Mason & Pearson, solidly crafted of broad black wood – a perfect spanking implement.