Maid Service (2 page)

“Wow!” Gabriel breathed. “I didn't know girls could do that!”

“Of course they can,” Peter assured him, “and that, my friends, is the secret every young man needs to know. Girls like it too.”

“Sure thing,” Hunter grunted and he'd stepped forward, jerking hard at his cock to send a long stream of spunk
iii
over Tiffany's hot red bottom, soiling her skirt and panties as well as her skin. “And that's how we finish 'em off where I come from. Spank 'em and spunk 'em, that's the way it's done.”

The following day Peter and Tiffany met in a favorite, private place, an old railway cutting in the woods between Broadfields and St. Monica's convent, where Tiffany attended the senior school. They kissed before Peter spoke up as he passed her two half-crown pieces and a shilling.

“The extra is from Hunter Rackman,” he explained. “He felt you'd earned it.”

“He's a dirty pig!” Tiffany stated with feeling. “He did it all over my bottom!”

“A dirty pig,” Peter agreed. “But a rich dirty pig. His father's an air force colonel at Alder Heath.”

“I don't care how rich he is, he still shouldn't have done it over my bottom.”

“I care, and so should you. Money always comes in handy. Anyway, if you want to be spanked in front of an audience, that sort of thing sometimes happens.”

“It was … kind of nice,” she admitted shyly, “and now I'll be able to buy some cool shades. But I thought there'd be more of you? How many boys are at Broadfields?”

“Hundreds,” Peter answered. “But there are only fifteen of us in my year at Grove House and I only invited the ones I could trust. Hunter's a bit of a hill-billy, but he's sound. You wouldn't want people like Algernon Gardiner, believe me.”

“What's wrong with him?”

“He's a sneak
2
, worse than a sneak. If he even found out he'd probably try and blackmail me.”

“We have girls like that at St. Monica's. Not many.”

“Yeah, so you see, Rackman's alright, just a bit wild.”

“Everybody else was very polite,” she pointed out. “Except Gabriel Howard, and at least he didn't do it all over me. It went in my underwear, and on my skirt! What if we hadn't noticed and I'd gone back like that? The penguins would have …”

“Given you another dose of the same,” Peter interrupted. “Now
that
I'd pay to watch.”

“Beast!” Tiffany replied, but there was laughter in her voice and a moment later she'd settled her head on his shoulder.

They stretched out together among the grass and flowers of the old railway embankment and lay in silence for a while, Tiffany playing with the three coins in her hand. Peter had his arm around her and began to fondle one pert breast in an absent-minded way as he let his thoughts wander back to their first meeting.

He'd been intent on a surreptitious visit to St. Monica's, where he liked to watch from the woods as the girls played hockey or rounders in their long white socks and little gym shorts (which were so skimpy as to be more like knickers in their own right). To get there unobserved he followed the cutting, usually without meeting anybody at all, but he was always cautious. He'd noticed the distinctive white and red of a St. Monica's uniform and, without giving himself away, had climbed up among the trees so that he could get close. As he'd moved carefully forward, he'd been hoping the girl would be misbehaving, perhaps using the warm spring sunshine as an excuse to sun herself, maybe even topless, or, joy of joy, nude. He'd read plenty of books and magazines in which girls were always stripping off at the slightest excuse, and he'd enjoyed a few, minor encounters.

The girl had been fully dressed but still enchanting, with her bobbed black hair, her delicate face and her taut, slender figure, while her tie was undone and her blouse open just far enough to hint at the curve of one small, high breast. She'd been sitting on the edge of an old switchgear box, smoking a Sobranie “Black Russian” cigarette, her legs crossed. Her sweet thighs emerged smooth and alluring from beneath her skirt, and her expression was mellow but faintly sulky. Next to her, unopened, lay a copy of Kerouac's
On the Road
. Recognizing a fellow rebel, he had abandoned his plans of spying on her and introduced himself instead. The railway cutting had been their private rendezvous ever since.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked suddenly.

“When we first met,” he told her. “How you looked so good. I thought you were the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen.”

“I was thinking about the barn,” she went on, “and how excited they all got when you spanked me, and what … what you did to me.”

Her nipple had grown hard beneath his fingers, but she seemed oblivious, still turning the three coins in her fingers, and when she spoke again her voice was oddly wistful.

“Does this mean I'm a whore?”

Taken aback, Peter found himself stumbling over his answer, eager to reassure her but not sure what he could say.

“No … no, of course not. How could you be a whore? Whores …”

“Take money for sex.”

“Yes, but …”

“I took money for sex,” she went on as she stretched and sighed.

Peter had been about to launch into a hastily improvised explanation of why what they'd done didn't make her a whore, but stopped at the sudden change in her attitude and tone of voice. He'd always been happy to take advantage of her odd, contrary attitude to sex, from the first time she'd suggested he smack her backside for turning up late to their rendezvous. But the more time he spent with her the less he understood. She seemed to seek out all the things she should have hated the most: being stripped and being spanked, paying dirty forfeits at cards or dice, being tied up and tormented. In her way she did hate them, but she craved them too and it had been her suggestion to invite some of his friends to watch her be punished, and her suggestion that they should charge for the privilege. She often cried when she came.

“Did you like doing that?” he asked cautiously.

Again she stretched, arching her back to push herself against his hand, and her voice was soft and urgent as she spoke again.

“You made me feel so ashamed of myself, telling them all they could watch while you gave me a spanking and made them pay. They know I like it, and that's worse, worse than if you'd tricked me into going to the barn and held me down while you got my bottom bare in front of them, or if you'd spanked me for kicks while they hid and watched. You let them see how much I like it, and you rubbed me off in front of them and you let that horrible pig Hunter do his business all over my bare backside.”

She gave a little purr as she finished and her hand had gone to his zip, easing it down to burrow within and pull out his cock. Peter lay back, his eyes closed in bliss as she began to masturbate him, stroking and tugging at his rapidly stiffening penis and speaking in a low, warm voice completely at odds with what she was saying.

“You're such a beast, such a horrible, horrible pig, spanking my bottom like that, with my knickers pulled down in front of all your awful friends and making them pay to watch, making me a whore. Do you know how I felt when you pulled my knickers down, Peter? Do you know how I felt when you held my fanny open to show them all I've never been with anyone, that I'm a virgin? You do, don't you, you beast … you horrible pig!”

Her voice sounded broken and he realized she'd begun to cry, but she was tugging on his now stiff cock with ever greater urgency, bringing such ecstatic feelings that he had to bite hard down on his lip in order to stop himself cumming in her hand. She moved, suddenly, twisting over and around to get herself into a kneeling position, now with her bottom pushed up under her little red tartan skirt as she continued.

“That's what you like, isn't it? Go on, turn up my skirt and pull down my knickers, you dirty pig. Have a good look. Have a good look at my bare bottom and all the dirty details you like to see. Touch if you want. Spank me if you want. Punish me. Spank me.”

Peter didn't need telling twice. He quickly flipped her skirt up onto her back and tugged her panties down to expose her fleshy little bottom to the air. He caught the scent of her sex immediately and saw how wet she was, her hand still pulling at his straining cock.

She'd turned to look at him as he exposed her to the air. “Go on,” she urged. “Smack it, smack my bottom, Peter. I like it smacked. I need it smacked. I like it in front of your friends, knickers down with their dirty cocks in their hands while they get their thrills over seeing me bare, seeing me spanked …”

She broke off with a sharp cry as his hand smacked down across her bottom. Her knees were once again spread wide, stretching her white school panties taut between her thighs. The pleats of her skirt made a pelmet for her beautiful bottom, the tight taupe star of her ass bared to the air, her cunt wet and open. He closed his eyes, fighting back the temptation to simply grab her by the hips and thrust his erect cock deep into her, bursting her hymen and taking her virginity. One good push and he'd be inside her, a second and he'd have come, filling her with semen and leaving her disgraced, maybe even pregnant.

“Make me come, Tiffany,” he gasped. “Make me come, or I'm going to fuck you, I swear.”

“Pig … you filthy, pig,” she answered, but she moved closer, her mouth wide and Peter cried out in bliss as he realized she was going to take his cock in her mouth.

It was too much, the thought of her pretty face with his erect penis in her mouth and the view of her bare rear end as he spanked her was more than he could possibly resist, and all the while she never stopped her dedicated stroking of his shaft. He came, full in her face, hot spunk splashing across her cheeks and into her open mouth. But even as she cried out in shock and disgust, she took him deeper into her mouth, accepting the second spurt deep into her throat and swallowing it down. She seemed to be both sobbing and laughing as she did it, tears streaming down her face to mingle with the thick, white cum. Still she continued, swallowing again and again until she'd milked his balls of every last drop.

Only then did she come off his cock, to roll over on the grass, her thighs spread wide in her panties, one hand clutching her skirt to her belly, the other busy with her cunt. She was face down, her body lying at an awkwardly steep angle, but she didn't seem to care, masturbating shamelessly with her mouth wide and the spunk trickling out over the side of her lip, only for her to swallow once more and then begin to babble.

“You did it in my face, you filthy pig … in my face … in my mouth … you made me swallow it, you made me swallow your dirty squirt, you … you, and if I hadn't let you you'd have fucked me!”

She broke off with an anguished sob and her back arched tight as she started to come, a long, hard orgasm while she snatched and clawed at her pulsating cunt, her thighs quivering and her skirt rolled high to display herself even more brazenly, her bottom hole squeezing in time with the powerful contractions of her strong, young muscles. Peter watched, delighted and astonished by her utter lack of inhibition and what seemed a bizarre determination to be as dirty as possible while seemingly hating every moment. She'd even slapped her hand to her face at the last instant, smearing herself with a mess of spunk and tears before jamming her fingers into her mouth to suck on them as she rode her orgasm. As she pulled her fingers free, she favored him with a weak smile before speaking again.

“That was lovely, thank you … and thank you for not taking advantage.”

“That's alright, I understand,” he assured her, despite a rising regret for what he'd denied himself. “I know it's important for you, being Catholic …”

“Oh it's not that,” she interrupted. “I wouldn't mind at all, although I do think you ought to make a little more effort to prove your love to me. You know, do some daring deed to prove your worth before you fuck me, like one of King Arthur's knights.”

“There are no dragons in Berkshire,” Peter pointed out, “and there's no point in sending me off after the Holy Grail. You know I'd only cheat.”

“Not like that,” she went on, her voice now wistful. “Something daring, like breaking into St. Monica's and ravishing me in my bed. The trouble is, the penguins inspect us at the end of every term and you've no idea of the fuss there'd be if they found I'd been had.”

“Inspect you?” Peter asked, intrigued.

“Oh you know,” she answered as she rolled over onto her knees, “a medical inspection, to make sure we're pure. Matron does it, and it's ever so embarrassing. We have to go before bed so we're in just our nighties, with no knickers underneath, and we have to take a towel to put under our bottoms when we lie down on the table.”

“In front of each other?” Peter asked as he imagined one nubile young girl after another lying back to have her virgin cunt inspected while her friends looked on.

Tiffany had wriggled herself back into her panties, but abruptly changed her mind, slipping them down her legs and off before she carried on talking, her voice quite casual.

“Oh yes. It's like a production line. One of the sisters sits by the door and we have to lift up our nighties to show we haven't any knickers on. If we have, she pulls them down and gives us a smack or two before making us take them off. Then we go on the table and we have to roll our legs back so Matron can hold our fannies open to see we're still intact. Another sister makes a tick in a book.”

“And if you're not intact?” Peter asked, his hand now back on his cock as he watched Tiffany mop up the mess on her face with her panties.

“We get spanked,” she said blithely, “right there with our legs rolled back to our ears and a sister holding our ankles. It's a really rude position, but the nuns insist on it. All the girls hate it, especially when Matron does the spanking. She's very rough, and she tells us off while she spanks.”

“And after the spanking?” Peter asked, shocked and genuinely sympathetic as he imagined the poor girls with their legs held up and their deflowered cunts exposed as they were smacked and lectured for their depravity.

His guilty feelings didn't stop him playing with his cock, so hard and urgent once more, but also slightly sore. Tiffany carried on, the emotion now creeping gradually back into her voice.