The Bottom Line (2 page)

‘Okay,' I replied, determined not to give up, ‘but you've still done this before, haven't you? So who else has been giving you a good hiding?'

She looked me straight in the eye. ‘If you must know,' she said, ‘it's my masseuse.'

‘Your masseuse?' I laughed. ‘So who's your masseuse and what does she do to you?'

‘I go once a week for a massage to Lady Fontenay,' she told me. ‘She used to work in a health club before she met Sir Philip, and she's a qualified masseuse and physiotherapist.'

‘And how about the other services?' I asked. ‘How did they start?'

‘It started with a few slaps to tone the flesh up, as she put it. Then she asked whether I fancied something a little stronger and I said yes. That's all there is to it.'

‘So what does she use that's a little stronger, and how hard does she beat you?'

‘It's called a paddle and it's made of leather. She hits me quite hard but never hard enough to leave any marks. And never with other customers on the premises.'

‘You implied that Eric never sees you naked,' I reminded her. ‘So why would it matter if she left any marks?'

‘No,' she said, ‘he doesn't. It's for Lady Fontenay's protection, not mine. She says that if she marks her customers one of them could turn nasty and threaten to blackmail her, so she's careful never to leave any evidence. In any case, whether there are marks is only a question of degree. It's the sensation that matters - the leather on naked flesh. Being naked seems to be part of it.'

‘So if I thrash you hard enough to bruise you, nobody will ever see the evidence. Is that what you're telling me?' I asked.

‘I suppose so,' she replied. ‘I wouldn't really want to go for a massage with bruises visible. She might think I was trying it on with her. But I can always miss a week if I have to.'

By now I had no doubts left. ‘Right,' I said, ‘I think we've finished in here. We'll go somewhere with a bit more space and comfort.' I eased myself into an upright position, my injury feeling stiff now rather than painful, left the bathroom and led Carol into a bedroom, taking with me a large towel, which I carefully spread across the double bed.

‘There we are then,' I said. ‘You'd better strip off and kneel on the towel.'

‘Don't forget what I told you,' Carol warned. ‘You're going to punish me, hard, but nothing else. Don't even think of...' this time the pause was appreciably longer, ‘...trying anything else.'

‘I promise,' I said, ‘though I don't think you're in any position to bargain. You're in my bedroom in my house, so you can hardly accuse me of forcing myself upon you. As long as you understand that if I get too excited I may have to do something about it. I'm sure you get my drift.' She nodded her understanding. ‘Fine, now get your clothes off.'

I watched as Carol pushed her thumbs into the waistband of her trousers and eased them over her hips, pushed them down her legs and stepped out of them. Her pop-socks came next and then, without any apparent embarrassment, she removed her knickers and climbed onto the bed.

‘Just a minute,' I said. ‘I told you to strip naked. That's only half the job.'

‘That's all you need,' she replied. ‘You can carry out the punishment properly like this, can't you?'

‘I'm sure I can,' I agreed, ‘but I need you to strip completely, so you'd better get the rest of your clothes off.'

She looked at me for a moment and then the penny dropped. ‘Oh, I get it,' she said. ‘You want to see my tits, don't you?' This time there had been no hesitation whatsoever. ‘Just like every other man who's ever looked at me, all they ever see is a pair of big tits.'

‘Well,' I began to justify myself, ‘you must agree they are what catches the eye. But it's not only that. You don't look ready naked only from the waist down. You'll look much better with everything off.'

‘Before I do,' she said, ‘just remember what I said. You can look but no touching. It may be your bedroom in your house but you'd still look pretty stupid if I began screaming, and if you try anything on I may do just that.'

I nodded my concurrence; privately telling myself that the house wasn't overlooked and there was probably nobody nearby to hear anyhow, then stood and watched as Carol peeled off her jumper. The cups of her bra strained to hold her large breasts snugly, and her cleavage was a deep, shadowy valley. She slipped the straps off her shoulders, reached behind her back and unhooked the bra, leaned forward and allowed it to fall away. Then she straightened up, placed her hands on top of her head and stared at me. ‘That's it then,' she said. ‘I hope the view is as good as you were expecting.'

The view was sensational. They were enormous, shapely and remarkably firm considering their size. Even unrestrained they stood out remarkably boldly. Moreover, she had large dark nipples on large dark areolae, contrasting perfectly with the whiteness of her flesh. She shook herself slightly and her breasts swung and quivered invitingly. Sir Isaac Newton would have had to reconsider some of his laws of motion if he'd seen these beauties. I picked up my slipper purposefully from the bedroom floor, as though I was about to punish Carol for having such splendid breasts.

‘Kneel,' I barked at her, somewhat peremptorily. She knelt obediently, the size of her appendages magnified by gravity, and I swung the slipper. How many blows I struck I have no idea. The slipper was a soft one and unlikely to do any harm, but even so I must have hit her at least forty or fifty times, enough to produce a warmly pink glow on her flesh, and she took it all without a sound. The feeling of power was magic, but mixed with it was a strange desire, that of wanting to change places with her to understand what it was like to be on the receiving end.

‘Is that enough?' I asked when my arm eventually tired and I was again conscious of a dragging discomfort in my hip.

‘Oh no,' she said, ‘you've only just got me warmed up. Now you have to find something to do it properly with.'

I thought for a moment and then knew what to do. From my wardrobe I selected a broad leather belt, doubled it and showed it to her. ‘How do you fancy some of this?' I asked.

‘That looks perfect,' she said. ‘You'd better make it a dozen, though. After all, I deserve severe punishment for what I did to you.'

For a moment I rested the belt against her bottom. Then I drew back my arm, held it there for a few seconds to increase the anticipation, and struck quite hard. There was a crack as the blow landed, and a gasp from Carol. She rocked forward slightly and the motion was transmitted to her breasts. Three more blows had the same effect and, by now, there was a considerable reddening of the flesh with stronger marks where the edge of the belt had caught her.

Four more blows, considerably harder, followed, and after each one she uttered a muted scream, fell forward towards the bed and then hoisted herself back into position. I released one end of the belt so it was no longer doubled, and swiped the tip as hard as I could against her. There was no mistake this time. The scream wasn't muffled at all as she jerked upright and clutched her martyred flesh with both hands, digging in her fingers as though to provide some comfort.

‘Is that enough?' I asked. ‘Do you think we ought to stop there?' I studied my handiwork as I spoke and saw that the V-shape of the tongue was imprinted on her flesh.

‘No, it isn't,' she said breathlessly. ‘You've got to complete the sentence.'

The next two blows were just the same and had the same effect. There were now distinct weals on her bottom where the top edge of the belt had sunk in as it landed, three marks showing where the leather had caught her and the general reddening of the flesh was turning faintly blue. I drew back my arm again and delivered the last blow, holding nothing back. Again she screamed and again she clutched her buttocks. Eventually she moved her hands and wriggled round on the bed so she could see over her shoulder, her own reflection in the wardrobe mirror.

‘Wow,' was her first reaction. ‘Perhaps I should show Lady Fontenay how it's really done.' She paused for a moment and then looked at me as I stood, shorts bulging and sweat glistening on my chest. ‘No,' she continued, ‘I don't think so. It's not quite the same when it's another woman. I don't think I'd have this effect on her for a start,' she sighed, reaching forward as she spoke to give my throbbing cock a squeeze, and before I could warn her to be careful she lifted the waistband of my shorts carefully over my erection and pulled down the useless garment. Then she motioned me onto the bed, and as I knelt in front of her she buried my cock between her glorious breasts and began to rub it up and down between them. ‘How does that feel?' she asked in mock innocence.

It felt wonderful and I told her so, but I knew it would be only seconds before I exploded. Clearly she realised this for she released me temporarily, lay down on her side and invited me to lie beside her, though higher up the bed. I appreciated, too, that she considerately positioned me so I was not lying on my injured hip. Then she took my cock again, folded it carefully into the deep, warm, welcoming valley between her breasts and, as I ran my fingers through her hair, used her hands to mould her breasts snugly around me until, all too quickly, I emptied my spunk all over them in the most pneumatic orgasm of my life.

We lay there for a few minutes, recovering from our efforts, and then used the towel to dry ourselves before returning to the bathroom with our clothes. ‘I think you'd better accidentally drop this in the bath after I've gone,' she suggested, holding up the towel, damp and sticky with incriminating evidence. ‘I don't think you'll want it in the laundry basket where Harriet will find it in this state, do you?'

Five minutes later she was gone, but not before pointing out that she could see several raspberry canes in the back garden which, she suggested, might put some ideas into my mind. I had also made it clear to her that perhaps there might be transgressions on my part for which I, too, needed to be corrected, although any such punishment would have to be gentle and provisional in the first instance. She giggled and said that she hoped I wasn't proposing to knock her down first, and there we parted, but not without a fairly clear understanding that regular service would be introduced as soon as possible.

 

 

 

Helen wasn't sure whether the dominant emotion was excitement or anxiety as she stepped abroad the AirNet plane for her first day as a stewardess, or more politically correct, a flight attendant. She had been delighted to pass the various tests and be provisionally offered a job, and slightly surprised when she found the training less rigorous than she'd expected. But she knew very well that she now faced a six-month period on probation, and only after surviving that would she be offered a permanent contract with AirNet, the world's first airline to take bookings exclusively via the Internet.

The other girls seemed pleasant enough, although she'd already realised that Carla, the senior flight attendant, was always keen to stress her seniority. There were six of them altogether, to service the two-hundred-plus passengers on the five-hour flight, with provision for them to take breaks in turn. She hadn't yet spoken to Louise or Karen, but Dolly had gone out of her way to be pleasant, and Bridget had welcomed her onto the flight.

She was very pleased by the safety demonstrations immediately prior to take-off, satisfied that she had remembered all the procedures, all the signals to the passengers and all the correct pieces of equipment in the correct places. Then it was just a few minutes in their take-off positions and the real work began.

Complementary drinks were served first and there were no mishaps, other than a drop or two of coffee spilled when a passenger jogged her arm as she reached across to the seat nearest the window. Fortunately none landed on any of the passengers and a quick dab with a serviette on the upholstery removed any evidence of the mishap.

The first round of duty-free offers passed without incident, but there was a minor glitch during the service of the in-flight meal when, somehow, she managed to manoeuvre her trolley the wrong side of Carla, who told her quietly to get the hell out of the way.

After that everything else worked without hitch and the preparations for landing, then the landing itself, seemed to come remarkably quickly. There were still jobs to be done of course, but half an hour or so after the last passenger had disembarked Helen found herself waiting with her five colleagues for the courtesy minibus that would take them to their hotel.

She found herself sitting on the bus next to Dolly, whose name, Helen suspected, owed as much to her remarkable build as to any baptismal ceremony, and it was quickly agreed that they would share a room at the hotel.

Dolly explained that this was the normal procedure, but that the rooms were all generous and comfortable. They would have an hour or two before dinner, and then they would all dine together in the hotel's restaurant. After dinner, Dolly explained, they were usually left free to amuse themselves, though there was sometimes a bit of a party, especially when there was a new stewardess to be welcomed. ‘Mind you,' she added, ‘“welcome” is perhaps not the best word.'