Being a Girl Read Free Page B

Binky. I scrambled to my feet, my skin squelching on the glass. He swung me round in front of him, his hands running under my skirt to the globes of my bottom. He smiled and I felt – I don’t know – safe, confident in being me.
    â€˜We don’t need this, do we?’ he said, and fanned the air under my skirt.
    I shrugged and shook my head. Was this the last test? I unrolled the fabric at my waist, lowered the zip and he removed his hands from my body to allow the kilt to fall to the floor. I stepped away from it. I was naked, completely exposed, my breasts warm and full, my pussy wet and smelly. A few hours ago I’d been a schoolgirl taking an exam and I couldn’t even remember what it had been about. I looked around the room, at the old TV star staring from the computer, the water fountain, the skirt on the floor, my knickers on the table.
    Mr Cartier held my thighs and looked up at me with a small smile.
    â€˜Now, Milly, over you go,’ he said.
    I didn’t know what he meant. Over where? He was turning me sideways, a hand on my stomach, another on the small of my back. He applied pressure and my bones turned to sponge as my thin body folded over his knees. I spread my hands flat on the floor and realised that I was revealing myself in a way I never imagined I would reveal myself to anyone.
    He stroked my bottom for a long time. It was terrifying but it was nice at the same time. He dipped the tip of his finger into my pussy, not far, just enough to make it wet, and then he did something so rude I can’t believe I let it happen. I wriggled and squirmed but not so much. I didn’t scream out. I felt new things, new sensations. He was making his finger wet and pushing it against my bottom, right over the hole, pushing just softly back and forth and I heard soft popping noises and fidgeted with shame.
    â€˜Don’t,’ I said weakly.
    â€˜Shush,’ he replied.
    And he kept on, dipping his finger into my pussy, then tapping it against the hole in my bottom. I would never in a million years have imagined anything like this happening, being stark naked, stretched over a man’s knees, my breasts full and swinging, my pink nipples tingling and hard. I had gone beyond remorse or embarrassment. My body was singing. I pushed myself up and out. The golden key turned and I sucked his finger inside my bottom.
    He moved in a spiral, round and round, back and forth, slowly, smoothly, teasing all the nerve endings, the pressure touching my magic button and bringing me back to that oozy feeling that had ebbed away. Ipanted for breath, his finger greased with my own juice running up inside this dark exquisite place, in and out, in and out. I was naked, naked, my breasts pounding, my bottom in the air. I was coming. I could feel contractions. I could feel a wave inside building up, rolling through my body . . .
    Then, just as I was on the point of making it, he slid his finger out, clean out of my bum, and I just wished he’d have kept going for another few seconds. The wave retreated and Mr Cartier now did something that shocked me more than anything else.
    He spanked me.
    He removed his finger from my bottom, lifted his hand, and brought it down on my soft skin. I screamed and wriggled. But he was strong and the more I wriggled the tighter he held me. He lifted his big hand back in the air and brought it down with a thunderous clap that made me gasp.
    â€˜No, no, no,’ I cried.
    â€˜Yes, yes, yes,’ he replied, and smacked me again, three hard smacks one after the other.
    I was panting. Tears were streaming from my eyes, snot fell from my nose. His left hand was pressed down on my back. I writhed and yelped as his right hand came down again and again, spanking my soft cheeks and sending tremors of unknown pain and unexpected pleasure coursing through me. I could feel the heat in my bottom spreading down my thighs and up my spine.
    He stopped to massage the