by leaving time it was sheer bliss simply to give in to Adrienne’s will. She wasn’t even a difficult mistress, because, although she liked to be firmly in control, she believed in punishing me only when I misbehaved. As she was divorced, and in receipt of an ample monthly income from her ex-husband, she had time on her hands. I didn’t have to shop or cook, and I was always welcome at her apartment, which was only a couple of doors down from mine in the Rue de la Cure.
For the first week I ate with her every evening and went to bed with her afterwards, only returning to my own flat when I had satisfied both her and myself. It was even possible to get back along the rooftops, as long as I left the window open on the landing. The flat lead roof above her apartment was good for sunbathing, if not perfect, because it was overlooked by several taller apartment buildings, although none of them particularly close. Now she had invited me to join her at the weekend, and I was wondering if she’d make me go topless or even nude, but by the time I left work on the Friday I was in need of something rather more immediate, and preferably both soothing and slightly painful.
The difficulty was M. Montesquieu. It would be wrong to say I found him attractive, at least in the conventional sense, as he was much too old for me, but he was a great bear of a man, which I like, and had a wholly inappropriate and old-fashioned attitude to women, which I don’t, but if it’s done a certain way I can’t stop it getting to me. If he’d been rude, or openly suggestive, I’d have been able to cope, putting him in his place with a few carefully chosen remarks and if necessary threatening to report him to head office. Unfortunately he was invariably polite, but still managed to make me feel very feminine and very vulnerable, in such a way that I couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like for him to spank me. Not that I had any reason to think he’d want to do it, or even that he might find the idea appealing, but it’s my thing and I couldn’t resist thinking about it, with all sorts of peculiar fantasies running through my head as I walked back from the Metro.
First and foremost was the idea of him suddenly deciding that I was getting too big for my boots and that the best way to cut me down to size would be a spanking in front of the rest of the staff. I’d be made to circulate a memo inviting everybody to watch, perhaps in his office, or on the main floor so that absolutely everybody got to see, including any clients who happened to be about, perhaps a few couriers, repair men, anybody. Inevitably it would be on my bare bottom, to really humiliate me, with my suit skirt rolled up from the start. My panties would be pulled down, but not immediately, only after a few swats, to let me think I might be allowed to keep that last, vital piece of dignity before having my cunt and anus put on show to all the men and women I spent my days ordering around.
I meant to tell Adrienne and beg her to punish me for my dirty and disloyal thoughts, preferably by dealing with me in exactly the same way as I’d been dealt with in my fantasy, minus the large and embarrassing audience. Unfortunately she wasn’t there and I was left outside her door, clutching in one hand the bottle of Fleurie I’d picked up at Nicolas and in the other the flowers I’d bought for her. I looked and felt like an abandoned date. She’d said she would be there, and had probably only gone out to the shops, but I’d expected to be across her knee within a couple of minutes of my arrival and my frustration was in danger of boiling over. I tried to call her but there was no response, and with that I decided to take matters into my own hands.
Feeling thoroughly ashamed of myself but all the more excited for that, I went back to my flat, swallowed a glass of the Beaujolais and crawled onto my bed, still on all fours and with my eyes closed as I began to fantasise. In my imagination I was back at the office, my face hot with indignant blushes as M. Montesquieu informed me that I would benefit from ten minutes across his knee with the rest of the staff watching as I was given a spanking. He’d tell me off, calling me a little madam and a spoilt brat, then send me off to distribute the memo, not by email but by hand, with everybody whispering together and smirking over my fall from grace as the message went around.
I needed my bottom smacked, whether it was by M. Montesquieu, Adrienne, the spotty boy who’d served me in Nicolas or myself, which was the only practical choice. Reaching back, I took hold of the hem of my skirt and rolled it slowly up my thighs, imagining how it would feel to have to do it with everybody in the office watching. I was in a slip, but that came up too, and the tail of my blouse, to leave first the tops of my stockings showing, then my panties, taut across my cheeks and distinctly moist where the gusset hugged my cunt.
The shame of having to spank myself was so strong I was sobbing even as I planted the first, firm pat across the seat of my panties, but nothing to what it would have been if it had been M. Montesquieu’s huge, fleshy paw. I wondered if I’d have gone meekly or made a fight of it, kicking and writhing so that I had to be held down across his lap by force, begging to be let off and promising to be a good girl even as my panties were exposed behind. He’d take no notice, keeping me firmly in place as he planted swat after swat across my jiggling cheeks, just to the point when I’d resigned myself to my fate, grateful that at least I still had my knickers up, before telling me they were coming down.
My bottom was already warm and my cunt desperate for the touch of my fingers, but I forced myself to hold back until I could concentrate on the most shameful moment of all, having my already well smacked bottom stripped bare in front of the watching staff. I took hold of my panties, imagining that it was not my hand but M. Montesquieu’s, and drew them slowly down. As I did so, I thought about the awful sense of consternation in my head as I was laid bare, my bottom exposed despite my crazy, pathetic struggles to keep myself covered, my threats, my curses, my appeals to his sense of decency, all ignored, and as I slowly put myself on show I began to babble.
‘No, please, Monsieur Montesquieu, not my panties, not that … at least leave me that. I don’t want to be spanked bare. I don’t deserve to be spanked bare, you pig, you great brute! No, please, they’ll see my –’
‘Cunt?’
Adrienne had spoken from directly behind me, much as she had at the Aire de Villabé and with even more startling effect, but as I made to turn over she reached out to place a restraining hand in the small of my back.
‘Oh, no, you don’t, Lucy, you stay like that and think about what you were doing while I tell you off.’
I obeyed, my head thick with chagrin for the position I was being made to hold, my bottom stuck up in the air and my panties rolled down to the tops of my stockings. But I was puzzled too. Adrienne was quick to explain.
‘I let myself in with the key I had cut the other day, when you lent me yours so that I could air your flat properly. Although as a general rule girls who masturbate ought to make sure they put the latch on first, and close the shutters. Didn’t I tell you about old Commandant Arnauld? He has an apartment at the back, with a roof garden. He likes to watch me sunbathing, and I imagine he can see into your window quite well.’
‘My modesty curtains are closed, but thank you anyway.’
‘Would you thank me if I opened them, right now?’
‘Adrienne, no!’
‘Why not? He’s a war hero. You should be more generous, and besides, from what I heard, you were fantasising about being spanked by your boss, with your knickers pulled down. That would be the Monsieur Montesquieu you were telling me about, I suppose. How old is he?’
‘That … that’s not the same thing at all, Adrienne! I was only thinking about it. Now please can I roll over? This is embarrassing!’
‘Stay as you are, it’s supposed to be embarrassing. But don’t worry, I’ll spare your blushes and leave the curtains closed, if only because old Arnauld isn’t the only neighbour at the back and I don’t want any complaints, especially as I am going to punish you.’
I didn’t answer, confused, deeply embarrassed and more ashamed of myself than ever, but desperately in need of what she was planning for me. She’d stepped away from the bed as she spoke, presumably to find something to beat me with. I’d have far preferred to be dealt with across her knee and by hand, but I’d not yet had a chance to teach her the virtues of English corporal punishment.
But at least some of them