Butter Wouldn't Melt (3 page)

‘Ah, Philippa,' he said, ‘a pleasure to meet you. We've heard a lot about you.'

‘Nothing bad, I hope?' I joked, not at all sure why he would have heard anything about me at all, beyond my desire to spend my year off working as a trainee in a law firm.

‘Not at all,' he chuckled. ‘You come highly recommended. Indeed, I believe Morris is a little jealous.'

I had no idea who Morris was, but it didn't seem advisable to ask and risk making a fool of myself. There was a chair in front of the desk, to which Mr Todmorden was gesticulating, so I sat down on it,
smiling and wishing every detail of what I'd learnt in the last two years hadn't abruptly left my head. I did at least have my CV, which I passed across. Mr Montague took it, but only gave the top sheet a cursory glance before speaking once again.

‘Your qualifications are, of course, not in question. When can you start?'

‘Immediately, if you like,' I answered, astonished at what seemed such ready acceptance.

‘I don't think we need be quite that precipitant,' Mr Montague replied. ‘Monday morning should do very well, don't you think, Lucius?'

Mr Todmorden nodded his agreement. I seemed to be in, without having to answer a single question, which just went to show that's it's not what you know, but who you know. Naturally I would have preferred to get in on my own merits, but if that was the way it worked then only an idiot would have protested.

‘You'll be assigned to general duties at first,' Mr Montague was saying, ‘filing and so forth, but I'll make sure you have plenty of opportunity for work experience. For the moment, I'll get somebody to show you around. Not one of us, of course.'

‘Of course,' I answered hastily. ‘I wouldn't dream of taking up your valuable time.'

‘I mean to say, not one of us,' he repeated, now emphasising the final word.

‘Um . . . no,' I managed, thoroughly confused.

‘There are, in fact, only four of us,' he went on, ‘Lucius and myself, my secretary, Helen Stevens, and Maggie, Miss Phelps that is, our clerk. From what Morris tells me you will find Maggie particularly gratifying.'

I nodded, now completely lost. He had pressed a button on his desk, and spoke briefly into a
microphone. Before I could ask any questions a young woman had appeared.

‘My secretary, Helen,' Mr Montague explained. ‘Helen, this is Miss Bassington-Smyth, who'll be joining us as a trainee, if you would be so kind as to find somebody to show her around.'

‘Certainly, Mr Montague,' she replied.

‘Thank you,' I said, trying to address all three of them at once as I stood up.

‘My pleasure, I assure you,' Mr Todmorden answered me. ‘I look forward to seeing you on the Monday, unless of course you'll be there on Saturday night?'

‘Um . . . no, I don't think so,' I answered.

‘A pity,' he said, ‘but another time, no doubt.'

The interview was obviously over, and I'd been accepted.

I was so astonished I barely heard what Helen Stevens was saying as she led me out onto the landing, and I had to make myself focus on her words.

‘. . . you'll like it here,' she was saying. ‘We're very informal, although of course you must dress the part for the sake of the clients. The partners' offices are on this floor, and my own. There's Mr Montague, and Mr Todmorden, and young Mr Montague, Mr Montague's nephew.'

‘Aren't there three Montagues?' I asked.

‘Oh no,' she said, smiling and nodding towards an open door as we approached it. ‘Old Mr Montague, who was young Mr Montague's father, died several years ago. Mr Montague, meet Philippa Bassington-Smyth, our new trainee.'

There were altogether too many Mr Montagues for me, but the man she was introducing me to was obviously the young one. He was very much like his
uncle, tall and straight with a handsome, clean-cut face, but with jet-black hair and a fresh, almost boyish look despite being maybe thirty-five or forty. My smile was returned with a knowing grin, and as soon as we were out of earshot Helen Stevens spoke again.

‘Watch out for that one. He's a bit of a wolf.'

I'd already guessed, but thanked her for the warning. She was going to go down the stairs, but Mark James appeared coming up them, speaking immediately.

‘Showing the new girl around, Helen? Let me do that. I'm sure you have something to type or whatever.'

Helen Stevens made no protest, but I was quickly hustled off, back up the stairs to the third floor, which was entirely occupied by a large, open-plan office in which half a dozen men and women of assorted ages were seated at their desks while the walls were lined with ceiling-high bookcases and ranks of files.

‘Hi guys,' he greeted them. ‘This is the new girl, Philippa Double-Barrel. Say hi to the Blockhouse, Philippa.'

‘Call me Pippa, please,' I answered, trying not to blush as every head in the room turned to me.

‘Pippa it is,' Mark James assured me and began to make the introductions.

Half-an-hour later I'd completed my tour and even knew where I was going to be working, a tiny cubby hole on the top floor which looked out over the railway with the Tower of London and the Thames beyond. Among the staff, old Mr Montague and Mr Todmorden apparently only worked for a few clients, while young Mr Montague, Richard, was the driving force behind the firm. Most of the actual work was done by the five men and two women in the big office
known as the Blockhouse, including Mark James. The first floor was the domain of Miss Phelps and her two juniors, with the library and various utility rooms, while the ground floor contained her office, a big reception room for clients and the kitchen. Downstairs was a shadowy area in which the older records were kept, apparently under the watchful eye of an elderly custodian, Mr Prufrock, who was the only person I wasn't introduced to.

By the time I left my head was whirling with names and faces, while I was elated to have been accepted, and so easily. I immediately rang AJ, hoping she'd be in the office and not out on a job, as despite running her company she insisted on riding as well. She was there and invited me over, promising a congratulatory drink. I took the tube, now indifferent to the crowds although they were thicker than ever with the rush hour already picking up.

Getting out at Tottenham Court Road, I walked up to AJ's office, to find her in conversation on the phone and not looking too happy. I kissed her anyway, quite hard as there was nobody else about, then sat down to wait for her to finish her call. She did so almost immediately, throwing the phone down into its cradle as she spoke.

‘Bastard! How dare he!'

‘Who was it?' I asked, taken aback by her anger. She may be my girlfriend, but she stills scares me sometimes.

‘Morris fucking Rathwell!' she swore. ‘Do you know what the bastard wanted?'

‘No,' I admitted.

‘He wanted me to come to one of his parties,' she spat. ‘Me! God I'd like to kick the little shit right in the balls.'

I didn't answer, because I knew who she was talking about, and a horrible suspicion dawned on
me. Morris Rathwell was a notorious pervert who ran spanking clubs for dirty old men, with girls provided for spanking and worse, and if he'd tried to invite AJ it explained why she was so angry. Mr Montague had also mentioned somebody called Morris, as if I should know him, although how the two could be connected I couldn't imagine. Yet Mr Todmorden had asked if I was going to the party on Saturday, and it was all too easy to imagine him getting off on spanking young girls, or any girls for that matter.

‘Is the party on Saturday?' I asked.

‘You keep well away from that party, Moppet,' she warned. ‘I've told you about Rathwell.'

‘I don't want to go,' I reassured her, ‘but is it on Saturday?'

‘Yes,' she answered, ‘but there's some big club on too and he's short on girls, so he asked me, when he knows full well I would never go to play his dirty little games, the bastard. Come here, Moppet.'

‘What are you going to do?' I asked, a little uncertain.

‘Just come here,' she insisted.

I came, holding my arms out to hug her, which I hoped was what she needed, only to be snatched by the wrist and hauled across her knee, my raised bum towards the door as she began to fiddle with my skirt.

‘AJ! Not here, someone might see!'

‘Sorry, sweetness, I have to take it out on somebody.'

‘Yes, AJ, but . . .'

My words broke off in a squeak of shock as my brand new skirt was jerked up over my bottom, exposing the seat of my knickers, on which she laid a single hard smack before hooking her thumb into my waistband. I knew my knickers were coming down. They always do, and I was helpless to prevent it, but
that didn't stop me babbling pitifully as they were drawn slowly down over my cheeks.

‘No, AJ, not bare, please, not in the office. What if somebody came in? Oh, please, no . . . no . . .'

It was too late. My knickers were down, inverted around my thighs to leave my bum showing bare behind me, so that anybody who walked through the door would get a prime view of my spanking. It would only be one of her riders, most of whom were hardcore dykes anyway and would only think it was funny, but that didn't do a great deal to quell my sense of embarrassment as AJ set to work on my bottom. She had me tight around the waist, holding me firmly in place as she spanked me, and she was laying on the smacks so hard that I was rapidly losing control of myself to the pain anyway, but that wasn't what made me so helpless. I can never resist her, however humiliating the circumstances, because just to be with her makes me go weak, never mind to be held down over her knee for what I've come to crave more than anything – a good, hard spanking.

I was getting it too, my bottom already on fire as the slaps rained down on my cheeks, with my legs kicking and my thighs pumping in my knickers, my body wriggling in an entirely instinctive and entirely useless effort to escape the pain, and in doing so showing off both pussy and bumhole behind. Not that I could help it, because it hurt too much, but it really was not the view I'd have chosen to present to the huge, bearded motorbike courier who walked in at the door without bothering to announce himself.

‘Don't you ever fucking knock?' AJ demanded, and released her grip.

My face felt as hot as my bottom as I jumped up, torn between the need to cover up and to clutch at my poor spanked cheeks. Modesty got the better of
me and I tugged my knickers up and adjusted my skirt, all so fast that the biker was still standing in the doorway gaping like a fish by the time I'd made myself decent. He'd seen me spanked, he'd probably seen pussy and my bottom hole, but there was nowhere to run to, and I was forced to stand there with my face the colour of a ripe cherry as AJ spoke again.

‘What is it?'

‘I've done the Transglobe job,' he managed. ‘Can I knock off now?'

‘Fuck off,' AJ told him, ‘and next time, knock. Couldn't you hear I was spanking my tart?'

His face went as red as mine felt, and he left without saying another word. AJ shook her spanking hand, which was quite red too, and blew her breath out before speaking again.

‘That's better. Now why don't you lock the door and do what you're best at?'

I knew exactly what she meant, and managed a weak nod in reply. My fingers were shaking as I fastened the catch on the door, and I gave a nervous glance to the window before turning to her once more. She was ready for me, her chair pushed back from the desk even further than when she'd spanked me, her leathers and thong pushed down, her long, lean thighs spread wide. As usual, she was freshly shaved, showing off the tangled barbed wire design tattooed on her pussy mound and the twin silver rings in her lips. Her hands were folded casually across her belly.

‘Make it quick,' she ordered. ‘Some of the others will be back soon.'

My cheeks had coloured up again at the thought of licking her while her riders waited outside. If it was the girls, they'd know what I'd been doing, an almost
painfully embarrassing thought, but it didn't stop me going down on my knees in front of AJ. I could smell her immediately, leather and pussy and a touch of petrol, helping to bring up my excitement as I crawled quickly forward and buried my face in her sex.

‘That's my Moppet,' she said, taking me by the ponytail and pulling me firmly in.

I was trapped against her sex, licking eagerly enough but knowing I wouldn't be let go until I'd finished my task whether I was eager or not. It was what I did, part of my duties, to lick pussy when and where I was told, which made it a thousand times more arousing that if I'd only done it when we were in bed and playing anyway. She was wet too, even before I got busy with my tongue, turned on by spanking me, just as I was turned on by being spanked.

My knickers were coming back down, even if she was in a hurry, and as I began to explore her pussy I'd quickly levered them off over my bottom and tugged my skirt up, once more baring my hot rear meat to the air. She gave a low, throaty chuckle as she saw what I was doing and called me a tart as my finger found the mushy, sensitive groove between my sex lips.

I thought of what she'd done to me, whipping me across her knee for an impromptu spanking just because she was cross with Morris Rathwell. It had hurt so much, and felt so shameful, especially when the man had come in, come in to see my bare red bottom bouncing under AJ's hand, my wet, excited pussy, my dirty little bottom hole. Maybe he'd even been able to guess that I was a virgin.

For one awful moment I imagined him plunging his cock up me as I licked AJ, but the thought was too scary to hold. I focused on how I'd been spanked
instead, how I'd imagined getting it in front of my little sister and how I'd been seen by a man for real. That was going to get me there, but AJ had tightened her grip in my hair, pulling me into her as she spoke.