Extract from Strip Girl

Sarah smiled for her own over active imagination, and yet the woman was like Celeste, extraordinarily like Celeste, tall, beautiful, immaculately dressed, and with a manner of absolute confidence and unquestioning self-belief that would have shamed a Roman emperor. She was also heading directly for Sarah’s table, and her expression was anything but friendly. Alarmed and confused, Sarah began to rise, only to sit down again as the woman reached her, speaking immediately, in English, perfectly clear yet with an unmistakable French intonation, exactly as she imagined Celeste’s voice.

‘There you are, you little brat. You have a lesson coming to you.’

‘I… I’m sorry, I think…,’ Sarah stammered, and stopped as the woman reached down to take a firm grip on her wrist. ‘ Hey!’

‘Get up!’ the woman snapped, and pulled hard, jogging Sarah’s table and upsetting the carafe.

Sarah rose, still babbling questions and apologies, but unable to resist the woman’s tone of command. Some of her wine had splashed her dress, the rest pouring onto the pavement, but she didn’t protest, too shocked and astonished to react. The woman sat down on Sarah’s vacated chair, her grip so hard it hurt.

‘Across my knee with you, you dirty little monkey,’ the woman ordered.

Sarah found herself drawn forward, unable to find the will to resist as she was put into the threatened position, laid across the woman’s lap with her bottom lifted towards the other customers.

‘What… what are you doing?’ she wailed

‘What am I doing?’ the woman retorted. ‘I am preparing you for a spanking, that is what I am doing. Is that not how one deals with a mischievous child, with a spanking?’

‘A spanking?’ Sarah gasped as her arm was twisted high and tight into the small of her back. ‘You can’t do that! You can’t spank me!’

The woman didn’t answer, but lifted one knee, bringing Sarah’s bottom up into full prominence.

‘You can not do this!’ Sarah squealed, wriggling in the woman’s grip as panic took hold. ‘You just can’t!’

‘I can, and I will,’ the woman said, and Sarah’s dress was being lifted.

‘No!’ Sarah screamed as the seat of her big white panties was revealed. ‘You can’t do this to me, you just can’t! You can’t!’

‘I rather think I can,’ the woman answered, perfectly calm, and with just a trace of amusement mixed in with the authority of her voice as she tucked Sarah’s dress up. ‘How typically English, no taste at all in lingerie. Still, I think we had better have these down, don’t you?’

This time Sarah’s scream was wordless. She tried to snatch at her panties, determined to keep them up, but she couldn’t get her hand past the woman’s body. A thumb had already been pushed into her waistband, and it was being done. She went wild, kicking her legs in every direction and thrashing her body, full of rage and frustration, threats and pleas and denials spilling from her lips. It was impossible, outrageous, unthinkable, that she should have her panties pulled down for punishment, at all, never mind in a public place. Yet that was exactly what was happening, the taut elastic of her waistband moving inexorably down across her bulging cheeks, showing more and more chubby pink flesh, until it was all out, the full spread of her bare bottom on show to the other customers, the artist selling paintings, a dozen passers-by, the waiter.

‘So I cannot take down your knickers?’ the woman remarked, her voice as calm as ever and now openly amused. ‘Yet they are down, no? And your naughty bottom is showing to the world. I suppose you think I cannot spank you either?’

‘No, please,’ Sarah sobbed. ‘You can, but don’t… please don’t… please?’

‘You are to be spanked,’ the woman responded, ‘and that is that. For what you have done, how could it be otherwise?’

‘What have I done!?’ Sarah begged.

‘Ho, ho, she asks what has she done?’ the woman answered. ‘She knows what she has done, but perhaps she does not think it is wrong, yes? Perhaps she thinks it is amusant, oui?’

The tone of the woman’s voice had changed, showing anger for the first time, and as she spoke she had begun to lever Sarah’s panties further down.

‘Look, no… you don’t need to take them off! No!’ Sarah babbled, but they were already around her knees, then her ankles, and free, hanging from one leg.

‘Ah but I do,’ the woman was saying, ‘they must be off, I think, for you to feel proper shame, for to understand, maybe, how I felt in front of the disgusting Monsieur d’Orsay! There, how does it feel, with your cunt on show to the crowd?’

As she spoke, the woman had hooked her leg around Sarah’s and pushed her knee up, spreading the helpless girl’s thighs and exposing everything between. Sarah gave a scream of raw, agonising shame as the most bitter sense of frustration she had ever known hit her. She began to fight, writhing on the woman’s lap, striking out with her single free fist, screaming incontinently, and yet nobody took any notice, least of all the woman, save for the rising anger in her voice as she continued to speak.

‘Not that you could know how it is for a lady, you, who is so common, such a… a whore!’

The first smack landed on Sarah’s bottom, adding a squeak of pain to her clamour of protest and misery. Now it was done, her bottom not merely bare, but being smacked, spanked in public, and as her cheeks began to bounce her raging frustration and self-pity redoubled. The woman talked as she spanked, her voice now loud and thick with anger as she belaboured Sarah’s wobbling bottom and pumping thighs.

‘You, you dare, to sell your art, to sell me! To make me bare for Monsieur d’Orsay! Never will you do this, never, do you understand me, you little whore, you filthy thing, you salope…cocotte… branleuse… maquerelle! Putain de merde!’

The spanking had become furiously hard, reducing Sarah to a wriggling, squirming mess, her trapped arm and leg jerking helplessly, the free ones flailing wildly, with her lowered panties waving from her ankle like a flag. Her tears had come, spattering the pavement beneath her with ever smack to her bottom, along with mucus from her nose and spittle from her mouth, while her attempts to speak had broken to a desperate, pig-like squealing punctuated with yelps of pain.

‘Be quiet!’ she woman snapped, calmer now that she had expended some of her fury on Sarah’s still dancing bottom. ‘And will you hold still? This is just, as you must know, so at least try to take it like a lady. Now listen, petite salope, you will not draw me bare for your dirty English boys to make branlette, not again, not ever, and if you show me so in front of that foul roué d’Orsay, I swear I will have you make a pipe for him, you know, you understand? To suck his dirty penis! So, do you understand, Sarah?’

The spanking had become a little less hard as the woman spoke, allowing Sarah enough control over herself to gasp out a reply despite her pain and bewilderment.

‘Yes… anything, anything you say… please just stop!? Please?’

She was whimpering, her entire body now prickled with sweat and aching, her bottom a glowing ball behind her, hot and nude and fat, spanked, a word she couldn’t get out of her head, that came back again and again as she say sobbing across the lap of the woman who was punishing her, spanking her, spanking her in public. A choking cry escaped her lips at the sheer shame of it, then a gasp and a fresh squeal as the smacks grew firmer, this time delivered as glancing blows across the meat of her buttocks, to make them wobble and part, adding the exposure of her anus to her woes.

‘Do you mean it?’ the woman asked. ‘I wonder. Perhaps you think you do, but perhaps you will change your mind later, yes? Understand this then, Sarah, that if you ever disobey me, if you ever insult me so again, this will happen again, and more. Am I understood?’

‘Yes!’ Sarah wailed. ‘Yes, yes, yes, now stop spanking me, please!’

‘A few more, I think,’ the woman answered, ‘just so, to be sure you do not forget.’

As she spoke she had begun to spank as hard as she could once more, full across Sarah’s already blazing bottom. Yet it no longer hurt, the pain gone, her cheeks now warm and receptive, and with a stab of humiliation stronger even that what had gone before Sarah realised that the spanking was making her aroused. A fresh scream erupted from her mouth at the horror of what was happening to her, and another as a smack caught her low and she felt the air cool on the wetness of her sex.

They could see, a dozen or more people, not only her bare red bottom, but that the spanking had made her wet. It was worse even than the hideous shame of being given a spanking in front of them, to have them know that she was more than simply the victim of the awful woman’s retribution, but that she found having it done to her exciting. She screamed again, unable to bear her own emotions, and again as a voice sounded from behind her, in French, cool and imperious.

‘Ça suffit, Céleste. Elle est si turbulente.’

Sarah gave a heartfelt gasp as the spanking stopped. The elderly lady had spoken, a trace of irritation in her voice, indifferent to the bare bottom punishment but annoyed by the victim’s squeals, which added yet more outrage to Sarah’s boiling feelings. A last gentle pat was applied to her bottom and her wrist was released, so suddenly that she tumbled off her persecutor’s lap, to sit her hot bottom down in the puddle of spilt wine on the pavement, where she stayed, too dazed even to pull up her panties.

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