Hard Bargains: A Mischief Erotica Collection

There was a thin whooshing sound, then a quiet sort of ‘snick’, then a howl of pain.

Definitely sounded like the cane. The riding crop would be splattier, I decided.

‘One, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.’

But he didn’t sound very grateful.

His protests grew with every additional stroke. I pictured him, grabbing his ankles for dear life, shuddering and jolting forwards every time the rod swiped across his offered cheeks. And the strokes, visible red lines, criss-crossing his well-exercised bottom, turning it into a kind of geometric pattern. I could visualise those all right.

I visualised them so vividly that, together with the swishes and grunts and agonised votes of thanks, they led me to shove my hand down the waistband of my jeans and seek out the ever wetter spot between my thighs.

I rubbed and panted through the dozen smart strokes, imagining them done to him, but also done to me, or even by me, or … I don’t know, but the feat of imagination was fervid and contained multiple images, spilling through my brain like photographic flashes. As the eleventh and twelfth were soundly laid, I thrust out my bottom, feeling the denim tighten and strain across my own unmarked cheeks, offering myself for the same treatment.

My orgasm coincided with the final stroke. It was sudden and strong, and I couldn’t restrain a gasp, putting my palm against the door to prevent myself tumbling forwards. To my horror it made a knocking noise, as the catch rattled in its hole.

Sobering immediately, even as the last fizzlings of my climax leaked out, I tried to straighten my wobbly legs. But I was too late.

‘What have we here?’

Shona, twice as tall and three times as intimidating, looked down at me.

‘Sorry, Shona,’ I muttered. ‘Wrong … door …’

I’ll remember that scene for the rest of my life. The man standing upright and covering his striped bum with his hands as he glared indignantly over his shoulder. Shona, cane still in hand, clad not as I’d imagined but in a business suit, silky nylon gown and fancy-dress mortarboard, eyes wide, lips slightly parted, waiting for my explanation. An explanation that was a long time coming.

I was still sheepish in the extreme the next morning. I crept into the kitchen to make coffee, hoping to get in and out without seeing Shona. After the debacle, I’d run straight into the shower, got rapidly dressed and run out to meet my friends, arriving at the bar half an hour early. By the time I got home, Shona was in bed.

But my plans were scuppered when she came into the kitchen as the kettle was boiling. I couldn’t look at her, but she came and stood right next to me, leaning back on the work surface with her hands gripping the edge.

‘I shouldn’t have gone off at you like that,’ she said.

I was able to look at her then. She sounded genuinely apologetic.

‘I’m really sorry too,’ I said. ‘I shouldn’t have been earwigging.’

‘No, it’s OK,’ she said. She looked down, biting her lip, then met my eye. ‘Actually, it’s more than OK.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The thing is, Sam … that’s my client … it turned out he was actually … how can I put this? After the initial shock wore off, he was really excited by the idea that someone had been watching us.’

‘Not watching, listening, really,’ I corrected automatically, but a little flare of illicit interest shot through my lower belly.

‘And he was wondering if … I mean, he’d pay double, and you wouldn’t have to do anything, just be in the room …’

‘Oh, my God, you mean he wants me to watch properly?’

‘Of course, say no if the idea repulses you, but it’d be an easy couple of hundred quid for you.’

‘Two hundred pounds? Just for hanging around in your bedroom for an hour?’

‘Yes. You don’t have to make up your mind now. It’ll be a month or so before I see him again – he needs a bit of time to save up the cash.’ She winked at me, and I grinned back.

‘No, I can answer now. Why the hell not? Go on then.’

In the course of that month, I often lay awake at night wondering how the appointment would play out. Although I knew that my role was to watch, I sometimes imagined myself contributing a little more actively. Sometimes I pictured myself bent over beside Sam while Shona dealt with us both, one stroke for him, one stroke for me. Or I was lying on the bed, and Sam was ordered to lick me to orgasm while Shona stood over him, whipping him with a belt. Or the other way around – me giving Sam head while Shona whipped me. Or I licked Shona out with dedicated devotion, while Sam … oh, who cared what Sam was doing? There were multiple variations, but Sam and I were both in the submissive position, and Shona ruled over us with a rod of iron.

I have to admit, these night-time fantasies sometimes made for awkwardness over morning coffee. I think Shona had an inkling that I was developing quite a crush on her, but she was too delicate to mention it explicitly.

When the Saturday in question finally rolled around, I was fairly buzzing with excitement.

‘What should I wear?’ I asked Shona, as I opened my bank statement at the kitchen table.

‘Oh, anything,’ she said, shrugging. ‘You don’t have to dress up.’

‘Oh, don’t I?’

My face must have fallen, because she laughed.

‘Do you want to dress up?’

I laughed with her, trying to cover my self-conscious blushes.

‘It seems a bit rude not to,’ I suggested.

‘OK,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a French maid’s outfit some of my clients sometimes wear. I’ll put it out for you and you can try it on. Otherwise – just wear what you want. Wear nothing, if that grabs you. I really don’t mind, and neither will Sam.’

The maid’s outfit was made of cheap, scratchy nylon and was tarty as hell. Designed to be worn by cross-dressing men, it fell to mid-thigh on me, covering my modesty nicely, despite the stiff meringue of net petticoats beneath the skirt. With fishnets, suspenders and high heels, I looked flirty and mischievous, an effect I quite liked. I pouted to myself in the mirror and bent over, letting my bottom stick as far out as I could, seeing how low I had to go before a flash of stocking-top was visible. Not that far!

I bit my lip at myself and clasped my hands over my apron. I hadn’t put on any knickers.

I wondered if either of them would ever know, as I giggled maniacally at my own wildness.

I waited for Shona to finish with her penultimate client, then went into her room.

She was wiping down the surfaces with a spray gun and cloth, looking rather grumpy in a latex corset and supertight miniskirt. They matched her shiny elbow-length gloves and thigh-high boots.

When she looked up and saw me, her frown faded and she smiled broadly.

‘Well, look at you. Sex kitten or what?’

My mouth was a bit dry from the effect looking at her had had on me, so I couldn’t really reply.

‘I’ve got it planned,’ she said. ‘You’re my maid. You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, but if you want to join in a little bit, that could be fun. Up to you, though.’

‘What sort of joining in?’ I asked, transfixed by her.

‘I don’t know … just answering a few questions. Coming over to look at him – maybe touch him, if that wouldn’t freak you out.’