Butter Wouldn't Melt by Penny Birch

said, nodding towards the window.
    I turned, to see Maggie Phelps halfway across the square. She had seen us, and she did not look pleased, filling me with exactly the sort of apprehension I thought I’d left behind at school. I made to rise, an apology already trembling on my lips, but Mark’sarm was still around my shoulder and he eased me back into my seat.
    â€˜Relax, Pippa. You don’t need to worry about Maggie.’
    â€˜Doesn’t she?’ Maggie herself responded as she turned in at the door. ‘She’s supposed to be gaining experience with us, Mark, and not in how to drink, or flirt. Come back to the office, Pippa.’
    â€˜Yes, of course,’ I began, but Mark wasn’t satisfied.
    â€˜How much experience do you think she’ll gain sorting out the old files?’ he asked. ‘We could get a temp in to do that.’
    â€˜It’s what I need her to do, at present,’ Maggie answered.
    â€˜Fair enough,’ Steve put in, ‘but once she’s finished I’d like her to come out with me for a few days.’
    â€˜That’s not unreasonable,’ Maggie agreed. ‘Now come along, Pippa.’
    I came, knowing it was what I should do and unable in my case to resist the authority in her voice. Mark let me up, and while Maggie didn’t actually take my hand I felt very much that I was being led away as we left, led away like a naughty little girl caught playing with the wrong friends. I was sure the men were laughing at me as I crossed the square a couple of paces behind Maggie, leaving me red-faced, but my embarrassment flared higher still as she turned to me and spoke.
    â€˜I think we both know what you need, don’t we?’
    â€˜A coffee?’ I suggested, although I’d heard that tone of voice before and I had a horrible, thrilling suspicion I knew what she meant.
    â€˜A good spanking,’ she answered, and my suspicion turned to certainty.
    The shock and doubt in my face must have shown, because she went on immediately, her voice stern and commanding.
    â€˜Don’t try to play the innocent with me, young lady. I know exactly what you are, and what you like.’
    Sober, I’d have realised she really did know, and maybe told her I was in a faithful relationship with my girlfriend, maybe. Drunk and flushed with embarrassment, I tried to deny it.
    â€˜No, you’ve got it wrong, Miss Phelps, I don’t . . .’
    â€˜I’ll have none of that nonsense,’ she interrupted me. ‘You came with a reference from Morris Rathwell, didn’t you? And we all know what that means.’
    â€˜Yes, but I . . .’
    I’d been going to say that I had nothing to do with Morris Rathwell and that I only got spanked by my girlfriend, but both protests would have been lies and the second completely useless anyway. Instead I shut up, and Miss Phelps gave me a smug little grin, taking my hand as we turned and lost sight of Champagne Charlie’s. She strode forward and I came meekly behind, full of confusion, scared and yet expectant, burning with resentment and yet full of arousal. There was a world of satisfaction in Miss Phelps’s voice as she spoke again.
    â€˜I wanted to be the first to spank you, and it looks like I will be. Perhaps we’d better go in at the back? Otherwise I might have to deal with you in front of Lucius and Mr Montague, which would be a pity.’
    She didn’t say why, whether it was to spare my blushes or because she had further plans for me, but I suspected I knew the answer. I cast her a nervous look, already imagining the taste of her sex in my mouth, but she was walking straight ahead, towards the rear door of Montague, Montague, Todmorden and Montague. Inside, she hurried me up the stairs, applying a pat to the seat of my skirt to urge me up the final flight. It was no more than a touch, but itmeant a great deal, her assumption of the right to smack