STORY:  THE BIRTHDAY GIRL by Alex Birch


It all started when my best pal George Finch got smitten.  I
rolled my eyes with a sense of bored deja vu when he burbled it
all out one lunchtime in the ' Cunt and Strumpet' (well its
really 'Hunt and Trumpet' but thats been long lost in the mists
of time ) over three pints of best bitter and I waited for the
predictable eulogies.  Best girl he'd ever known..this one was
for ever..and so on.  George went into rhapsodies over every girl
he went out with...understandable when you're fifteen but George
is thirty two for God's sake!  They all blew in at speed and soon
blew out again, for George's ardour quotient was intense but not
exactly designed for a marathon course.

'Clive, you MUST meet her...' he said with fervour '...you'll
love her to bits. Her name's Lucy and she's the best thing since
...' and so it went on.  It transpired that, after a brief
flirtation and a few discreet dates, Lucy had moved in to
George's apartment that very weekend.  Now that immediately got
me worried for installing women was a breach of the faith. I
mean, OK, some people would say we were irresponsible, a bit
'laddish' for our age but damn it you only have one life so why
ruin it with only one woman?.  We had our creed, just like the
musketeers, and our belief was 'a thing of beauty is a joy for
the weekend' and that was it!  Living with 'em was definitely not
on!

I was full of foreboding now for my past record with George's
girlfriends was not good.  You see, because of my diffident
rakish manner, I used to get the flighty ones, and I was quite
happy with that...no pressure, no demands, no stress...and
generally a mutually agreed relationship shelf life meant that
the arrangements ended with no acrimony. George was different.
Even at college he was known as 'Collie' Finch because he used to
round up anything in a skirt and he always had these big
appealing eyes that made him look as if he needed mothering so he
got the girls who were a bit intense, you know, looking for a
settled relationship and that sort of thing.  George was too
thick to spot this and just thought they were after a screw for a
few nights like he was.  By the time he discovered different he
was too soft to make a clean break and the relationship bungled
on until inevitably there were tears, slammed doors and cries of
betrayal.

Anyway that weekend I went round to meet Lucy and, after an hour
of extreme discomfort, realised that my old buddy had really
excelled himself !  Oh she was something to look at all right,
luscious curls of dark hair atop a pretty but sulky face, deep
dark eyes that bored into mine, a gorgeous pair of knockers
and..creme de la creme ...an arse you would kill for!  Yet after
an hour I was glad to leave.  She cuddled up to George at every
opportunity, her arm wrapped round him possessively leaving no
doubt  about how much of a part she intended to play in his life,
sat on his lap and tried to distract him while we tried to have a
sensible conversation about whether Manchester United would win
the Premier League  and kept stroking her finger down the bridge
of his nose and giggling throatily in that very sort of
possessive 'girly' way they have.  On top of that, her eyes
rarely left my face...oh it wasn't lust for my body or even a
friendly smile...just the look of triumph that says 'He's mine
now!' and my skin began to creep.

Lucy the Limpet, for that was her irresistible designation in my
mind, soon began to make herself indispensable.  She was an
excellent cook as I had to admit after an otherwise strained
domestic evening to which I had submitted after George had
burbled on about Lucy's culinary skills.  The evening was full of
induced tension, Lucy's conversation running along the 'So you've
never married, Clive...some men just can't face committment...I
think I'm good for George' sort of thread, leaving the distinct
impression that, whoever else was 'good for George', I and my
drinking buddies certainly were NOT!  The last straw came when I
was leaving the bathroom and I heard the Limpet in full cry.

'Darling...' she purred '...that friend of yours makes me feel
creepy..well, dirty, almost...he keeps staring at my bottom and
it makes me sick.  Can't you say something to him?'  then I heard
George chortle and tell her I'd always been an arse man and how
she should be flattered.  The conversation stopped as I re
emerged and Lucy's plastic smile fell back into place.  Inventing
the excuse of some urgent work, I made an excuse and left early,
seething at the put down and determined that this pretty little
piranha fish was not going to break up a long friendship.

Then a week or two later, after George had missed three
successive sessions at 'The Strumpet' presumably closeted with
his beloved, I was compelled to ring him up regarding the
arrangements for the 30th birthday of a mutual friend. Now one
thing I should mention at this point is that George and I, plus a
few other old pals, have a particular weakness for a little bit
of botty warming...not each other's you understand, but the sight
of a pretty girl's bare little chubbies turning a nice shade of
red has always been a bit of a turn on.  Well George had been
Peter's best man and so he had agreed to make all the
arrangements for a little light entertainment down at the local
Round Table of which I was the Secretary.

Lucy answered the phone...well I guessed she'd take that
over..and her tone was distinctly frosty when I asked for my pal.
 When I discreetly, just in case Limpet was listening on the
extension, explained the urgency, he gasped with horror...of
course , he'd forgotten...but somehow got a 'pass out' and agreed
to meet me in the Strumpet lounge bar.

'I can't sort this out now...' George pleaded supping his pint
'...Lucy would kill me.  Will you do it, Clive?  I hate to ask an
old mate for a favour but Christ I'm stuck.  I 'll owe you one!
I'll get to the do somehow...wouldn't miss Peter's bash for the
world...but I can't do all the work.'

'I take it your beloved is not aware of our taste for the hiss of
the crop and the swish of leather...' I enquired and then George
nearly expired '...haven't you plucked up the courage to tell
her?'

'Are you joking...?' he croaked '...thats why I haven't
introduced her round to the lads.  I knew I could trust you but
one unguarded word and I'm down the toilet.  She'd have a
fit...Jesus!!!'..and the rest was left unspoken.

So I took on the chore of organising the event, easy enough as
Club Secretary, and rang a well known agency to book a birthday
Spank-o-gram.  We got a girl called Patti who apparently would
turn up dressed as a policewoman...yeah, yeah, old and hackneyed
but who said these agencies needed new ideas...tell Peter he'd
parked illegally and then the old chestnut '...anything you say
will be taken down..' and then the inevitable follow up.  Patti
had an apparently odd logic in charging for her services, the
cost being more for a bare bottom hand spanking than for the use
of an implement.  When I enquired why, the agency simply said
'wandering fingers' and left it at that .  So that was done.
Peter had been invited along for an innocuous 'birthday drink',
all the lads had been put in the picture, the young lady was
booked ...so what could go wrong?

The answer was predictable...Lucy the Limpet,thats what could go
wrong !  I went round again for a meal two days before Peter's
birthday , just a pretext really to try and find out if George
had managed an excuse to get away.  I really didn't trust the
phone and I could never drag him down to the pub so another night
of culinary delights was unavoidable.  It was obvious when I
arrived that things were not exactly sweetness and light, the
atmosphere something akin to sentry duty on the Berlin Wall.  The
name 'Collie' had never seemed so apt, George sitting at the
table with a mute, hangdog look as Lucy, obviously angry, busied
herself with the dinner, banging down plates and cutlery with
controlled venom.

'George tells me you're off to a 'boys night out' on Saturday...'
she finally spat '...no women allowed or some such rubbish.  What
are you men so frightened of, thats what I want to know, its so
mediaeval, so macho.  I thought George had grown out of that sort
of thing but I suppose your influence...' so, at last, no attempt
at subtlety...the first direct attack on the real culprit!  I
tried to explain but she was in full cry and it was apparent the
assault had got home. It was no surprise really that by the end
of the evening, after Lucy had spoken to me as little as she had
to, George saw me to the door and put a weary hand on my
shoulder.

'You see the way it is...' he muttered haplessly '...look, give
my apologies and all that but I think Saturday's sort of out for
me!' I looked at him with something akin to contempt for the
first time in our long friendship but tried hard to hide it.  I
shook his hand, nodded my head gravely and lurched somewhat
drunkenly towards home. I was more angry than drunk and, as I
ambled along, an idea began to form in my mind which needed a
clear sober head and I resolved to wait until the morning before
I embellished it.

By lunchtime the next day, the day before Peter's bash, I was
postively grinning from ear to ear with evil thoughts and a
similarly evil plan but I needed to harness my genius ...OK who
said I was modest..and not get carried away.  The first step that
night was to ring George, just to find out discreetly what he
would be doing on Saturday night.  Lucy answered as usual and
actually told me, with ill disguised triumph, exactly  what I
wanted to know.

'We're having a sort of bonding evening tomorrow, Clive, you know
just staying in and doing things together.  I hope you're not too
upset ...I just know how much you depend on George's company and
I knew you were hurt ...' I could even see the claws being
unsheathed at this point '...but George realises how childish all
this sort of thing is now.   It really is time you boys grew up
and...'  I effected my most charming manner, told her it was fine
and then invented a reason to speak briefly to my pal then rang
off.

My next call was to Harry, the Landlord of the 'Strumpet' for I
needed just one ally in this scheme.  At first he was puzzled by
my request but acceeded to my plea for 'no questions asked'  I
asked him to get George out of his home on Saturday night by
whatever means possible, suggesting he ring George at 8.30 the
following night and tell him the cellar pump had jammed again, it
was desperate, the brewery technicians couldn't be contacted that
late and he was losing trade.

 George, being an engineer, was the only one in the Strumpet who
could ever fix that damned pump for it seemed to break down
regularly.  I told Harry to plead and beg if George showed any
sign of reluctance.  Harry was bemused and asked what he would
say when George arrived and found the pump working perfectly so
we concocted a 'managed to free it, sorry for the trouble, knew
it was too late to stop you leaving' excuse...a gem for George
has always hated cell phones and wouldn't own one.  A couple of
pints, paid for in advance unknowingly by me, would soothe any
irritation in his kindly heart.

Then I rang the Spank-o-gram agency and cancelled Patti, soothing
their annoyance by agreeing it was a late cancellation for which
we would bear the cost, suggesting that they invoice us as normal
just as if the contract had been met but just not send Patti.
They were happy and we parted with the promise that Patti's
bottom would always be available to us at any time given due
notice.

After a fairly hectic Saturday where I made last minute checks
that everyone would be at the club by 9pm, the clock rolled
around to 8.45 pm and my excitement was at fever pitch.  I rang
Harry again and he confirmed that George had been contacted, was
initially reluctant but, after the heartrending spiel, agreed to
come down  and was on his way. I leapt in the air with delight!
I'd gambled that, with a sense of shame at missing Pete's do, he
wouldn't bring Lucy with him for fear of any unguarded remarks in
the pub about the nature of the party and why he wasn't going.

Now for the coup de grace and I just hoped that my intuition
about Lucy's possessive nature was spot on.  Using my cell, which
tends to distort my voice and allows me to block the phone
number, I rang George's apartment, putting a tissue across the
telephone.  It was only seconds before the answer, an almost
frantic 'George is that you?' from an obviously distressed and
angry Lucy.

Clearing my throat, I put on my best sleazeball accent and
answered  'No.  This the Blistered Bottoms Spank -o -Gram Agency.
 Look, lady, Mr Finch organised for one of our girls to go to
some party or other tonight.  Well, look sorry to bother you but
I need to talk to him about payment but ...' and I heard a
strangled choke at the other end and tried desperately not to
laugh '...I expect he's already left.  Well we know the address,
its the Round Table on Redwood Road but there's no phone listing
and...'

With a screech of barely controlled anger, Lucy replied '...oh
its quite all right, Mr Whatever-your-name-is...' and she was
breathing very swiftly, the voice almost cracking with
tears'...leave it with me.  I dont know the number but BELIEVE
ME, I am going down there to sort this out personally...a spank o
gram, you say ...changing the pump, HE SAID...oh the bastard ...!
' then the phone was promptly slammed down hard.

I admit I leapt around like a kid for some minutes, howling with
laughter, then rang the Round Table.  I got Percy the steward and
set the scene. 'Oh everybody's in place, Mr Ripley...' he said
chuckling '...I don't think Peter's caught on yet.  Pity old
George can't be here...and where are you anyway, Sir, surely you
ain't gonna miss the fun?'

'No Percy but I won't be in the assembly room...' I replied '..
because I need to do some work in the office so I'll let myself
in the back way up the stairs. Yes, I know, not such a good view
from the office window but Secretary's burden and all that.  Look
you need to act quickly.  Get hold of Colin in my absence..he's a
good deputy.. and get him to organise the spank -o-gram when she
arrives in about ...' I gauged the driving time from George's
house '...about fifteen minutes?  Yes well just tell him we've
excelled ourselves this time, the agency has got a real
star...I've seen a  video.  She cost a bit more but God what an
actress...you'd think she was for real.

 She'll be playing the part of an angry girlfriend...full of
righteous indignation, frothing at the mouth..bit of a change of
scenario...and when she gets there she'll demand admission so go
along with the whole act, Perce, and just let her in and
introduce her to Colin. Just clue him in...she's supposed to be
George's girl friend..demanding to see him...won't take no for an
answer..getting angrier...just ripe for taking over Peter's knee
for a good hiding, eh?  She'll probably struggle a bit...all part
of the act...but you and Colin make sure the lads get their
moneys worth, we're paying her enough...' and assured by Percy's
guffaw of enthusiasm, I went downstairs to my car and drove
frantically to the Club,anxious to arrive before Lucy then let
myself in the back door, bounded up the stairs into the office
and looked down at the assembled throng through the large
windows.

I didn't have long to wait for not long after Peter was ushered
through the door to raucous applause and the strains of 'Happy
Birthday to you' the sounds of angry exchanges could be heard in
the hallway as all the men in the room turned round in amazement.
 I watched my Club Treasurer, Colin, a grin all over his face
walk towards the door as it burst open to reveal a grinning
steward desperately failing to restrain a very angry and very
pretty brunette from storming inside.

'Says she's Mr Finch's girlfriend, Mr Symes...'Percy chortled,
inclining his head and giving an exaggerated wink '...come to
sort him out, she has!  Can I leave her with you, Sir?'  and
Colin grinned back in acknowledgment. 'Now, now young lady ...' I
heard Colin say loudly '...you're not allowed in here, you know.
Men only night.  Anyway George isn't here!'

Lucy looked around at the cheering, raucous horde of rabid
mankind Sall grinning at her, all by now waiting for the show to
start...and blew a fuse. 'I don't care if it's monkeys night you
fucking neanderthal ...' she screamed '...just get me George
Finch or by Christ, I'll...' Colin was visibly shaken by this
onslaught but raised his eyebrows in mute admiration of such
Thespian talent. 'I think your manners need a little attention,
my girl...'he said firmly '...and we've just the man to do it!'

At that moment a mystified Peter was being led from his seat up
onto the platform and sat upon a high chair facing the cheering
multitude.  Suddenly the light began to dawn and a grin spread
from ear to ear as the birthday boy realised that he had a treat
in store.  This was more than could be said for the mystified and
overwrought Lucy who now found herself pinioned by three pairs of
strong arms and half carried towards the platform.

'Let me GO , you bastards, let me go...what do you think you're
...let me go' she howled as she was literally manhandled up the
small steps and on to the podium. 'George ...' she howled
'...where are you, you bastard.  Get me away from these morons!'
a plea which fell on deaf ears as the hapless Lucy, her eyes
widening with horror, stared first at the slobbering Peter
already patting his lap in anticipation and then turning her head
towards the whistling, howling crowd.  Suddenly it dawned !

'Oh Christ ...' she yelled in terror '...I'm George's girl
friend, I'm not the spa...AAAAAAAHHH' a huge war whoop from the
crowd drowning her out as 3 strong men unceremoniously dumped
Lucy head first over Peter's lap, her shapely bottom thrusting up
through her light blue cotton skirt.  Up to that moment I don't
think I'd seen a more beautiful or satisfying sight in all my
life and my emotions were well reflected in my nether regions,
the old one eyed trouser snake rearing its head and coming up for
air like a good 'un.  As the hapless Lucy screamed abuse, life
got even better as Peter took little time in hoisting that little
skirt right up to Lucy's waist revealing a taste for suspender
belt and nylons and a tiny pair of wispy pink panties that hardly
hid anything ...particularly a superb pair of legs now kicking in
a frantic choreograph and the most wonderful arse I have ever
seen.

Lucy's howls had turned to wails of humiliation now as the men
cheered and clapped, then she let out a squeal of anguish as
Peter's massive and well experienced hand made very sharp contact
with her succulent rear end.  I don't believe Lucy had ever been
spanked in her life and that disbelieving squeal just set Peter's
enthusiasm alight, got the men in the audience on their feet and
set my old trouser snake on a definite collision course with my
pants zipper.  Peter got into his stride and that firm hand just
kept coming down on Lucy's luscious rear, her shapely little
bottom bouncing with every impact and the pink glow now radiating
even through the sheen of her panties.

She was really crying by now and Peter was well into his stride,
a lusty succession of spanks descending with gusto on to Lucy's
bouncing bottom the redness now showing on her thighs as well as
through her panties until Peter paused for breath after about 100
spanks, his face glistening with perspiration. 'Well how was that
for starters, young lady!' he demanded with a smile, relaxing his
grip and Lucy took her chance, shooting upright and off his lap
before anyone had chance to intervene. She sprang to her feet,
screamed 'You...you fucking bastard!' and then hit him with her
balled fist as hard as she could, right under his eye.

The room stopped breathing and I wondered what the hell would
happen next.  I thought for one minute Peter was going to cry,
then as he flushed with rage I thought he was going to deck her!
Either would have been disastrous and I closed my eyes and prayed
for deliverance.  There must be a God for Peter collected himself
wonderfully, rubbed the bruise which was already showing, and
exclaimed 'Christ, girl, theres acting and acting!  You're going
to get something special for that!' and without further ado,
seized her once more and with the strength of ten men hauled the
struggling girl back across his lap. 'Colin...fetch the grade 1
paddle!' he ordered as Lucy screamed in protest then he nodded as
it was handed to him.  'You deserve every one of these!' he
shouted angrily as Lucy's skirt was hauled up once more but this
time, as the baying crowd cheered him on and Lucy squealed in
abject humiliation, Peter took hold of the skimpy pink panties
and virtually ripped them down to Lucy's ankles.

I had to hold on to the window sill as my throat went dry. Lucy's
bare bottom...and eveything else that she once classed as
private..was now exposed to me and to virtually every man in the
room as a very angry Peter raised the heavy paddle and delivered
it from the shoulder.  It struck Lucy's bottom with the sound of
a rifle shot and a deep red mark was revealed as Peter raised the
paddle for a second time and repeated the dose on her other
cheek.  Wonderful sense of symmetry, I observed, as Peter's
practised hand rose and fell twenty five times during which,
thanks to Lucy's kicking legs, her panties fell off completely.

After twenty five solid blows, Peter leaned back and pushed the
weeping girl off his lap as the crowd, beaming and chortling
roared its approval.  Lucy just fell to the floor and lay in
stunned disbelief for a few seconds before realising her ordeal
was over then got to her feet, pulled down her skirt and
hightailed it for the exit, weeping buckets as she fled down the
aisle past rows of cheering onlookers and out into the night. She
even left her panties behind which soon disappeared into the
audience..a memento of an evening well spent!  Loads of well
wishers were shaking Peter's hand, guests were cheering wildly as
I decided it was time to take my leave and slipped quietly down
the back stairs and out into the car park.

I wasn't too surprised to find a trembling, weeping Lucy standing
by her car, too shocked and pained to yet drive home. 'Lucy!!...'
I said with affected surprise '...what on earth are you doing
here? Are you all right?  You look upset!' She stared at me in
disbelief, then realisation dawned and her eyes narrowed with
hatred. 'I should have guessed this was your doing ...' she
snarled '...setting me up to be humiliated by your friends.  I'll
have the law on you...you'll be jailed for life, you bastard!'

I looked suitably shocked ...I'm a great actor...and professed
complete bemusement.  She told me what had happened, between
gulps and tears, didn't believe me naturally and asked why, if I
cared, I didn't go to her aid as I knew who she was.  I just said
I was the Secretary working upstairs, hadn't seen her enter or
leave and didn't know she was the centre of all the attention and
why would I?  I explained that we'd booked a spank - o- gram
girl, a brunette who was supposed to act kind of reluctant and
why, on  a mens night, would they expect any other woman to show
up.  I told her I was sorry but it was just an honest mistake. If
she went to the police and complained I would understand but I
would have to explain the understandable confusion...I even
produced the invoice which I'd conveniently collected from
'Blistered Bottoms' personally.  I told her she would have to
take the stand and explain everything...then she burst into tears
again, turned on her heel and got into her car, sitting down with
an anguished yelp.  She glared at me with intense hatred then,
without another word, Lucy drove off into the night never, as it
transpired, to be seen again.

When I reached home I cracked open the scotch and poured a
celebration drink. Before long the phone rang as I expected and
it was a bemused and very depressed George.  Something about food
thrown at the wall while he was out...angry phone calls...Lucy
had left him...never coming back..betrayals..conspiracies...well
I'd heard it all before.  I just said I couldnt cope at this time
of night and I'd meet him down the Strumpet as lunchtime the next
day and he could tell me all his woes.  Needless to say, by the
time Sunday rolled round and George had three or four pints
inside him all his troubles were behind him, Lucy was just a
clinging vine who didn't deserve him and Arsenal were going to
win the League anyway. I know I'll have to tell him the truth
soon and you know what...I know him better than she ever did..and
he'll roar with laughter, clap me on the shoulder and tell me I'm
the biggest, nastiest bastard the world has ever known, then buy
me a pint...but thats George!