Part 6 - Car Park Cyclist

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This work is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It may contain depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do not save this story.
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Part 1

Admittedly he looked a bit ridiculous cycling around the car park like a teenager, especially as he must have been well into his fifties; but he was quite sexy in an older man sort of way. He certainly looked very fit and nicely tanned; his advertisement said that he would, and his cute ass perched over the saddle was good and tight and I could well imagine the kind of treatment it might be receiving later. I did need a few jobs doing around the garden and the bathroom would need cleaning later; the chance of getting those chores done for free, especially with a bit of S&M thrown in, was very appealing. Woe betides him if he does not do a good job though, I tingled with anticipation.

I also wondered if he would seem as attractive to my girl friends when they arrived later. I felt sure that he would; I could imagine the gasps when he appears in my lounge serving a tray of drinks and hors d’oeuvres wearing nothing but a frilly pinafore and with his red behind on view. I would bet that they’ll have never seen anything like that before. So the next time he turned the corner to come back down the aisle where I was parked I open my driver’s window and switched on the flashers. He spotted my car straight away and eagerly cycled over.

I had seen his advertisement on the Personals page of my favourite blog some days before when I had been planning this little shin dig with my old school chums and thought then what a good way this would be of breaking the ice and what a great source of some party games later. My friends, whom I had not seen for ages, would probably be wondering why I had never married, they probably thought I was a lesbian, something not entirely true. Most of all I wanted to introduce and share my sexual preferences with them. So the idea of having a male slave there in the house ready to diligently yield to our whims was the perfect way to do it.

His advertisement had just read: I am an older man, slim, fit and healthy and with a good well tanned body. I will be cycling around the Waitrose carpark at midday on Saturday. If there are any ladies out there that would like me to serve you in any way of your choosing, and to punish me if I did not perform well enough, then I am available for the day or the whole weekend. Just park facing outwards and switch on your flashers; I will approach your vehicle.

It was a simple advertisement, to the point and very intriguing. The timing was perfect and so very convenient; it also fitted well with my need of having no involvement in a relationship, I could simply pick up this guy, use him for the weekend and show him off to my friends, then just dump him when I was through. He would not object; he’d better not, we would not even need to exchange names; I will just call him slave I decided.

“Good morning mistress” he said. He was very good looking with a strong symmetrical face and his bright blue eyes twinkled at me through the open window.

“Are you planning to use me for the whole weekend, or just for today?”

“Oh the whole weekend,” I replied “and have no doubt about it, you will be used. Now get that bicycle of yours in the back, I’ll open the tailgate, and then get in behind me.”

This is how a relationship should be conducted, I thought, with me in charge right from the start, with minimal need of communication and everyone understanding what is required. This guy clearly knows the score, he called me mistress straight off didn’t he, and so won’t need any training. I know that my commands will be obeyed without question and that’s how I like it.

I observed slave in the rear view mirror as we sat in silence on our way back to my house. He appeared stoically calm as he looked out of the window, just his eyes moving to follow the scene as it past. He was good looking with a strong distinguished face. His fair hair was closely cropped and the tan of his face exaggerated the strong blue of his eyes. He looked familiar but I guess he just reminded me of an actor; well two actors in fact, a mixture of Rutger Hauer and Daniel Craig. I could see that beneath his stretched white tea shirt he had a good body, certainly good enough to play Bond any day.

He must have noticed me observing him for at one stage, with a lovely bright smile, he returned my gaze in the rear-view mirror.

“Don’t you dare assume to make eye contact with me slave,” I angrily returned, “your eyes will remain averted downwards at all times. Is that clear?”

“Yes mistress,” he apologised and meekly cast his eyes down.

That was my first contact in dominant mode and, much as I liked admiring his handsome face and clear eyes, I enjoyed rebuking him even more just for his humiliation. This man was nearly old enough to be my father and it was important that I maintained a strong authority right from the start.

As we drove I contemplated what the afternoon might bring. Maybe later, if I choose to, I will allow him to look me in the eye; but that will only be so that I can measure the degree of pain he is enduring and how well he handles it. I was planning quite an ordeal for him, pain and humiliation would only be the half of it. I wanted him to be totally compliant and submissive to my friends when they arrived and I also wanted his naked bottom to be decorated with some well delivered cane stripes so they could see the power that I could command. I deliberated on whether or not he should be naked at all times. It will be nice to appreciate all that muscle tone, you don’t always get that, but sometimes a little cover up can be highly stimulating. It might be amusing to dress him in girlie things, some of my frilly tennis panties for instance, but then it would be such a shame to feminise the manliness of this particular specimen; just a frilly pinny should do the trick and some strategically placed leather cuffs and restraints to enhance his muscularity, and it will render him easier to handle. Then there is always the question of whether or not I would want his member to be exposed at all times. There was no doubt in my mind that it should always stand erect; but sometimes it could get in the way. I decided that a simple restraint around the root of his balls and an elastic band beneath his gland would ensure his permanent erection, that and the super strength Viagra I intended to administer of course and, with a simple tie between a tight waist strap and the elastic band, it would keep the whole business standing up straight and out of the way until it was needed.

So when I get him home his first order will be to strip, then I will examine him closely and apply the restraints and leather accessories. The garage can be his quarters; it’s a good job I had those metal rings and manacles fitted to the walls, they’ll come in handy, he can pee into a bucket and I’ll throw an old horse blanket on the floor; he won’t be getting much time to rest there mind.

These lovely thoughts were going through my mind when I turned into the long gravel drive up to my house. I used the remote to open the garage doors and parked in the, otherwise empty, three car garage.

“Right, out you get and stand facing that far wall; quickly now!”

I locked the doors to the Range Rover and the garage, then gathered all the manacles, cuffs, straps and things I would need from a trunk under one of the workbenches.

With slave still facing the wall, I ordered him to place his hands on his head while I went over the entire back of his body with my hands. I started at the top checking his shoulder muscles, triceps, biceps, trapeziums, deltoids and lower back. His muscles felt hard beneath his tight tea-shirt, well defined and with long sinews connecting them. Then I started down the legs of his jeans from his waist. I squeezed and slapped each buttock hard; they were beautifully round and firm. I dug my fingers as deep as I could into each one and imagined those lovely nates receiving a sound paddling and some enthusiastic cane strokes before the afternoon was out. His thighs and calves were also long and hard. In every way this guy was prime quality and I felt fortunate that I had noticed his advertisement.

I ordered him to turn around and face me. He stood there, up straight, as proud as a stallion except as demure as a little boy with his hands on his head, his chin lowered and his eyes to the ground.

“Remove your clothing and hand it to me neatly in a pile with your shoes at the bottom”, I ordered.

He meekly obeyed, starting with his shoes. I stood some distance away as I watched him undress so that I could view the entire picture of this submissive display. He made no fuss or protest but calmly and elegantly began removing each item of clothing. I didn’t say a word and just allowed this demonstration of masculine reserve to unfold. Eventually he was down to his underpants; tight, white boxers that came down to a third of his thigh with a wide waist band that had a designer’s name printed on it. His balls bulged beneath the thin white covering and standing above was a stiff long pole, clearly his penis was quite erect already. While in this state he gathered up his clothes, folded them neatly in a pile and placed them on the ground behind him; I watched his strong buttocks curve and spread as he did. He stood up straight facing me again and then with no hesitation only mild reticence, still calm and unflustered, took down his shorts. His impressive penis sprung out from the fabric that had enclosed it. Oh I’ll have a bit of that later I thought. He stepped out of his shorts and, with full-frontal rampant nudity, carefully folded his underpants, bent over again to place them on the pile of his clothes, picked them up and took the few steps necessary to hand the neat bundle to me.

I left him standing there with the bundle in his arms while I slowly stepped around taking in every aspect of his anatomy. His tan was complete; spray-on or real I wondered, but it was uneven so must have been caused by the sun. Where had he been to get an all-over tan like this I wondered? Parts of his body had also been shaved, or perhaps waxed in the back, sack and crack style. His legs and front pubic region were still covered in coarse blonde hair; but his chest, back and buttocks were hairless. It was very attractive and I was intrigued as to how it came about; but I had no intention of giving the compliment by asking him.

While his arms were still outstretched holding his pile of clothes, I clasped cuffs to each of his wrists; then I took the pile of clothes from him, locked them away, and told him to stand by the wall facing out. He obediently stood beneath the metal clasps fixed there and I took each of his arms and secured them above his head. It was lovely to have an older, strong naked man so vulnerable and within my control. I fixed leather cuffs to his ankles and stroked his legs on the way up admiring his organ standing so erect. It was beautiful, long and hard, circumcised and with a perfectly proportioned bulbous head that had a deep cleft around it. I grasped his cock tightly, my fist barely fitting around it, it felt like a warm metal rod and as I brought my hand up and down I watched as the hole at its top opened and closed. I played with it, flicking the tip and squeezing the head. I encased his balls with my other hand, they too were neat and tight, amazingly so for a man of his age, and squeezed them too as firmly as I could. I was seeking some kind of response from him, a squeal of discomfort perhaps or even a moan of pleasure; but he continued to stand there stoically accepting what I was doing and with the same enigmatic smile that he’d had on his face since I had picked him up in the car park.

I applied the genital clamp, a simple leather collar with a Velcro fastening, as tight as I could, pulling the Velcro to its minimum girth around the root of his tackle behind his balls. His member pulsed and grew more bulbous as I pulled. Then I took a thick rubber band, like a wide “O” ring of about two centimetres diameter, expanded it as much as it would go then snapped it in place around the rim of his gland.

At last it caused him to respond; but only to close his eyes and bend his knees slightly, then he was standing straight again but now his blue eyes were somewhat moist.

“Would you like some water,” I asked.

“Oh yes please Mistress”.

I found an old jam jar and filled it from the outside tap.

“You must drink all of this and swallow these tablets,” I ordered placing two blue super-strength Viagra pills onto his tongue and bringing the jar to his lips.

He drank and swallowed.

“Good, now we can be sure that there’ll be no softness from down there for a while, can’t we?”

“It’s really unnecessary you know Mistress, I can keep it up for a long time.”

I slapped him hard across his face. He looked surprised but otherwise showed no sign of pain.

“Don’t you ever back chat to me again do you hear” I reprimanded.

“I’m sorry but I thought that had been a question.”

So I slapped him again, harder and to both sides of his face this time. He showed complete remorse by hanging his head. I was pleased with this response.

I gave him some clogs to put on his feet, undid his arms from the clasps at the wall, showed him where the garden tools were and put him to work in the garden.

I observed him working from the upstairs window; he worked diligently and enthusiastically. It was such a turn-on watching a naked man in the garden cutting back the shrubs and gathering up all the debris. I noticed that the fresh outside air made no difference to the power of his erection; it stood as firm as ever, sometimes even getting in the way of the jobs he was doing. I watched him at work with the shears and nearly died of fright as they sliced so easily through the hedge in such close proximity to his lovely meat. I thought I would show a bit of consideration and bind his penis closer to his abdomen. So I took a wide weight trainer’s belt into the garden and fixed it around his waist. On the belt metal rings had been sewn securely at the front, the back and on each side.

“You’re a good worker,” I told him, “so I’ve come to show my appreciation. I’ve noticed that your erection is interfering with your work, so this should put that right.”

I crouched down in front of him and took his member into my mouth. I could only get the first fifteen or so centimetres in comfortably and the bulbous head was so swollen that it nearly chocked me; but it was enough for me to completely cover the end with my saliva. This made it slippery enough to be able to slide the band off and replace it with a similar one that had a short chain attached. The other end of this chain I fixed to the metal ring at the front of the wide belt so that his rod pointed straight up. I set him back to work again with a sharp hand slap to each of his buttocks.

“Thank you Mistress” he uttered and went back to work.

When I got to the upstairs window again and watched him working away I decided that the scene was just too good to go unappreciated; what with the vision of a stark naked Adonis, the memory of his hard penis still in my mouth and the thought of what was still to come, I just had to strip off, get my favourite vibrator and masturbate as vigorously as I could while I watched. He sneaked a peak up to the window as I stood there and I allowed it.

Three orgasms in quick succession later left me feeling that a little rest in the hot tub would set me right for the evening; so I got the bubbles going and lay down in it for a while. An hour later, after I had dried and was dressing at the window, slave was nowhere to be seen. He’d had clear instruction to mow the lawn, cut back the laurel and clear up the debris but I had a view of all those areas of the garden and he was just not there. Oh how tiresome, I thought, now I’m going to have to go down there and find him; this is most inconvenient, just as I was getting dressed as well.

I was not happy as I stamped down the stairs and out into the garden. I was wearing just a silk petticoat and, to make matters worse, it got snagged on a rose thorn as I stormed through the rose arbour. My calf-skin slippers were getting muddy as well. Just wait until I get my hands on him.

Slave was not by the lawn, neither was he in the shed, he wasn’t near the laurel bush or at the compost heap either; where was he? I tried the garage, not there; but I heard movement in the kitchen through the back door. I marched into the kitchen to find slave making tea. I was livid and speechless.

“I thought you might like a nice cup of refreshing Lapsang Souchong tea,” he casually remarked. “I was going to bring you one up while you were languishing in the bath, I heard the water running and, as I have finished all the work you set, I thought you might like me to wash you while you enjoyed a nice soothing cup.”

“Oh you did, did you?” I was furious; a bit taken aback by his kind thought of serving me tea when I thought he was brewing it for himself; but angry nevertheless. I needed to gather my thoughts to retain my hard resolve.

“Number one, I did not give you permission to enter this house; the garage is your place. Number two, I did not grant you free reign of my kitchen to root around in my cupboards for exotic teas. Number three, if you hear the hot tub running it is no concern of yours, your one concern should be the job you’ve been set – the gardening. Number four, you certainly should not assume that you might enter my bathroom while I am there and number five, you absolutely should not assume that I would want you to wash me whether I am enjoying a cup of ‘Lapsang Souchong’ or not. I am very, very angry with you and this cannot possibly go unpunished.”

He hung his head in shame.

“I had thought you would not need instruction” I continued; “but I was wrong wasn’t I? When you cycled up to my car and were, oh so humble, addressing me as mistress without any prompting I thought, oh good, someone who knows his place right from the start. But this presumptuousness, this presumptuousness that you can use this house, and me, as though they were your own; well this needs to be thoroughly punished.”

I noticed a sly smile appear on his face and his cock did a little shudder.

“Now put that kettle down and get yourself back into the garage at once”

I took him by the ear and marched him through for punishment. Under a bench was a Workmate trestle that I got him to pull out and place into the centre of the garage.

“Now open the jaws of the Workmate a few inches and get yourself laid across it,” I ordered.

Then I attached his wrist manacles to each leg of the bench and did the same with his ankles. Next I closed the jaws of the vice tightly around his penis holding it tightly between its teeth. Now if he moved even an inch it would cause excruciating pain to his genitals.

“You’re in for a good paddling now young man after that kind of behaviour. While you’re here you need to understand your place in this house.”

Then I took the sturdy Spencer paddle down from a hook and prepared to give him some mighty swats.

The first caught him squarely across the crown of both cheeks with a resounding smack that echoed around the empty garage. He uttered a soft grunt. The next was slightly lower on the area where you sit, a very sensitive area and this caused him to wince. I had thought to give him ten swats so now decided that most would be to that same spot. I continued to whack him there and a rectangle of hot colour appeared. He couldn’t move; he would not dare the way he was trapped in the vice, so all he could do was utter grunts and gasps that told me the paddle was having an effect. By the tenth swat he was sucking air rapidly, clenching his fists and stamping his feet. His bottom was rosy red and glowing.

“Right, that will do for now, no doubt there will be more to come.” I was sure that there would, this was only a part of what I had planned. ”You’re going to stay like that for ten minutes; then there’s my bathroom to clean.”

I left him there in the garage with his hands and feet still tied, his cock and balls in the vice and his sore backside throbbing away.

I needed to change my slip; I really was furious that, because of slave, I had ruined one of my favourite petticoats; a lovely soft green coloured one that I did not think could be replaced. He would pay for that. Now it was useless and I could not possibly wear it again it had upset my plans and I was now unsure about how I was going to dress for the evening. Perhaps I should choose trousers instead; but then my friends would definitely think me a lesbian; a frock would be better. I’ll bet they’re all going to wear frocks, Stepford Wife style; that settles it, definitely not a frock. Shall I go the whole hog and dress as a dominatrix? No that would give the game away right from the start; no fun in that.

While I was searching from one wardrobe to the next totally distracted by my dressing dilemma, thoughts of slave in the garage completely left my mind. It was a half hour later when I realised that he should be cleaning the bathroom. What am I doing flapping around up here, I need to get myself organised? Even though I was still dressed in only my underwear, stockings and suspenders, I went back to the garage to fetch him. He was in a bit of distress and gently moaning but I was glad to see that, being held in the vice for so long apart from a little bruising had not damaged his organ significantly. The blood had really filled his punished bottom cheeks though; they were now bright scarlet. All concerns about how I should be dressing vanished when I saw those glowing beacons; I just had to get my hands, or to be more precise my hairbrush, on those swollen globes once more for some more energetic spanking.

So I marched him upstairs and back into my bedroom grabbing a stout wooden hairbrush from my dressing table on the way. I upturned him over my knee and began spanking those lovely firm cheeks enthusiastically over and over again. It made me quite excited to have him squirming and wriggling on my lap and, after quite a short time, he was begging and pleading and so desperate for me to stop that he was tearing at my ankles. Then I felt the material of my stockings shred at the heel. Right, that’s it enough was enough, first my silk petticoat ruined now my stockings; this guy has absolutely no regard for my clothes; I’m going to have to get serious.

I threw him off my lap.

“That’s a caning for you my lad; up you get, do not rub at your bottom. Over in that wardrobe a bunch of canes, bring it out here.”

I glared at him with hard eyes as he retreated, his red and swollen cheeks bouncing as he went. While he searched the cupboard for the canes I piled pillows onto my metal four poster bed to support his hips and to present his bottom up high.

“Up you get, face down on the bed,” I ordered, “quickly now, I’ve some important friends arriving in a few hours; you’ve wasted enough of my time already and I haven’t got it spare to be punishing you.”

I fixed his wrists and ankles to the corners of the bed; he was perfectly placed for a good sound thrashing. From the bundle of canes I first selected a dark wood thin Malacca for some swift stingy strokes; these I delivered in quick succession with a sharp flick of the wrist. His buttocks were so red already that the marks from this cane were not visible; it was only the twitching and quivering of his cheeks that told me he was feeling anything. When I got down to the untouched area at the back of his thighs and continued down to his knees though, the thin purple welts of this attack stood out strongly against the colour of his tan.

I was taking out my rage on this defenceless slave as I continued to thrash away up and down his legs from his waist to his knees. I put all my strength behind the thin cane as it whipped away and soon he was crying out desperate for me to stop. After a while, my anger somewhat abated, I began to think more rationally; I decided that, if I was going to impress my friends, I really needed to have some stripes visible on his bottom. Only a thick heavy cane was going to make any difference to the already purple colour of his swollen buttocks. I selected one of my favourite smoked dragon canes; a cane that really delivered powerful thwacks and caused thick angry welts even from the first stroke but especially on this swollen skin. I swished it through the air a few times; I loved the sound it made, like a swarm of bees all accelerating at the same time. You could imagine it vibrating to a halt as it landed on target, every buzz of hard wood on sensitive skin like a sting from each insect of that very swarm.

“Now you’re for it,” I hissed, “I love this cane and I love the effect it has. This is really going to make you squirm and howl.”

And howl he did; from the very first blinding stroke right through to the twenty fifth. I stopped at twenty five as there was a danger of drawing blood and, although I wanted a pair of nicely decorated bottom cheeks to show my girlfriends, I didn’t want them massacred.

I set him to work cleaning the bathroom while I resumed getting ready.

Part 2

“Hello Kimberly, oh look at you, you look so good. How long has it been, it must be over twelve years, oh my God you look so sophisticated? Your hair looks great short like that. Oh look at the lovely soft leather in those leather pants; and that belt, are those real gemstones on it, where did you get it? I want one? Wow that little lot must have cost you a fortune.”

Monica was the first to arrive as effervescent and as over the top as ever. She and I went back a long way and, although we were very different personalities, she was a good friend and we’d had some outrageous times together.

I didn’t want to get slave in yet, not until all my guests had arrived to maximise the impact of his arrival, so I poured her out a glass of wine from an already opened bottle. She continued to gush on about clothes, makeup and all the other mindless material things that seemed to occupy her these days.

Elaine and Deborah were the next arrivals together. Whereas Monica and I had known each other at University I had not set eyes on these two since my Girl Guide days; so there would be a lot to catch up on. They both looked very well and healthy and, although we greeted each other pleasantly enough I noticed a degree of aloofness that I had not remembered from before. Maybe this was because I had been in charge of them as Girl Guides and they still felt that their subordination was a condition of their friendship.

Then Jacqueline arrived. If Monica was over the top, Jacqueline was sliding down the other side on polished silver skis. She had rolled up the drive in a Bentley Continental, escorted out by a chauffeur resplendent in full grey livery with jodhpurs, yes jodhpurs, tucked into polished knee high black leather boots. The chauffeur was instructed to wait in the car, he’s going to be there for a while I thought, I hope he has a good book, but then he probably has a television to watch in a car like that.

“Kimberley darling, what a perfect little house,” she greeted me. “It’s just like one that I have on the other side of the estate for the farm labourer; it’s just so cute. You must still live here alone?”

She was always ready with the put down. She hadn’t changed; why did I invite her?

“Oh and the décor, minimalism is so trendy at the moment, delightful.” This statement withered the moment it was uttered.

“Hello Jacqueline,” I hoped that the contempt would not be heard in my voice; she had only just arrived and I was already getting annoyed with her. It’s time to get slave in I thought, to get the attention back to me, otherwise this lady is going to get all the whole time she is here.

So I made everybody comfortable, they all knew each other anyway and, like me, some had not seen each other for a while so the conversation flowed quite easily with talk and news of who was going with whom. I sidled into the kitchen where slave was plating up the hors d’oeuvres, I selected a bottle of champagne, showed him where the glasses were and told him to bring in the starters and drinks when he was ready. But first I inspected his attire; I wanted his entrance to be spectacular.

From the front he looked like a body builder who had lost his clothes and put on the first thing he could lay his hands on; in this case a pink and white gingham pinafore that was too small for him. It was tied around the back of his neck by two ribbons of the same material attached to a bodice that made little attempt to cover his bulging pectorals. Beneath the bodice the skirt section was tied at the waist and outlined by a row of sweet pink lace and had two pockets also outlined on either side. It was short enough to barely cover what imagination told you were an impressive set of tackle beneath.

I had replaced the weight trainer’s belt earlier with a thin leather boot lace that now held his erect penis aloft; but other than the pinafore, wrist and ankle cuffs, he was totally naked. So from the back, framed by the apron waist band tied in a big bow and the lace edging around it, his poor sore bare buttocks were a sorry sight. The red and purple meaty globes were striped with darker purple cane welts, thick and swollen, that curved around his cheeks ending with a hard pip of dried blood. Thin parallel tram lines continued down the backs of his thighs to his knees. It made you wince just to see him walk; but he seemed to show no reaction to it at all.

I crept back into the lounge again and continued in the conversation as though I had not been away and waited for the effect of slave’s arrival.

I had my back to the kitchen door and was facing Monica; Jacqueline was between the two of us holding court; Elaine and Deborah were standing together by the bay window admiring the Bentley, or was it the chauffer?

I noticed Monica’s jaw drop, her eyes went wide and her face took on the look of someone being visited by the Angel Gabriel. I knew that slave had entered the lounge.

“Oh my God” she uttered and Jacqueline turned to see the cause of this reaction.

Interrupted mid-sentence, she was at first annoyed, then her expression changed from annoyance to amusement and finally to outright lust.

“Girls, I want you to meet slave,” I proclaimed proudly and then nonchalantly; “sorry, I do not even know his name; but we can call him slave, he will certainly answer to that, he’d better and, guess what, he will, quite honestly, do whatever we ask of him. But first, please, have some bubbly to celebrate our meeting together again after so long.”

I did not want to draw attention to slave’s punished backside, not yet; so far all they had seen was a semi-naked superman, I was looking forward to their surprised reaction when it dawned on them that he submitted to my punishment as well as my whims. Slave moved around courteously and politely among the guests handing out glasses and offering food. Not a word was said; just some nervous giggling from Monica and Deborah. As he went to the window to serve Elaine and Deborah his back became visible to Jacqueline and Monica. Monica displayed that shocked expression again; but Jacqueline, after her lustful glint turned to unembarrassed desire, as casually and unflustered as if she was his mistress, ordered him to come closer and show her his bottom.

“Turn around and bend forward slightly,” she ordered and began squeezing his cheeks between her fingers.

“Mmm, nicely swollen” she exclaimed, “and a good grouping with the cane strokes. This must have been one serious cane you used on him,” she stated; “and let me guess, a hairbrush; before or after the caning?”

I was so angry; the bitch was going to steal my thunder at every stage. She obviously knew all about CP games and was apparently an experienced exponent herself. How come I had never discovered it?

“I’m glad you’re giving him what he deserves and you’re dealing with him properly” she continued. “Slaves need to be dealt with firmly and kept in line at every opportunity.”

I fumed.

Then even Elaine got in on the act. She joined Jacqueline in examining his bottom at close quarters.

“I think I can see evidence of a paddle here as well; either a Spencer paddle or a prison strap? Which one was it? About twenty or thirty strokes I’d say: Ouch! Painful!”

How dare she? And how could she be as knowledgeable as Jacqueline; where did she get that experience? Then, not to be excluded, even Deborah chimed in, was there no end to this?

“Oh I hate the Spencer paddle.” I was speechless. “Most things I can take but the Spencer paddle just makes me feel ill. It doesn’t sting enough, it only thuds. Give me sting every time”.

My goodness I was holding a party for a group of enthusiastic spankophiles and I’d had no idea. Monica was the only one it seemed that was sexually straight and showed any surprise. She was open mouthed and wide eyed as she looked first to slave’s bottom then from one to the other as each of them revealed their secrets and back to slave again. She was as aghast as I was at the realisation of what she was hearing.

Oh well, that was my mind-blowing party piece ruined; still it meant we were going to have a good party, might as well just enjoy it. Let’s see what transpires.

“Deborah” I asked, “it would appear that you have some experience of getting your bottom smacked; is that a recent practice or does it go back to when you were much younger, like at school for instance?”

“Oh no,” she was dismissive “Elaine and I have been spanking each other’s bare bottoms for ages; although it’s mostly Elaine smacking me.”

More revelations to me, Elaine and Deborah were not only gay, I had realised that much, but in a sado masochistic way.

“Only when you’ve been a very naughty girl though” Elaine interjected.

“When I’ve been a very naughty girl, I get caned.” Deborah protested. “You’ll spank me though at any opportunity; if I’m lucky”, she laughed.

This broke the ice and soon everybody was chuckling and interacting with each other. Except Monica whose effervescence had turned flat. She was clearly the odd one out and, as the host, I wanted to get her more involved. I had seen her reaction when slave had entered and knew that, given the chance, she would be eager to get her hands on him. I intended to give her that opportunity.

“Slave we have some empty glasses here,” I snapped, “look Monica’s glass is empty. Come on, you’re supposed to be looking after us. Refill everybody at once, start with Monica and then open another bottle. Honestly, you’d think we just wanted him here as eye candy; quickly boy work the room.” I admonished him with a haughty attitude and an impatient wave of my fingers. Slave moved into action immediately but, just as he was pouring into Monica’s glass, I nudged his elbow and the champagne went over her sleeve.

“Now look what you’ve done, you clumsy oaf”; Monica knew that I had caused this, so did slave but dared not say anything; “put that bottle down and fetch the tawse, you’ll find it hanging up in the garage with the other implements. You might as well bring the paddle as well while you’re at it, I’ve a feeling we’re going to need it.”

The room went quiet, Jacqueline tutted; everyone knew what was going to happen and eagerly anticipated it. Slave left to fetch the implements. I asked Monica if she had had any experience of CP at all and she told me that, at her convent school, the nuns sometimes used to strap the hands of naughty girls.

“In that case,” I announced, “it was his hands that were clumsy, so his hands will be punished.”

A sigh of disappointment went around.

“I was rather hoping we’d all get a chance to spank those lovely bottom cheeks,” said Jacqueline.

“Yes, let’s all paddle his bum in turn”. Spurred on by their urges, the girls were reverting to a collective of adolescents. I needed to take control.

“Alright, I’m the host and he’s my slave so I’ll decide.” Quiet descended.

“He needs to be punished for his clumsiness, so I’ll give him ten strokes with the tawse to each hand and, as Monica is the injured party, she’ll give him ten to each as well. Then we’ll have a game of spin the bottle or something to determine how else we deal with him. Why don’t you all give some thought to how we arrange this? There are three things we need to decide; who does it, how many strokes and with what. I have various implements, a hairbrush, a couple of nice stingy straps, a stout wooden paddle with holes in, a firm leather tawse and an assortment of canes and riding crops.”

“Now you’re talking” Elaine spoke up “this is going to be fun. But do we have to only involve the slave in this? Deborah, you have some punishment due if I recall. I’m sure that you’d like to take part. You’re not averse to performing in front of an audience are you?”

“Yes an audience of strangers,” Deborah was quick to react, “I find that quite exhilarating; but I know everybody here” she feigned embarrassment. “I’m not sure that I want you all to see my bare bottom; especially when I’m being punished.”

“Oh how cute” said Elaine sarcastically, “but I really don’t think we should let you off. In fact I’m going to insist that you join slave and receive your punishment from all of us alongside him.”

Deborah became agitated with excitement, whether in fear or anticipation was not clear.

“I have an idea of how we might decide the gameplay” Jacqueline offered, “and it does not require spinning bottles, how quaint I haven’t done that since I was at college.”

My irritation of this lady was becoming acute. It would be nice to somehow get her bent over with her bottom bared before the party was over.

“It does require a pair of dice though, I suppose you do have such things here do you?”

Dice were an essential element of CP games so I knew that I had a pair somewhere, but I allowed her to continue.

“We take turns to throw the dice one at a time, the first throw decides who does it, and the second the implement while the total number of the two decides the number of strokes.”

This was a good idea and received popular agreement from all and I schemed that, once the game was in progress, I would reverse the rules and suggest that the first throw would determine who should be on the receiving end. Let Jacqueline take her chances along with everybody else.

Slave arrived back in the room with the tawse and the paddle.

I admonished his clumsiness, told him he was to be punished and, as she was the one who was offended, Monica would also administer some punishment as well. I then made him stand in the classic schoolboy manner with his hand outstretched to receive some stinging stripes from the tawse. There was deathly quiet around the room as everyone eagerly watched.

I gave him ten really stinging strokes to his left hand that must have hurt dreadfully as tears appeared in his eyes and he found it difficult to keep his hand out towards the end. Just as I was preparing to deliver the same to his right hand, Jacqueline demanded that he should remove his pinafore.

“I always believe that a man should be refused modesty when being punished,” she qualified. “If he is to be treated like a naughty boy then, no matter how silly he looks in that pinafore, naughty boys should be afforded no dignity. Besides, I want to see his penis twitching as the strap comes down.”

This was greeted with amusement and it was generally accepted that the pinafore should indeed come off.

It caused great amusement when he found it difficult to undo the ribbon knots at the back with his sore fingers; but eventually, without any help being offered, the flimsy protection was removed and a gasp went up at the magnificence of his erect organ. The next thing he was standing in schoolboy style again, this time with his right hand out and all the girls tittering and remarking at his twitching upright pole while I walloped the strap down again and again onto his hand as it became redder and redder.

Then it was Monica’s turn to use the strap on him.

She was a bit nervous having never done anything like this before and anxious to get it right; but slave was co-operatively patient with her false starts and, with much offered advice from Jacqueline and Elaine and encouragement from all, she made an extremely competent job of it and slave was almost in tears after ten to each hand given by Monica. He was certainly in a lot of distress and, at the end, was dancing around and waving his hands frantically in the air to cool them down. This was the cause of much hilarity to everybody, especially to Jacqueline who sadistically insisted that her glass should be recharged immediately and that there really was not the time to allow this indulgence.

“Come on slave, there are empty glasses here while you’re dancing about doing your impression of a goose trying to fly.”

Slave dropped the Champagne bottle his fingers were so numb, causing more laughter from the group, and had to pick it up and somehow get the liquid into the glasses as steady as he could using just his wrists. Elaine could not resist the opportunity to distract him by flicking and fingering his organ while he struggled to refill the glasses.

Monica was flushed with excitement after her first CP practice, I was anxious to stimulate her further with a nice pair of masculine buttocks to get to work on. I found a pair of dice in the sideboard and brought them in to the game.

I was pleased when the first game, involving slave once more, had him over Monica’s knee for ten slaps with the hairbrush. Jacqueline insisted that, when an over the knee spanking was drawn, the total number determined by the dice should count for each cheek. No one objected to this, slave might have done but he was never given the chance. Monica enjoyed herself from the start, fondling, stroking, pinching and squeezing his cheeks and made sure that every inch was explored by diligent use of her fingers. It was obvious that she had become very turned on by this for, before she started spanking him, she turned him around, released his cock from the boot lace, played with it a bit, pulled up her skirt to her hips; she had bare legs, then pulled him over her lap with his cock between her thighs and really went to town on his bottom with the hairbrush.

Poor slave was in quite a state when it was over. He had almost shot his load; there were tell-tale spots of cum dribbling from the end of his shaft and he could hardly stand. Monica was flushed and flustered and fidgeting nervously not knowing what to do with herself. Given the chance right then, I think she would have plunged slave’s cock into her mouth and sucked him dry without hesitating; but we were not intent on pleasuring slave just yet. He was sent off into the corner with his hands on his head for further humiliation and Deborah, with Elaine’s insistence and with mock reluctance, joined the fray to be punished for our amusement.

It is just as pleasing to spank a girl as it is a man. The humiliation of a man, especially one as strong and virile as slave, and reducing him down to the level of a snivelling little boy gives a girl a great sense of power; but punishing another girl, particularly one as sweet and submissive as Deborah has its own rewards: plump fair skin rippling and colouring nicely under the spanking, soft spoken pleading, gentle mewing and yelping; these touch the heart more appealingly then masculine resolve, so everyone was especially keen to have Deborah join in as a victim.

She undressed down to a short silk chemise and thong while I shook the dice.

The first throw landed on two, Jacqueline’s designated number and she bristled with anticipation. The second landed on six, the number for the senior cane, oh dear on a cold bottom as well, poor Deborah. She readied herself for eight strokes from Jacqueline; I had the feeling that these were not going to be light strokes either.

Jacqueline told Deborah to bend over the back of the sofa and made great play of ensuring that her bottom was high in the air and that her feet were off the ground.

“I want to see those legs wriggling” Jacqueline ordered.

This was no novice at work, Jacqueline had none of Monica’s hesitations or missed strokes; she was an enthusiastic expert and it was apparent in the way that she first whooshed the cane through the air a few times to instil fear into Deborah, I watched poor Deborah’s buttocks clench involuntarily at each sound, and once Jacqueline had got a feel for the spirit of the rod she readied by lining up the shot.

Then with an almighty crack Jacqueline brought the cane down from over her shoulder cutting it through the air for it to land full-square and embed itself deeply into Deborah’s soft round cheeks. Everyone gasped at the power of the stroke and at Jacqueline’s cruelty for delivering the first one so viciously. Deborah nearly hit the ceiling she jumped so high and danced around clutching her bottom going “Yow ow ow wow ooh ow ow, oh God that hurt…” for what seemed like ages.

“Gosh that was a corker,” exclaimed Elaine, “I say, take it easy Jacqueline, this is only a game.”

“Oh, and is there any point in doing it lightly then?” Replied Jacqueline indignantly. “If a bottom is to be thrashed it needs to be done properly.”

“Would you like to be on the receiving end of one like that then?” Elaine countered angrily.

“But I’m not and that’s the whole point. You said yourself that she had some punishment due; I’m just saving you the trouble, and doing it thoroughly. Come on Deborah, that’s enough of your fuss. You have seven more to come.”

Jacqueline then proceeded to deliver seven more painful strokes to Deborah’s soft girlish cheeks as she wriggled and cried until all had been given. Elaine could only look on, horrified.

I was even more determined after that cruel show to somehow manipulate Jacqueline into a situation where she was the one over the couch.

We were all suffering shell-shock after this; Deborah disappeared into a bedroom with Elaine to receive comfort and to have her stripes cared for, slave was brought out of the corner to lay the table and serve up dinner while Monica went out for a cigarette. I was alone with Jacqueline.

“So Jacqueline, you’re doing well by the look of it,” I began; “expensive car, chauffer, living on a private estate, expensive clothes; where did all this come from?”

“Three husbands darling, wealthy ones and luckily for me neither of them satisfied with one bed. Even the last, who was seventy five, I expected him to pop his clogs at any time, I caught him shagging one of the stable maids.” She was smug and self-satisfied as she said this. “You need a good private detective mind and a good lawyer of course; I was shagging both of them,” she let out a raucous laugh. “Each of the smucks thought I was a bit dumb, but I was brighter than all of them, right from the start I had one intention, screw them for half of what they had, every last penny darling.”

And there was I thinking that I was a misandrist; this lady was writing the book on it.

“After the first it becomes easy, you get to know the kind of man to look for,” she confided, “notice the signs, play the game, give them the slack, play the dutiful wife then bring in the spooks. It catches them every time they can’t help it, they are all the same. A successful man that is also a loyal husband doesn’t exist. Ego darling; drives their success but has to be stroked constantly, and if the wife doesn’t pander to it, you’d be surprised, they seek it in the most unsuitable of places”.

“What about CP? You’re not new to this game, where did that experience come from? Did you play with any of your husbands?” I was curious but I was also trying to lead her into a trap.

“Oh all of them, if they weren’t interested at first I soon made them interested. They all had leanings in that direction anyway to be honest, public school darling, adolescent boys dropping their trousers for some nice stingy cane strokes from a prefect not much older, communal wanking in the dormitory for a bit of relief, all that fagging, un-natural if you ask me. It’s bound to turn you into a pervert; but I certainly liked giving them what for.”

She really did have a low opinion of men. I had to lead her further to entrap her.

“It does show a certain measure of strength and resolve though, don’t you think? I mean look at the way Deborah was able to submit to what you did to her just now. We all admired her for it at the end. I have tremendous regard for those that can submit like that.”

“Do you dear? Oh I just see a nice pair of bum cheeks that need a good thrashing and to take my frustrations out on.”

“That’s just crude and artless.” I was getting really annoyed with Jacqueline but had to keep my emotions controlled. “Wielding a cane is like playing a cello, or playing tennis. Yes you can just thrash about but all you create is noise and a pissed off audience. The cello bow or the tennis racket is an extension of your own body and therefore your personality. It is illustrative of your behaviour and approach to everything. If you use these extensions with skill acquired from years of training and with the finesse obtained from mental control and stability, you deliver fine music or a fluid volley and everyone appreciates it. The cane is the same; when used with skill and control the submissive, assuming they have consented of course like Deborah, we’re not talking about judicial punishment; the recipient is taken to a realm beyond just pain and into a state of euphoria close to the ecstasy of love making; likewise the audience are thrilled and stimulated by the spectacle. Have you ever experienced submission at the hands of an experienced exponent” I asked?

Just then slave came in to announce that dinner was served, Monica was just behind him; the moment was lost and Jacqueline escaped having to respond. I could tell though from her discomfort at the question that she had never felt the sting of a well-placed length of rattan wrapped around her cheeks.

The atmosphere at dinner was lively and relaxed. Everyone was now stimulated by the alcohol and the previous entertainment. Deborah was completely recovered, Monica’s effervescence renewed and they were both in animated conversation throughout the meal. Slave made an efficient and courteous table waiter not even becoming flustered with all the attention paid to his bottom whilst his hands were full. It did not go unnoticed that he had replaced his pinafore without asking permission. He would be punished for that later, maybe in private once everyone had left. Jacqueline had asked if the chauffer might be allowed in, so he was out in the kitchen sharing the table with slave for his meal; keep the boys together was the best policy I felt. I was pleased that I had no reason to leave the dining room; slave was managing very well, so I left him to it.

Inevitably when five women are dining together the conversation turns to the opposite sex or more precisely our attitudes towards them. Because Elaine and Deborah had been lesbian partners since forever and Jacqueline was a confirmed misandrist they had strong views and a low opinion of men. Elaine had been saying that all men were basically cowards and that given the choice they would always take either the easier way out or the one that suited them best. Jacqueline whole heartedly agreed. My view was more sympathetic and I listed some of the conditions that would drive a man to take the difficult path; things like loyalty, honour, duty, pride and ego. I was going to add love to the list but knew that Jacqueline would ridicule that suggestion.

Even so: “Balderdash, absolute balderdash” was Jacqueline’s outburst. “Ego perhaps, but get real sweet heart, men have not been motivated by duty, honour or pride since World War bloomin one. That debacle knocked any of those ideals out of the social ethos - and killed off all the good ole chaps in the process. That was the end of idealism”

“My great granddad was in the Great War”, Deborah piped up, changing the subject and relieving us all of another outburst from Jacqueline. “He was important, a Brigadier or something. He survived. I never knew him of course, but I remember my granddad talking about him. My granddad was only about eleven when his father had left and fourteen when he came home again; but he’d remembered it clearly. Apparently he’d been packed off to his aunt or something and spent all the time while his dad was away in the company of five women. They gave him a really bad time and treated him like a slave; they used to beat him horribly.”

“They sound like really sensible women if you ask me” was Jacqueline’s response to this.

Deborah continued regardless. “Granddad used to talk about it all the time. I used to get quite stimulated by the story and I think he could tell. It had changed his life when his dad came home. Apparently the women had hidden all the letters his dad had sent; but great granddad found out, threw them all out of the house, looked after him, got him an education and everything and made it alright again.”

Just then slave came in with the next course. While he was leaning across me to put the fruit bowl on the table he very discreetly whispered into my ear.

“I beg your pardon mistress but might we have a word out in the kitchen”.

Oh what now I thought? What’s wrong this time, we had this all scrupulously planned? Why can’t I just leave things to someone else without having to be disturbed? If this is not important, he’s for it.

So I followed him out to the kitchen with a simple and impatient “excuse me” to my fiends.

“What’s all this about slave, it had better be good?” I was angry and not afraid to show it in front of the chauffer who was sitting at the kitchen table with his back to me.

The chauffer stood up and turned around.

“Hello Kimberley” he said, “remember me?” He looked vaguely familiar but I had not the slightest idea who he was.

“And did you not realise that the person you are referring to as slave is Thomas Preston,” he continued? “You do remember Thomas Preston don’t you?”

I was flabbergasted. I knew Tom Preston ages ago but he was bearded back then and nowhere near as good looking or toned as slave; in fact that body had been flabby by comparison. No wonder I did not recognise him. He had been a teacher at my school and also the scout master when I was the guide mistress. I knew slave had reminded me of somebody but had not thought back that far to make the connection. Damn it, I had not wanted to know his name. This was not going to alter our current relationship though I determined.

But who was this chauffer; I had no idea? Without his cap he looked younger than I’d thought yet he must be going back a while if he knew Tom, so when I knew him he must have been very young; a boy scout perhaps?

“Yes I remember Tom Preston from way back,” I offered, “he was the scout master; but I don’t think I can quite place you.”

“Oh I recognised Thomas as soon as I arrived,” the chauffer continued. “I was barely a teenager back then when we last met; but I could not forget him. Neither could I ever forget you in fact Kimberley, our association back then made a big imprint on my life.”

I thought back, when was the last time I had seen Tom Preston? Then it dawned on me. The chauffeur must be that dirty little voyeur of a boy scout we punished together for peaking up guide’s skirts. But what was his name? Was there to be no end to the revelations that this day brings?

“Thomas has been telling me all about the little party you’ve got going here and his part in it.” The chauffer continued still not giving anything away as to his name; but did that really matter?

“The thing is Kimberley; I’d quite like to play as well. I would need to ask permission of my mistress Jacqueline of course; but I think that if you agree, she will as well.”

I had to compose myself. I was totally dumbfounded. How could I keep control of circumstances like these that come right out of the blue; with past friends that have become raving sado-masochists in one room eating at my table and old acquaintances that, as it turns out, are just the same eating in the kitchen?

Attack, that’s what I’ll do. It’s always the best defence when faced with a situation like this.

“Well you’d better get those clothes off like your friend here hadn’t you? Come on strip naked, this instant”.

I was pleased with myself; I had not even missed a heartbeat between being on the defensive and to being able to give out orders convincingly. “How dare you assume to be fully clothed and wearing those ridiculous jodhpurs when only the fairer and more superior sex are permitted the privilege of modesty in this household.” I was beginning to enjoy myself again using the opportunity to redress some of my niggling gripes. “And don’t worry about your mistress; Jacqueline will do as I say, I’m Queen around here.”

A smile came over the chauffer’s face. Then he quickly thought better of it and corrected himself. He feigned submission, dropped his chin and cast his eyes down and began to unbutton his jacket with a contrite “Yes mistress”.

“Like slave here you will not have a name” I continued, letting me off the hook nicely. “We will just call you driver. Slave you’ll find a pinafore for driver in the second drawer down. You’ll also find a dog collar in the garage and other devices he could wear. The Viagra is in that cabinet, he’s quite a bit younger than you so he probably won’t need it but give him two just the same. You know what I expect from my subjects; prepare him and bring him in with the next course; he can carry the cheeseboard while you wheel the liqueur trolley. And you’d better make sure that he’s ready for us or you’re the one that gets it. Understand?”

This was turning out alright. I decided not to disclose any of this to Jacqueline and when driver gets marched into the room as a companion to slave, naked and submissive, my total dominance over all the men in our company will have been demonstrated and her hubris well deflated. I am queen bee around here.

I was still grinning when I got back to the table. An active discussion was taking place, mostly between Elaine and Jacqueline, about the differences between punishing men and women. Elaine was quite ambivalent about taking a stout cane to a man’s bare rump, but Jacqueline wouldn’t have it any other way. Apparently the reverse was true if the gender was changed.

Just to add controversy, and to bring the conversation back to my still unanswered question to Jacqueline, I asked who amongst us had been on the receiving end of a sound thrashing and whether or not they had enjoyed it. Deborah of course had received many at the hands of Elaine and others that she was keen to describe. Elaine had also had her fair share of punishment and not just from Deborah, this surprised me. She described a session that had taken place in one of the S&M clubs of Manhattan in front of an audience of sixty or so strangers. She described the skill of the dominatrix and how it had left her gasping at the end and feeling so horny that she and Deborah had locked themselves away in a hotel room for three days of hot sex and did not get to see most of the sights of New York they had planned. I described some of my experiences, particularly those when I was much younger; experiences that had stimulated me and set me along the CP path in the first place. Everybody was eager to describe their stories. Monica listened with fascination keen to interject with questions about what it was like and if it was terribly painful; but all the while Jacqueline was conspicuously quiet.

I was going to put her on the spot again and ask her outright if she had ever felt the thrill of a good thrashing when, foiled again, this time slave marched in with the liqueur trolley leading driver in by a dog chain attached to a ring pierced through the tip of his erect penis. The ring must have already been in place as I could not have imagined driver submitting to having his penis pierced by slave there and then in the kitchen. Other than a dog collar, ankle and wrist cuffs, driver like slave was completely naked.

A gasp went up, then nervous giggling and in the end everyone, including me, was applauding and cheering the sheer audacity of this entrance; everybody but Jacqueline that is who wore a face of thunder. I had achieved the spectacular reveal I had intended and all because slave had taken the initiative when preparing driver to realise the dramatic effect it would have by, very effectively, using the attribute of his piercing.

I was waiting for the clamour to subside before I said anything about how driver came to be taking part when Deborah squealed out, “It’s Robin; oh look Ely, it’s Rob from New York!”

Yes that was his name Robin, but I still could not remember his last name, and of course these two would have known him. They were the ones that had caused him to be dealt with by Tom and me all those years ago. But I didn’t know what she meant about New York.

“That’s enough now Deborah please; slaves do not have names under my control, please remember that. He will be known just as driver.” I was quick to take control.

“What I want to know is how come my chauffer is being dragged in bollock naked and being paraded for us all to see on the end a dog leash?” Jacqueline was indignant and wanted everyone to share her indignation. “I did not agree to this; I don’t even remember being asked. Foster, what is the meaning of this?”

There it was out, Robin Foster, that was his name. I recalled then the phenomenal beating he had received back then at our hands. He was now looking at me open mouthed wondering what to say. I had promised him I would agree this with Jacqueline. It was time for me to be strong again; I was not afraid of Jacqueline and this was my opportunity to turn the tables.

“Are you going to take his place then Jacqueline,” I countered, “for it’s either your driver or you? There are too many doms here and not enough subs to go around. Besides, don’t be a spoil sport, the more subs we have the more fun we will have. Let him play.”

“Why don’t they both become subs?” Elaine added, she obviously wanted to take Jacqueline down as much as I did and probably wanted to get her own back for her treatment of Deborah.

“Oh that’s a good idea” Deborah supported her “I don’t want to have the only female’s bum here getting spanked.”

“What do you think Monica,” I asked, might as well get the full house in agreement, “would you like to see Jacqueline bending over having her bare bottom spanked along with slave, driver and Deborah?”

“Yes, I think I would.” Monica was warm to the idea as well. Her eyes gleamed with girlish curiosity. “I’d like to watch while someone less consenting is caned. That would be like a real punishment wouldn’t it; like in a prison or at a reform school or something? I think I’d find that very exciting.”

“There you are you see Jacqueline; everyone wants what’s best for you.” I had my way; Jacqueline was indignant though and having none of it. She tried to wriggle away.

“Come on Foster, get dressed we’re getting out of here.”

But then driver, either feeling rebellious and strengthened by the numbers or fed up with his mistress’s treatment of him and finally getting his own back said:

“Well you’ll have to drive yourself home in that case, because I’m not leaving. Are you alright handling a Bentley Continental? They’re quite heavy you know and very powerful; a bit like driving the Batmobile if you’re not used to it.”

“You just wait ‘till I get you home; you’re really for it now.” She was totally deflated.

Oh dear, poor Jacqueline, what would she do now with no one on her side? Driver and I both knew she would never attempt to drive that car the one hundred or so miles back to her house.

Part 3

We were all fired up eagerly anticipating the judicial punishment of Jacqueline. Slave and driver had both been ordered to take her out and prepare her while the rest of us made arrangements to furnish, as near as we could, a suitable theatre for her punishment. We had thought about various rooms available in the house and had decided that the chill of the conservatory would contribute to her feeling of vulnerability; also it was almost empty and the ceiling was high so there was plenty of space, as it were, to swing a cat. Everyone had contributed and come up with ideas; the cruelty of some of the suggestions spoke volumes about the way we all felt about Jacqueline. A formidable looking whipping bench had been constructed from a wooden trestle with a fat leather cushion fastened around the horizontal bar; I had plenty of ankle and wrist cuffs available to attach to the uprights so, no matter how violently she might wriggle, her body would be held firmly in place.

This was not going to be an easy first experience for Jacqueline. We had all agreed that she deserved judicial punishment; a mild or erotic spanking would be wasted on someone as hard and as embittered as her. A severe caning with one of my dragon canes was considered appropriate but we had agonised about which of us should administer it. To settle things it was decided that each of us would deliver ten strokes apiece; the boys would be left out of the squad but would be allowed to watch. Forty strokes for a first timer would be a rude introduction to masochism; whether or not she enjoyed it was immaterial but it would certainly help her to decide if she did.

After his stunt with driver and the penis ring I had the feeling that slave would make a good theatrical job of Jacqueline’s entrance; I was not disappointed. We first became aware of a slow drumbeat from somewhere at the back of the house. I knew that in amongst the discarded paraphernalia of my junk room there was an old drum from when I did props for Les Misereables, slave must have found it. I had already admonished him for rooting around in my house; this was something else to add to his punishment list; but I had to admire his initiative.

Gradually the drumbeat got louder and the grim entourage solemnly entered the conservatory, driver leading with the drum. They were all dressed in costumes also rooted out from the Les Misereables wardrobe, Jacqueline included. Slave and driver had both donned loose trousers with waistcoats and peasant caps. Slave was leading a struggling Jacqueline; she was not acting, by a heavy rope tied to her wrists. She was covered head to toe in a deep crimson cape that covered her head with a hood; but as she was dragged forward it opened at the waist and you could see that she was naked underneath. This apparent group of eighteenth century French proletariat arrived with due solemnity at the trestle, the drum was put down, the fastening at the neck of the crimson gown was undone and, with an overtly exaggerated flourish, in one movement the mantle was removed from around Jacqueline’s shoulders. She stood naked as the day she was born, shivering and trembling.

Seeing her like this you could understand why so many husbands had fallen for her; she was lovely. Her skin was bright and pale and her body was well proportioned with not one ounce of fat although her limbs were well toned and muscled. Apart from her shivering she now seemed more resigned to her fate and her struggling had turned to a look of reluctant acceptance. Gone was her haughty demeanour, her posture now resembled that of a frightened girl waiting outside the headmaster’s office. Whether from the cold or from excitement her nipples were extended on her firm breasts, her trembling caused her legs to shake and this sent a tantalising ripple through her soft buttocks. It was a joy to see Jacqueline humbled in such a way and, had it been anyone else, I would have felt quite sorry for her.

I glanced over to see how Monica was taking all this; she was in an acute state of sexual arousal already. Her eyes were hungrily devouring every inch of Jacqueline’s body feasting on her nudity and the vulnerability of one awaiting a severe taste of the judicial rod. I wondered if she was imagining what it felt like to be the victim like that. She stood with her legs crossed, repeatedly pressing one against the other and had her hands joined at the front. I could make out that two of her fingers were delving between her legs and pressing there in time with the movement of her legs.

Driver took great pleasure in leading Jacqueline to the trestle. No doubt while having been employed by this particular mistress he had been treated in the same way that she had treated all the men in her life, like a recalcitrant dog, and now he was keen to get his revenge. He was still respectful in the way that he untied her hands but then, from above her elbows, he pulled both her arms behind her back thrusting her breasts forward even more. He paused like that turning her body for us all to see then lent her forward forcibly stretching her belly first against the leather bolster. Slave was ready at her legs with straps to secure them to the trestle and then her arms were secured at the wrist while driver pulled a wide strap around to tighten at her waist. Jacqueline was now totally powerless, defenceless and vulnerable to the severe chastisement that awaited her.

Slave handed me a hand crafted paper scroll, he had even mocked up an antique proclamation; was there no end to this man’s talents and imagination. With due ceremony I unrolled it and read it out to the group:

“Jacqueline, you have been found guilty by the assembled court of arrogance, haughtiness, superbia, hubris and snobbery. There can be found no place within this society for behaviour of this kind and you must be humiliated before us all.

You have been sentenced to a public flogging, to wit strokes of a judicial cane administered hard upon your naked buttocks. It is the decision of this court that each woman present will deliver ten such strokes until the sentence is complete.

Let the punishment begin.”

Jacqueline began to protest in earnest, saying that she had gone along with this ridiculous charade so far but the whole thing must end now, immediately; that a lady in her position should not be subject to the childish whims of raving lunatics. She pleaded with us as friends not to be so stupid and to consider the years that we had known each other, for, if we were to go through with this nonsense it would be the end of it, she hoped we realised that our friendship would end here and now.

No one really took any notice of her, we just let her rant.

Days ago when I had been organising this little soiree, the last thing I would have expected was that I would be giving Jacqueline a damn good thrashing. But here I was and, as it turned out, I had wanted this opportunity all afternoon. Neither would I have expected to discover that all these people that I had known for so long were of the same mind as me and had also been sharing my enthusiasm for CP for all that time; this that I had chosen to hide from the outside world and had only now been inclined to reveal that my true nature held the desire to cause pain and subject my fellow humans to shame and degradation.

Was it serendipity that had brought us all together this evening I wondered? Or was it just my act of admission, the truth of my dark nature that had caused the truth within us all to be revealed? Had I not seen slave’s advertisement in the blog that day and not driven to the car park expecting him to be there, how different would this party have been then? Would it have been just like any other, five girls getting together for a few drinks and to reminisce about old times? What part did serendipity play and indeed what part did slave play in placing his ad in the first place? That slave should also turn out to be Thomas Preston from all those years back that had composed the ad at that particular time and entered it on that particular blog that I happened to read and, when I had seen it, had become so tantalised that I had gone to the car park eager for it to be true. These thoughts all went through my mind; but right now here were a pair of beautiful bare buttocks to thrash. As the host, I was to go first.

I selected the dragon cane. This was my favourite and the one I had used on slave earlier. I was keen that Jacqueline should experience a good sound thrashing so I prepared carefully, lining up the shot and taking aim. As a keen tennis player I am confident of my accuracy and I wanted the first stroke to go straight to the most sensitive part of a girl’s bottom, the underside just above where bottom meets thigh. Jacqueline had abundant flesh just there and it hung heavy and succulent from her position on the bench.

I brought the cane back over my shoulder, summoned the strength from my whole core and powered forth. The rod sizzled through the air and came to a jolt as it hit bang on target sending a judder up my arm and throwing Jacqueline forward on the trestle. Jacqueline let out a stifled grunt and then, “Oh no, oh my God” as the pain took hold and began to build. I knew what a stroke like that from this cane felt like. At first only the force of impact is apparent and then, from way down deep inside, a flame begins that quickly burns and turns unbearable. Very soon it fills the entire muscle. This is what Jacqueline was beginning to experience now. I allowed some time for the extent of the pain to become obvious then powered down with another equally as ferocious and just a few centimetres above the first.

“Oh please no, I just can’t take this” was Jacqueline’s response. She would have to because I was not intending to be lenient with her. I knew that she was doing her utmost to endure the pain and that, most likely, she would be able to stem it for four or five strokes; but after that the pain from just the first stroke would be reaching its unbearable climax and, with the others still building, it would cause her to be crying and pleading for it to stop. I kept up the delivery in the same way with maximum force, slowly making my way, with a pause between each stroke, up the soft skin of her bare behind.

As expected at the fifth stroke she let out an ear splitting wail and began gyrating within her bonds. This was the effect that I wanted and I began to feel the exhilaration of the pleasure that I crave. There were still five more delicious strokes to go that I would enjoy immensely. I had now filled the entire area of her lower bottom cheeks with stripes. She coloured easily and these marks stood out deep red and livid against her pale skin. A technique that I have learned to maximise the effect of the pain is to start at the extremities of the area and work towards the centre. This will concentrate the pain into one excruciating area of fire right across the crown. This was how I intended to proceed by now aiming the stroke at the top, just where the dividing cleft begins, and moving down to meet the stripes from below.

The sixth stroke hit exactly where I had intended and Jacqueline continued to scream and gyrate to my complete satisfaction. I looked forward to when I could watch her face as then I would be able see it contorting in pain; but for now I was quite content to see her buttocks quivering and the involuntary spasms of her groin muscles as the strokes landed.

I continued until her meaty globes were all very swollen and almost every inch of skin had been marked; just one strip of whiteness remained on the very crown and this too was about to be filled with excruciating pain and a blazing swelling. I put everything I had into this last stroke and whacked it down to complete the ten.

Jacqueline was beside herself in her contortions and struggling. She was crying bitterly and her head was moving this way and that in her efforts to come to terms with the pain. I took her hair in one hand and pulled her head back to see her face. Tears stained her cheeks and streaked down from where the eye makeup had run and her pretty mouth was a grimace of agony.

“So did you enjoy that my little sweetie?” I asked, “Because I did? You’ve plenty more to come yet you know, we’re only a quarter of the way through.”

Elaine was the next to star. We had decided that she and I had the most experience with a cane, so we should go first to ensure that the punishment was meted out effectively from the start. Elaine had a score to settle with Jacqueline for her cruelty to Deborah. She was itching to get started, psyching herself up, stomping around and swishing the cane through the air to build up her aggression. I had not seen her at work before with a cane and was curious about her technique. Once she was fired up and ready she took Deborah in her arms and kissed her passionately. I just made out as she whispered to her “This is for you darling,” and then she took up her stance.

Elaine looked formidable as she stood there cane in hand. Once again I almost took pity on Jacqueline as I watched her weeping and bound to the bench unable to do anything to prevent the treatment she was being forced to endure.

Unlike my caning technique that started from a static position from over my shoulder, Elaine’s involved taking aim then drawing the cane back to gather momentum before swooshing it down onto the spot she had aimed for. The power of such a stroke must have been phenomenal; it certainly had an effect on Jacqueline. Her gyrating had just about ceased immediately before but now, with renewed energy and desperation, she almost lifted the bench off the ground her movement was so frenzied.

From my place at the head of the bench I watched her face; the look of pure agony she gave was pitiful. Her lips came back, her mouth opened to let out a gurgling moan, her eyebrows curled up at the centre and her eyes took on a blank unfocussed expression. The cane’s movement through the air caused a draught that I could feel at my end and the energy of its impact shook the whole floor. I saw Jacqueline’s hips rise up, the shudder moved down her body to her shoulders; her back arched pulling against the waist strap exposing her wobbling full breasts and dark nipples. Her arms and legs kicked and pulled at the bonds and her fists opened and closed as she clamped tightly around the bar of the trestle.

I was feeling so aroused by this provocative display and looked around to see how the others were reacting. Monica and Deborah both appeared in rapture. They had become quite fond of each other during the afternoon and were now arm in arm spellbound, watching wide eyed and open mouthed as the thrashing commenced. Slave and driver were either side of Elaine further back. Slave still wore his enigmatic smile and stood ram rod straight, every bit of him; I could make out the bulge in his baggy trousers. Driver too was in the same state but his arousal was much easier to discern, not having slave’s boot lace binding to keep his cock upright, it stuck straight out from the front of his pants. This party could end in some serious sex; I could hardly wait to get slave’s meat inside me.

Elaine was about to deliver her last stroke of ten. Jacqueline, exhausted from her convulsions, had momentarily ceased her gyrations but she still wept bitterly. No one moved or hardly breathed, a silence fell upon the room. I noticed the look of concentrated effort as Elaine lined up the shot for her distinctive swept back technique; her body was moist with perspiration. Then it came, howling through the air and landing with an almighty crack. Jacqueline’s body convulsed and a desperate sustained cry left her lips. Elaine through down the cane exhausted.

I went around the back to see the condition that Jacqueline’s buttocks were in now. This recent set of ten had all landed on the group that I had laid down and caused nasty looking purple wheels. The cheeks were now very swollen and lumpy. Another ten, let alone twenty, on top of these would certainly cause the skin to break. I was not sure that we wanted to go so far as to cause permanent damage; but it was important that Jacqueline became emotionally as well as physically submissive so we would let her believe she had the same to endure again. I called for a break.

We left Jacqueline secured to the bench contemplating more to come while slave got more champagne. Monica needed a cigarette and I decided to go with her to get some air. As she lit up I asked her how she felt about the way things were going. She declared that it was one of the most stimulating afternoons she had ever spent. Prior to today, she had never thought that things like this went on and yet here were some of her oldest friends practising it regularly. She also said that she had become intrigued about what it felt like to be thrashed as Jacqueline had.

“Can I suggest something?” she asked. “I don’t think I would be very good with a cane, I’m not good at racket sports or anything; I don’t have the eye to hand co-ordination or something. Instead of me giving Jacqueline ten strokes, do you think I could receive them in her place? I mean exactly the same, tied down and everything, naked. Perhaps you could gave me five, like you just did, and I could get five from Elaine as well. What do you think?”

I’d had the feeling that Monica was going to suggest this. I’d been watching her and I’d seen the way she’d become aroused when Jacqueline had been marched in.

“Of course you can” I wanted to re-assure her that it was not such a strange request. “I’m sure that you’ll find it exceptionally exhilarating. We’ll announce it when we get back.”

She had finished her smoke so we went back in. Back in the house we could hear Jacqueline moaning and panting. This was a different noise to her crying of earlier and we wondered what was going on. The conservatory was empty except for Jacqueline still tied to the bench and on her back, thrusting away doggy style, driver was humping the living daylights out of her. Contrary to what I would have expected, Jacqueline was not objecting in the slightest. The look of agony had left her face and been replaced with one of sheer joy and pleasure. She was moaning and crying out with all the usual things “yes, yes” and “more, please, more” even “fuck me, harder, yes fuck me, harder, harder” and totally oblivious to our entrance.

Driver was enjoying himself as well.

“Excuse us” he shouted between breaths; “we’ll just be a little while longer, then you can have her back.”

We decided to leave them to it and Monica and I went back into the lounge. There slave was clearing the table. The sight of him bending to load the dishwasher in the kitchen with his scourged backside in the air filled me with yearnings and I had the uncontrollable desire to get his dick inside me there and then. I assumed from all her talk about sexual intrigue and wanting to suffer like Jacqueline, Monica felt the same. Time for a nice ménage a trois I thought. I winked at Monica and she quickly understood what I was intending.

We led slave back into the lounge and pushed him down onto the couch. We forced his arms over his head and Monica, having hitched up her skirt, straddled him pinning his wrists down with her feet and sitting on his face. I pulled off my leather pants, straddled his hips facing Monica and then worked away at the boot strap, undoing it and releasing his gorgeous penis. Monica looked on eagerly. After everything that had gone on this afternoon, the Viagra, the genital clamp and penis ring, slave must have been desperate for some relief. I undid the clamp; Monica leant forward and moistened his helmet with her tongue, then slid off the ring. My vagina was so wet; it had been all afternoon if the truth be known, that I eased my hips up down onto his organ in one delicious movement. It was so good that I paused like that allowing the feeling of being filled with his cock so completely to engulf me.

Monica had eased herself up from his face and now his tongue was eagerly lapping away at her clitoris; she was moaning in ecstasy. Seeing her in such rapture I longed to stroke her body, so I urgently pulled at her top and removed it over her shoulders and slid off her bra. Her breasts were full and the nipples stood up like little acorns. I fingered them, squeezed them, my hands were all over them. I began to ride slave’s cock enjoying its hardness and solidity as it moved within me. I kissed Monica, a full wet kiss; I covered her lips with mine. Our tongues lapped at each other tasting the sap from our mouths and all the while slave’s pillar of iron was thrusting rhythmically deep into me. I began to orgasm, far too quickly, an explosion of sensitivity that shook my very soul to its core. I let it in to overpower and fill me completely.

I changed places with Monica, clumsily and urgently. Slave’s organ was still ram rod straight, doing its duty for both of us. Monica, much more slowly and controlled than I had been, cautiously allowed herself to become impaled, gasping as she went down. As soon as I got settled I felt slave’s tongue exploring my vagina, drinking the juices that still flowed. I had the impulse to become totally naked so I tore the clothes from my back, ripping another lovely silk blouse in the process. Oh slave you really are a disaster to a girl’s wardrobe. Monica was riding slave at a trot with her eyes closed and her hands sought out my breasts. The contact was a spark that caused an electromagnetic current to flow through us and it drew us together. We moved like that, tongue to cleft, hand to breast, vulva to abdomen and were one in our ecstasy. After a long while Monica and slave climaxed together with explosive force and became totally satisfied.

After a quick wash and change I returned to the conservatory to get things moving again while slave and Monica sought out the Jacuzzi together. Deborah, Elaine and driver were waiting for me; I explained that slave and Monica would be a while and that we should get started. Jacqueline was still tied to the bench looking tired and very dishevelled and Deborah was now keen to get to work on her again. She and Elaine had also been enjoying each other along with everyone else and they were both fired up by their stimulation and anxious for a bare bottom to thrash. Deborah selected a different thinner cane from the bunch and swished it through the air a few times enjoying the sound it made.

“Now you’re really going to feel what a good thrashing is about Jacqueline” she calmly announced. “I actually enjoy the feel of a good cane wrapped around my bare cheeks; but I’m not so sure that you do. The caning you gave me earlier was cruel; this is going to show you how it can be both stimulating and exciting.”

It is always a treat to watch someone more familiar with receiving rather than administering, give a caning. Their experience has given them an acute understanding of the effect of the suffering and they will be inclined towards controlling the punishment with greater awareness. This was lost on Jacqueline though of course; she just knew that she was going to get more punishment, became agitated and it set her off complaining and frantically pulling at her bonds again.

Deborah wasted no time in getting down to action. She started with some sharp stinging flicking strokes all around the same spot just where buttock and thigh meet. This got Jacqueline’s legs wriggling and the muscles on the insides of her thighs twitching. Soon a livid purple stripe appeared at the top of her thighs just where the wand had repeatedly landed. Then, by way of stimulating her victim, Deborah pressed the last few centimetres of the cane against the lips of her sex and gently massaged slightly up and down. Jacqueline began to calm and then began moaning. Just when Jacqueline appeared to be enjoying what was being done to her Deborah quickly and viciously swiped the cane down onto the livid purple stripe. This caused further convulsions from Jacqueline and the uttering of a deep animalistic groan. Once again the cane was used to massage, kiss and caress the lips to her sex and clitoris and once more Jacqueline was taken to a state of euphoria and then another vicious stroke would be laid on. By using these alternate repetitions of pain and pleasure Deborah carefully and expertly brought Jacqueline to a state of extreme sexuality. Soon she was screaming out for satisfaction.

“Fuck me; oh please will somebody just fuck me.” This she was crying over and over again.

Deborah took no notice and continued to just play with her; tickling her lips and clitoris with the cane then cruelly swishing it down on her now very tender skin. After a good while of this and much obscene begging from Jacqueline, driver came forward, gestured to Deborah to let him through and then mounted Jacqueline as he had before. Except this time, rather than going in to her vagina, her thrust forcibly down into her anus.

“Oh my God” Jacqueline cried out and let forth and ear splitting howl as driver thrust deeper and deeper. Soon he was going at it like a steam engine, his hands squeezing and pinching at her punished cheeks and all the while Jacqueline screamed and howled like a banshee. Elaine, Deborah and I looked on eager to watch Jacqueline’s suffering until eventually driver climaxed.

After that we released Jacqueline from the trestle and driver carried her off to the Jacuzzi to help her recover.

Meanwhile slave, who had returned with Monica during driver’s performance, was preparing her for her debut on the bench. She had told slave of her desire to be punished and, while still out of the room, he had stripped her, bound her wrists and she was currently naked and being secured with her arms over her head to one of the conservatory’s rafters to anticipate the judicial thrashing she was about to receive.

Seeing her strung up like that with her body gently shivering, whether from the chill in the conservatory or from her nervousness was difficult to tell; I could not help trying to imagine what was going through her mind. From her expression when Deborah had been cruelly punished and then watching her reaction when Jacqueline had been led in to the beat of a drum, it was clear that Monica had been sexually aroused by the acts or corporal punishment going on around. I tried to recall what I had felt immediately prior to my first time under the rod and I was certainly aware of what the rush of adrenalin coursing through my veins felt like. Monica was about to suffer a good judicial thrashing as her first experience as if she had been sentenced by some court in a primitive land to a frighteningly unknown experience and the inevitability of that ruling had already begun. The adrenalin must be rushing through her at a phenomenal rate. I noticed the staccato way that her eyes darted between each of us gazing at her. Her expression was one of terror but underneath her sexuality also shone through. Her lips were full and moist, her nipples stood up firm against her heaving breasts moving rapidly with each breath. Her bare legs were crossed seductively accentuating the roundness of her hips and her clipped pubic hair was moist at the centre of the bikini trim.

I noticed slave regarding her in an admiring way. Gone was his enigmatic smile, replaced with a more serious expression that spoke of pride. After the ménage a trois between me, Monica and him and their subsequent time in the Jacuzzi, something had changed in their mutual respect. Monica, inexperienced in the ways of domination, had never treated slave in the same way that Jacqueline and I had; but this was a difference in the way that he allowed himself to be treated by her. His behaviour to all of us up until then had been in the character of a slave but his care for her was not the act of a submissive. This was genuine caring and it was attractive; I began to see slave in a new way, that of a very charming person.

I felt that I wanted to encourage this relationship; I owed it to them both. I had been the cause of Monica’s awakening to CP and I wanted her to have a considerate and experienced master. Tom Preston, all those years ago in the way that he had so skilfully punished Robin Foster the boy-scout, had inspired me to practice this art and I knew that, with CP, he would be able to take Monica to the realms of satisfaction that I supposed she desired.

I spoke up in the same tone that I had used earlier when reading the proclamation.

“Monica has expressed her desire to be punished and to take the place of Jacqueline for ten of her strokes. She has suggested that I should deliver five and that Elaine should do the same.”

Monica, realising that her punishment was imminent, uncrossed her legs and her breathing became faster.

“In the same way that she generously wishes to share Jacqueline’s suffering, I wish to share my pleasure by offering that slave take my place to deliver those strokes.”

With the knowledge that she was about to suffer at the strong hands of a virile man, Monica let out a gasp and became agitated. I continued with my speech.

“I have had the pleasure of watching slave at work with a cane in his persona as Thomas Preston the scout master. This was many years ago and, believe me, back then his skill was phenomenal. I am sure that over the years he will have honed that skill to become a true cane-master.”

Monica was beside herself and now visibly trembling at what was to come.

“So take her to the bench, secure her firmly and let the punishment begin.”

Slave showed surprise at me granting him this privilege but accepted the bestowed responsibility in good grace and released Monica from the rafter in his usual courteous way. Elaine and Deborah gently coaxed her to the bench. There was none of the brutality as when Jacqueline had been forced down; they handled her with respect as they soothed and comforted her into position but secured her firmly nevertheless. Slave examined the canes being very careful with his selected choice. He held each one out and looked along its length, measured its weight and bent it double before swishing it through the air to test its flexibility. He settled for one, not one I would have expected him to choose that was shorter than the others, perfectly straight and all the knuckles had been filed down so it was perfectly smooth. It was also younger than most and somewhat greener in colour.

He observed the same attention to detail when he took up his position; carefully measuring the distance with the cane in his outstretched arm to the centre of her two cheeks. He stood to her rear on the left hand side ensuring that his swing would come at a perfect right-angle then measured one stride forward towards her head. This was clearly an expert at work and these preparations had been carefully worked out to maximise the impact of his art. When he was ready he looked to me for the signal to begin but I suggested that we wait a few more seconds for driver to return as I could hear his returning footsteps.

Once we were all assembled, Elaine, Deborah and I in a group together at the back and to the right where we could watch the descending strokes and with driver further forward watching Monica’s face, the operation could begin. Monica was very calm as she lay there with her stomach pressed tightly against the leather bolster and her arms pulled forward tied to the trestle. The way that her legs were secured behind the knee and perpendicular to her body caused the fatty bit of her bottom to hang seductively above her thighs. I could not help pondering on how soft and plump it looked, like the underbelly of a young partridge, and how harsh it would be to violate that perfect form with cruel strokes of a vicious cane.

My pondering was startled by a sudden rush and a crack as the cane lashed across it landing so quickly that its movement was invisible to the eye.

Monica’s cheeks quivered but otherwise her reaction was placid and she just uttered a simple but breathless “Oh!”

My eyes were fixated to the spot where the cane had landed as I watched a red stripe appearing there against the paleness of the smooth skin. It grew in length and intensity of the redness until it spanned the width of both her luscious cheeks and was the colour of port wine.

I was determined to watch the whole delivery the next time and pulled my eyes away to see Tom, for that was who it was now slave having morphed into the one that had set me on this path so long ago, preparing for the next stroke.

He stood firmly and solidly with his legs astride, a look of deliberate concentration on his face and his eyes focused on where the next stroke would land. His arm was extended as he tapped the tip of the wand on the spot for its next painful delivery. Suddenly, as if the urge had spontaneously grabbed him, he swung back with the same technique that Elaine had used earlier and powered forth. He was so fast that it was difficult to determine the full range of his movement but the cane whipped back and landed with an almighty crack that bedded down deep into Monica’s soft flesh and bounced out again.

This time Monica was more verbal and let out a yelp like a young puppy that had just had its tale trodden on. Her bum cheeks trembled, her ankles wriggled and her head came back, there was a look of sadness in her eyes. Another red stripe began to appear a few millimetres below the previous.

Seeing those lovely rounded and luscious globes colouring so gloriously reminded me of the day that Tom had punished Robin Foster and how I had become so fascinated at the effect of rattan being lashed onto smooth skin that I had wanted to feel it for myself and had used my young girl charms to beg him to do it to me. I remembered my surprise at how intense the pain had been and how it had filled my entire consciousness. It was the totality of that awareness of being devoid of all other sensation that had me hooked back then. Monica was no doubt experiencing this right now and I envied her.

Tom now moved to Monica’s right hand side and I could see from his perspective the preparatious cane tapping on the soft skin. The tip of the slender wand was as lively as a rattlesnake’s tail.

Those that can give an effective stroke both from the left and the right are rare, champion level tennis players are usually the only ones. It not only requires ambidexterity but equal strength in either arms or accuracy of the backhand serve; I had played tennis with Tom and he had not been as good a player as me. I would be very cautious about caning someone using my backhand but Tom seemed to have no hesitation. He must have developed his skills quite considerably over the years. The speed of delivery was not hampered in the least however as, with an angry whoosh and a crack, the rod descended and sent Monica’s bum cheeks into a frenzy of rippling, spasm and dancing. This time she cried out pitifully and her body squirmed pulling to the left but was held back by the wide strap at her waist.

“Oh please no more, it hurts so much” she cried.

This was quite a normal reaction from a first timer after the third stroke; but we all knew that she would have to be taken to a threshold of pain much higher than this if she was to experience a buzz from the kick of endorphins.

Tom prepared another stinger from the same side. There was a whoosh, a crack, more gyrating from Monica; more cries of anguish and now four parallel red lines decorated her lovely bottom.

Tom returned to her left side; but this time made his preparations from closer to her body, a stride further towards her head and with his arm higher. I could tell that he was intending to make the classic five bar gate. This is excruciatingly painful as the fifth stroke is delivered diagonally across the previous four and, where they cross; the overlap causes swelling on top of swelling, pain on top of pain.

It was hardly surprising that, someone of the skill and experience of Tom, being limited to just five strokes, would not be able to resist maximising the effect of his delivery in this fashion; but poor Monica howled and gyrated on the bench when that final bar was set.

She had been a real trooper submitting to such a thrashing and I thought we ought to allow her to decide whether or not to continue. I knelt down by her head with my arm comforting around her heaving shoulders. Although she was panting quite fast I was surprised to see that she had shed no tears. I gently asked her if she wanted us to stop now.

“Oh no” she replied, “I am just getting used to the pain. I don’t want it to stop; I just need to come to terms with it.”

“There’s a brave girl”

“Just give me a few more minutes and then I’ll take the other five.”

Elaine was still eager to fulfil Monica’s desires and now readied herself with the cane. I wondered if she would be as severe with her as she had been with Jacqueline.

“Do you really want this Monica?” Elaine asked.

“Yes” Monica replied but then, somewhat dubiously, said “I agreed to ten strokes so just go ahead; do your best.”

Elaine was doubtful. “I’m not so sure that you do, so I’m going to put you to the test. Slave, release Monica from the bench.”

Slave was hesitant at first wondering what Elaine was scheming; but he had been given a direct order so began undoing the buckles that bound Monica to the bench. Monica was also wondering if she had been let off or if further torments awaited her. She continued to lie on the bench looking at Elaine.

“Now then, get yourself up and stand here facing me.” Elaine pointed to a spot just in front of her.

“Sometimes it is necessary to tie someone down when punishing them;” Elaine continued, “especially with judicial punishment. But ten strokes, even for a first timer like you, can be endured without the need for such extreme measures. Schoolgirls throughout history have had to submit to much worse than this by recourse only to their will power.”

Monica was looking intently at Elaine but massaging her striped bottom at the same time.

“To give you the benefit of the experience that has befallen many, I intend to treat you just like a naughty schoolgirl and continue with your punishment, but you will be bent over in classic style touching your toes. Now bend over and touch your toes.”

Monica did as she was told. She was very flexible and was able to get down easily without effort. Elaine continued, her voice reminding me of a head mistress from my school days.

“This is the position you must adopt and you must maintain it throughout your punishment. You are to receive five strokes of the very best and should you deviate from this position in any way, not only will the stroke not be counted; you will be awarded an extra to help you in your resolve. Do you understand?”

Monica, realising the significance of what she had just been told, sighed.

“I said do you understand?” Elaine’s shout startled everyone.

Monica jumped and squeaked out “Yes Miss”.

“Good, then we shall begin. Brace yourself.”

Elaine continued with the same swept back technique as before and the same that Tom had used. Her skill with the cane was outstanding; Deborah must have really enjoyed herself over the years being on the receiving end. The strokes landed absolutely parallel to Tom’s and just a few millimetres apart. Elaine was clearly quite competitive and wanted to demonstrate that, she too, could deliver an expert caning, even to the extent of matching the accuracy of Tom’s five bar gate. Monica managed to remain bent over nearly all the way through, her fingertips just hovering over her toes occasionally, except that the last stroke was just too much for her to bear and she shot up clutching her bottom massaging it furiously.

“What did I say about retaining position?” Elaine’s headmistress voice again. “We’ll have that one again I think, plus one extra.”

“Oh please Miss, no more.” Monica was hopping around, massaging as she hopped, tears began to fill her eyes.

“Yes, you knew what was coming so there’s no excuse. Now get back down.”

Monica obeyed, snivelling as her head went down and her fingers reached for her toes.

I admired the way that Elaine was treating her giving her a taste of the severity which headmistresses, throughout history, have become renowned for. That degree of severity was maintained as she prepared to deliver these extra strokes. The marks on Monica’s bottom formed a very precise double five bar gate as though two gates had been laid one on top of the other slightly off-set. Elaine was now showing off with her caning skill and was intending to form a double cross by laying these strokes from the other side opposite and across the diagonals already set.

Monica was patiently bent over anticipating two more stinging bites, only the occasional sniff and movement of her shoulders told you of her discomfort. Elaine seemed to be taking ages with many practice swings with her back hand. Then it came, two strokes in quick succession; swish, swoosh, that threw Monica forward to land in a huddle on the floor clutching her backside. The poor girl was doubled up in pain and sobbing deeply.

We all rushed to comfort her; but slave was ready with a duvet he had taken off one of the beds and he wrapped it lovingly around her shoulders. Monica accepted this more than anything else and melted into his strong shoulders and began weeping bitterly.

The party calmed down after that; we were all feeling the effects of such excessive stimulation. I decided to grant slave his freedom to take care of Monica and they retired to the guest bedroom for the night. Soon after, Elaine and Deborah who had a long journey to get back to Brighton made their move.

Only Jacqueline and driver remained. I wanted to make it up to Jacqueline in some way and found her in the kitchen eagerly eating.

“Gosh I am so famished I could eat a horse,” she calmly exclaimed as I walked in. She had found her clothes, tidied herself up, re-done her hair and make-up and was behaving as if nothing had just happened. This was a good sign as I had expected her to be on the phone to her lawyer already preparing the legal proceedings against me.

“Look Jacqueline” I said, “about just now and what happened…”

“Oh darling, don’t worry about it, you did me a favour.” She had totally recovered, was smiling and had good humour in her voice.

“I needed that, perhaps more than I have ever needed anything. I was thinking about it as I lay in the hot tub. I’ve been a bitch all evening, I know I have.”

This was a change that I did not expect.

“I’ve become so used to getting my own way that I’d forgotten what it was like to be normal” she confessed. “Sometimes a bit of humility is good for you. You and I are the same; we were next door neighbours for heaven’s sake, and I have no right to pretend, not to you. The thing is I’ve been pretending for a long time now and, I know it’s made me rich but it’s also made me a bitch.

Do you know something, I have realised that there is nothing of real meaning in my life?”

“But you‘re happy enough aren’t you, Jacqueline surely?” I asked, interrupting her; I didn’t want to listen to meaningful confessions, not this time of night, and felt that she was about to launch into a session of soul searching.

“No” she replied “and that’s just the point. I’m lonely, bored and, most of the time, I feel totally unfulfilled. Because I’ve been such a shit to all the men in my life, I don’t think I could have a decent relationship, not a proper one, not with a good man anymore. Yet I need to; I’m not gay, I know that because I’ve tried and it didn’t work; but I do like sex, maybe too much. Sometimes I think I just can’t get enough. How do you manage, you’re single and no one else lives here, what do you do?”

Oh dear, this was not good, I wanted to help Jacqueline and be a friend to her, still despite everything; but now was not the time for a discussion about sexual healing.

“Oh surely Jacs, I don’t need to tell you how to get good sex,” I wanted to lighten the conversation; it was getting just too intense. ”You told me all about it; don’t you remember under the covered awning in your back garden?”

She smiled at the memory of those days in the school holidays when we were young.

“Come on,” I suggested in a girly way and gave her a friendly nudge, “let’s see where driver has got to and have a bit of fun with him. I’m sure you’d like to get your hands on him for what he did to you and the way that he let you down earlier.”

“Yes, you bet; where is that little runt. He’s really for it now I can tell you. Let’s see what kind of a mess we can make of his tight little ass. I bags I go first. Where’s that dildo you said you had, and that nice stout hairbrush.”

20,052 words

(The End)