Story from Janus 38.
Any Port In a Storm
by Andrew Grantham
SHEILA permitted herself a little smile as the tip of the leather strap dangled into the cleft between her bum cheeks. Naked, apart from a red suspender belt, black stockings and red high-heeled shoes, she was bent over the back of a chair In the thickly carpeted, well-furnished bedroom. She glanced over her shoulder to look at the reflection of her arse.
Her shapely bum cheeks, framed by the straps of the suspenders, glowed bright red. The paddling from the table tennis bat had seen to that. Now discarded, it lay on the floor alongside the wooden chair.
'Hm!' breathed Sheila as the one-and-a-half inch wide leather that was really Ken's belt, teased between her arched legs. 'That's nice!'
She closed her eyes, waited and then grunted as the stout leather strip slapped against her right buttock. There was another pause and then the left cheek got an equal dose.
Neither of the two blows stung very much but Sheila knew the next ones would. And they did, although they were of insufficient force to make her cry out.
Once again the tip teased her where she was especially receptive. Sheila bared her handsome teeth and her reddened globes heaved. The things that belt of Ken's could do!
'Owch!' let out Sheila. That one was the most hurtful so far, the leather strip curling around the contours of her pretty backside and finding new flesh to strike.
Sheila's breasts shuddered, her body shaking as the next blow struck home.
Ken, her sailor husband, had introduced her to CP whilst they had been courting. Horrified at first, she had rejected his suggestions out of hand until late one evening. Her resolve, weakened by alcohol, crumbled and she had succumbed.
At first it was only a mild spanking. To her surprise, she enjoyed the erotic tension it generated. And afterwards – wow!
Sheila thought it a great pity that none of their friends, or neighbours or her workmates were into it. They certainly didn't know what they were missing.
She had 'progressed' from hand-spanking to caning, tawsing – in fact anything that Ken could lay his hands on, he laid into her peach-shaped bum. Sheila often joked about her poor arse being used as a testing ground. Not that she ever complained about the variety of implements Ken managed to come up with.
'Ouch!' she cried as a careless slash caused the end of the belt to snake around her sex region.
Sheila hissed as the flexible strip struck low down where her buttocks rounded onto the tops of her thighs. That was a nasty one.
She didn't look back into the mirror to see how her arse was getting on. Instead, she looked down onto the seat of the chair. The crook-handled cane was a reminder of what was next on the after-dinner menu.
Her bottom got hotter and hotter as the lashing continued. It was quite a session already and there was still a long, long way to go.
Sheila's arse was already afire when the first cut of the thin cane dug into her scarlet bum-cheeks. She yelped. She hadn't had a dose of the cane for some time and she hadn't properly prepared for its sharp, nerve-jangling sting.
The thin wood again dug into her, causing Sheila to waggle her rear end. Her breasts swung in time to her body movement.
The next stroke caused her to cry out sharply and she knew that every succeeding blow to her target flesh would bring forth a vocal reaction. Already, she was beginning to pant.
When she next looked into the mirror she pursed her lips at the sight of the stripes on her arse. She looked away and took another stinging cut.
Her bum wriggled but it didn't stop the cane from slashing into it yet again. Sheila cried out shrilly and screwed up her face with the pain.
'Oh... gosh!' she groaned, feeling as if her arse had been sliced in two.
She looked down at the chair seat. The cane had gone but the riding crop was still there. The crop! Sheila blew out her breath, puffing up her cheeks as she did so. That particular instrument was the worst of all. Ken always used it carefully on her but it hurt like nothing on earth. She pictured herself dancing all round the bedroom before very long.
Just for a moment she thought about the neighbours' wives. What would they be doing? Probably watching a soap opera on the telly, playing records or putting the kids to bed. How mundane! How boring! Anyone coming in and seeing her ravaged bum and the tears in her eyes would think it was absolutely awful, but Sheila was enjoying to the full the paddle, the belt, the cane – and soon, that awful riding crop!
The next stroke of the cane caused her to shriek and she raised one high-heeled foot in reaction. The gap between her thighs got wider and wider.
The first dose of the crop really made her body shake. She stood upright, her breasts swinging to and fro like a topless go-go dancer's. Her sweat-streaked black hair fell over her eyes and she pushed it back before taking up her position once more.
'Aagh!' she screeched. Christ! The neighbours must have heard that. What would they think? They certainly wouldn't understand even if they knew what was going on.
Her bottom felt as if it had been scorched with a flame-thrower. Should she call it a day? No. Not yet.
'Just a couple more, I think,' she gasped, turning to look into the mirror. It was a good job she wasn't going to show that red and ravaged arse to anyone.
She smiled. She had made a good job of beating herself. Of course, it was nowhere near as good as a hiding from Ken, but what else could she do while he was away at sea?