Memoirs Of A Dedicated Spanker

Story from Janus 06.

Memoirs Of A Dedicated Spanker

SWISH!!

The cane descended in a blurred arc on the soft white buttocks poised over the edge of the bed. There was a moment's pause, then a white line appeared in the centre of the flawless cheeks, immediately to be replaced by a vivid red weal, split only by the deep division of the bottom.

At the same time, a gasp of astonishment at the intensity of the pain escaped the lips of the pretty sufferer, to be followed by a loud wail; for this was the very first time that this particular bottom had felt the firm smack of discipline. Relentlessly, the second stroke followed the first, an inch or so below and exactly parallel. The sweet rotundities clenched together, as if seeking comfort from each other, where none was to be found. This time Monica, (for such was her name) let out a loud and pleading yell.

'OWWWW! Oh please Simon, PLEASE No more NO MORE. I can't stand it.' But evidently Simon was not to be swayed by such heartfelt pleas for, waiting only until the tortured cheeks had relaxed, he delivered another well directed stroke just below the first two. This time her stockinged leg kicked up, and she tried to rise from the shameful position of pain, but a firm hand in the centre of her back held her in the humiliating posture.

'Oh no OH NO NO! PLEASE NO MORE! I can't bear it.'

'You should have thought of that when you were making such a disgusting exhibition of yourself at the party,' he replied grimly, taking a firmer grip on the long yellow cane.

'But I love you Simon, how can you hurt me so much?' For answer, he laid a particularly firm stroke across the lower curves of her bare bottom, and she screeched in agony; the tears shot out of her eyes and wet the bedcover. He seemed unmoved by her misery and continued to apply the stinging correction.

She twisted and turned, trying desperately to avoid the biting fiery rod and her naked buttocks opened and closed in a most engaging manner as they tried to find some relief from the fierce pain of the chastising cane, but without success. At the same time her feet beat a tatoo of anguish on the floor, even though her knickers, which were around her knees, hampered her movements.

But then a strange change began to come over her; the screams gave way to groans softer, yet deeper, and her frantic boundings became more regular and rhythmic, and her bottom seemed to rise to meet the challenge of the cane. He recognised what was happening, and began to change the strokes to a more rapid rate, but much gentler now and directed low down at the centre of her soft bottom.

"Oh darling,' she breathed huskily, 'don't stop now, it's such a wonderful feeling. What's happening to me?'

"Oh Simon. I'm coming. OH I'M COMING. OH! OH! OH! OHHH!'

* * * *

Well, it's a pleasant fantasy which I often have, and I expect others do too, and why not. But I think it is fantasy none the less. The idea that severe pain applied to the soft bare bottom of a pretty, but unwilling girl, for the very first time, will result in instant climax, seems to me to be very unlikely. Nevertheless, in a life dedicated with single-minded purpose to getting pretty round bottoms across my knees, for the mutual delight of a good spanking, I have quite often seen girls brought to climax solely by the studied, application of the bottom discipline; but this happy outcome has only been achieved after quite lengthy preparation and initiation. In my rather extensive experience, this delightful dénouement can only be reached via careful and cunning stages, and certainly not by sudden and unexpected severity; indeed anyone who tried it is more likely to end up in the Sunday Papers.

However, it is obvious that many of us desire nothing so much, as to get a lovely and willing bottom across our knees for a prolonged and thorough spanking; yet many find it difficult to locate and initiate a happy 'victim'. As I have spent the greater part of thirty years in this delightful sport, perhaps my experiences may be of some assistance to likeminded smackbottomists who have not been as fortunate as me.

I first developed this taste in an unexpected fashion. When I was about fifteen, I was very keen on horse riding, and during the summer holidays, when I was free from my housemaster's all too ready strap (but that is another story) I used to go riding nearly every day. It was during the summer holidays, that I had as my regular riding companion, a girl who was the daughter of the local vicar. He was friendly with my parents, and this was probably why we were allowed to go off together unescorted. No doubt, we were thought too respectable to get up to any mischief. How wrong events were to prove that judgement to be.

The girl, whose name was Alison, was a year older than I, and she was strikingly beautiful. She had long blonde hair, vivid blue eyes, and a wide sensual mouth. But it was her body which caused me to fall instantly and completely in love with her. The sweet swelling breasts, the narrow waist, enchanted me. But what occupied my attention and all my thoughts, was her adorable bottom. From the narrow waist, it flared to the surprisingly wide hips, and the round cheeks seemed to me like the two halves of an apple, laid side by side. As we rode together, I used to ride slightly behind her, so that I could watch this divine object. Encased in tight jodhpurs, which were growing too small for Alison's widening dimensions, the broad behind rose and fell, opened and shut, in time with the rhythm of the canter. As for me, this delightful sight produced certain changes, which were particularly inconvenient on horseback.

It was our habit to stop in a deserted woodland glen, at the end of our outward journey, to rest and eat our picnic. It was here too, that I first learned of the unpredictability of women, for instead of laughing at me, as I feared, she threw her arms about me, and kissed me hotly on the lips. This was the start of her slow but steady seduction of me. Each day she allowed me to progress a little further. First to caress her over her clothes; then to fondle her soft bare breasts; at last (with something of a struggle) to unbutton and draw down her straining jodhpurs. Beneath, she wore pink satin knickers reaching to mid thigh, where the tight elastic pinched into her soft flesh. These she stubbornly refused to allow me to remove, but I was content to run my hands over the satiny surface, paying particular attention to the astonishing rear swellings. So things continued for the next couple of weeks, with me unable to make any further progress towards my dishonourable objective.

One day, she did not turn up for our daily ride; however, she appeared the following day as usual, but without any explanation. I noticed, as we rode along that she seemed uncomfortable and stiff in the saddle, unlike her usual fluid and graceful movements, which so fascinated me. When we came to our usual secret stopping place, she flung her arms around me, with extraordinary passion, and to my astonishment, began to cry bitterly. Eventually, the reason emerged.

'Daddy whipped me yesterday.'

'Good gracious, whatever for?' I asked, with a curious feeling of excitement.

'I told a lie, and he got very angry.'

'What did he whip you with?'

'Oh, a horrid old cane he has.'

'On your hand?' I asked, hardly daring to breathe.

'Oh no. In my...' she hesitated. 'On my bottom; it's always on my bottom.'

'Tell me about it,' I encouraged gently. I knew her family were strict, but I had never thought of this.

'He got terribly cross when I told this little fib, and of course I denied it and things just got worse, and then he sent me upstairs to "get ready", and I know what that means only too well. I said I was too old to be treated like a child, but it was no use, his mind was made up, and I went miserably off upstairs. The routine is always the same. I have to put two pillows on the end of the bed, and then take off my skirt and let my knickers right down to my knees. Then I have to go and stand in the corner and think over my crimes. I stayed like that for about ten minutes, and then I heard his footsteps on the stairs, and I began to cry with fear. He came into the room, tapping the beastly cane against his leg.

'Well, my girl,' he said, 'perhaps this will teach you to tell the truth. Get yourself across the bed, and try to take your whipping as befits a great big girl like you.' I begged and pleaded with him to let me off, but that only made him more angry. 'Get down at once, girl, or it will be the worse for you. Do you want extra strokes?' So I lay over the pillows at the end of the bed. He pulled the hem of my slip right up over my back, as if I wasn't bare enough already. Then I felt him lay the rod right across the centre of my behind.

'Are you not ashamed of yourself, a great big girl like you. Having to lie in this disgraceful position, in such a state of undress, with your knickers down, and your backside bare, just like a naughty little child? Well, we shall see what a good dose of the cane can do to teach you that liars of any age deserve to be well chastised.' All the time, he was tapping the cane against my bottom. Suddenly, I felt the cane lift, there was a hiss, and I felt this incredible pain across both sides of my bottom. I shrieked and kicked, and tried to kick, but he held me down, with his hand in the small of my back. Before I could regain my breath, the cane swept down again and again, and I was lost in a blurr of agony. It is impossible to describe the feeling; it is like someone drawing a red-hot wire across one's flesh; it is simply not possible to believe that it is feasible to endure so much pain; but it is, all six strokes of it. And you have to lie there, and submit to it, for there is nothing else you can do. It was so painful that I don't think I had the breath to start weeping until he had finished.

'Perhaps you will learn that I will not tolerate any daughter of mine being a liar, and next time you feel the devil tempting you, remember how you look now.'

'With this, he left me, to take Evensong.'

I listened in astonishment to her story, which had come out in a breathless rush. I put my arm about her, and tried to comfort her, but at the same time, I felt extremely excited, at the thought of this beautiful girl actually having to take down her knickers and have her divine bare bottom properly caned.

'Poor thing,' I said, with every appearance of solicitude, but feeling a hypocrite at the same time. 'How could he be so cruel to my lovely Alison.'

She came into my arms; soon her jodhpurs were down, though she winced as I pulled them over her broad sore buttocks. Nor did she make any protest this time, when I gently drew down her silky pink knickers. The sight that met my eyes remains clear to me today, and indeed, virtually determined the pattern of my life in the future, though I didn't know it then.

The skin of her bottom was like satin, perfectly white, and almost translucent. In extraordinary contrast, the six weals stood out like red gashes, their edges sharply raised. Three of the weals were placed in perfect parallel, across the centre of the orbs, one more just across the lower curve of the bottom, and the fifth at the junction of the cheeks and the plump upper thighs. But the last had been layed diagonally across the other strokes from the top of the left hip, to low down on the right thigh; where it transected the other cuts. I concluded that her father took considerable pride in his handicraft. (I was too young to know the real reason, of course).

Muttering false words of sympathy, I kissed gently down each etched line of agony, feeling the heat with my lips. She began to utter little cries, which at first I took to be due to pain, but they soon turned to groans of pleasure, obvious even to some one as inexperienced as myself. Soon we found ourselves fondling those forbidden parts, and it was not long before we entered our mutual heaven. That was the start of it, and each day we galloped to our secret hiding place, for me to caress and adore the scarred cheeks. But as the marks faded I noticed that our ardour was not quite so great as on the first occasion. Moreover, I missed the rosy glow in her cheeks. I determined to see if it were possible to bring it back!

I began to find fault with her laughingly, and to pretend that I was cross with her. One day, I taxed her with not loving me enough.

'You are very fickle,' I said, 'I am beginning to think that your father is right, and perhaps you need a good spanking from time to time to keep you in order.'

I had determined to retreat, if this produced what would now be called a negative response.

'Of course I love you,' she said, pouting slightly, 'but if you doubt my love, I suppose I had better let you prove it.' I was again surprised by her response, but delighted to seize the opportunity.

We were standing, clasped in each others' arms, both with our jodhpurs well down, and as I spoke, I was gently running my hands over the silky spheres, on which I had such dishonourable designs.

'Come my dear,' I said, assuming a tone of mock severity. 'Come, and lie across my knees, I am going to spank your naughty bottom well.'

She took up my bantering tone, like an unwilling schoolgirl, summoned for punishment. 'How could you be so cruel; you pretend to love me, and yet you want to hurt me.'

'It is because you have been so horrid to me, that I must chastise you. Over my knees at once, or I shall have to increase your punishment.'

With mock reluctance, she laid herself across my thighs, as I sat on the grass, pressing herself against my throbbing staff. I pushed back her blouse hem, to expose her wonderful bottom, in all its soft glory. As usual, I was amazed and enthralled by its width and sweetly rounded contours, with the long deep cleft between the close set cheeks. After I had admired this splendid sight for a few moments, I wrapped my left arm around her slender waist, and rather hesitantly began to smack the swelling posteriors quite lightly with my hand. At first she sighed slightly at each stroke, but then began to move her bottom in a sort of circular motion, but made no attempt to turn away from the chastising hand. I, for my part, gazed with fascination as her divine white cheeks began to turn, at first, a charming pink, and then a more vivid red. I was rather surprised to see how clearly the marks of my fingers showed on the delicate surfaces, immediately after each smack, before blending into the more general redness, which suffused her breech. Each time my hand landed, I exulted in the softness of the satin surface, and felt it becoming increasingly hot, under the continuing assault.

For her part, Alison's movements began to change from circular gyrations, to a much more vigorous back and forwards motion in time with the strokes. This caused her bottom to open and shut in a most seductive fashion. At the same time, although she had started to weep, her little cries turned to deeper and more breathless groans. Soon, she clenched her bottom cheeks together tightly, and began to utter a long continuous keening sound, which even some one as inexperienced as I was, recognised, and I at once stopped the rear tattoo. She lay gasping for a few moments, and then turned to look at me over her scarlet bottom, and said with a little smile. 'Now I'm rather glad I was a naughty girl!'

Afterwards; our lovemaking brought us rapidly to ecstasy and satisfied exhaustion.

There remained only ten days of our summer holiday left, but each day we hurried to our secret meeting place, and most days the delightful spanking episode was repeated. I knew when Alison wanted this, because she would commit some small fault, quite deliberately, in order that I would have an excise to put her across my knees and bare her lovely bottom for correction. We both went through the charade of pretended naughty girl being whipped for her own good, although, of course, we well recognised its true meaning.

At the end of the summer, we vowed to meet again as soon as possible in the Christmas Holidays; and I lived through the school term, with the picture of Alison's lovely round spanked bottom for ever in my thoughts. Alas for my hopes. When I got home, my mother mentioned that Alison had left with her family for Northumberland, where her father had taken a new living. I never saw her again. But more than twenty-five years later, I saw a picture of her in the paper attending a church conference; the caption stated that she was the wife of one of our more trendy bishops. I wondered if he adhered to the biblical injunction about sparing the rod!

Sam Ramsey serial, Ep.4. "A Strange Dynamics"

Story from Februs 33.

A Strange Dynamics
Episode four of the serial by Sam Ramsey

Episode 1 * * Episode 2 * * Episode 3

When Adam left his conference over a day early, and returned home unannounced, a stunning sight greeted his eyes as he quietly let himself into the house, sounds of arrival masked by the loud beat of old seventies numbers.

A pretty young girl, straw-coloured hair down her back, stood in the living room in very high heels, her breasts barely held by a tiny bra, her buttocks parted by the thong of her knickers. Across her behind, faint but unmistakable, were the residual marks of a recent caning. She was agitated, breathing hard, aroused. In one hand, she held a whip, which was curling across the slim behind of the woman leaning over the back of a sofa. That woman was Sarah, Adam's wife. A fine tracery of marks covered her back, extending even to her breasts. Sarah was grimacing, in pain, in pleasure, for the girl's other hand played between her thighs, frigging her fast. He recognized the signs; the older woman was near to coming. The whip swung again. Lighter, stimulating her breasts.

'Oh yes... just there.' And again.

Adam coughed. 'I see that when the cat is away...'

* * *

No, dear reader, there was not an instant orgy! Rather, there were cries of surprise, alarm, tears, and it was some time before order and quiet returned to the room.

For Adam, when the initial shock and excitement of witnessing that erotic tableau was past, the main feeling was one of tremendous relief. He knew very well that Sarah had been hiding something from him for at least the last couple of months; he had sensed her sexual withdrawal, and had feared that she had become involved with another man. But if this was the cause of her distance, a lesbian entanglement with a young girl, then it that was something he could cope with, and even take pleasure in.

Sarah was initially upset by the girl's evident distress at being caught in their perverse play. But then, when Anna calmed, Sarah too felt as if a weight had been lifted from her life. As she had fallen deeper and deeper in love with Anna, she had felt many pangs of guilt about the damage to her relationship with Adam. She knew that she had been distant and cool, which must have hurt and upset him; yet she couldn't quite bring herself to confess all, although part of her badly wanted to. The strength of her feelings had shaken and disturbed her. And in particular, Sarah had not come to terms with her discovery that she had deeply enjoyed inflicting on the young girl the kind of sensuous pain that she so often herself received from Adam's hands. But for this now to come out into the open, for her to be able to be straight again with Adam, would be a great relief.

It was Anna who was most distressed. She was half frightened, half angry, imagining that Adam's early return had been set up by the older couple. Had Sarah betrayed what Anna had taken to be a passionately sincere relationship; had she – horrible thought! – been treating the girl as a mere diversion to spice up a marriage? It was soon clear, though, that Sarah and Adam were each as much taken by surprise as she was. And Anna saw Sarah's genuine concern for her and felt her protectiveness. But still, for a while she was quite shocked, and felt a confused mixture of shame and boldness in front of Adam.

* * *

Later, near midnight, the three were sitting in the kitchen, the remains of a small supper on the table. Anna had to admire the way Adam had coped with the situation. He had been tactful and charming, and made her feel at ease remarkably quickly. Now she found herself curled up on a bench in the kitchen with her feet tucked under her, covered in a rather elegant silky wrap of Sarah's, laughing as he explained how his conference had turned out to be such a disaster, and why he'd returned home early.

They all sat round the table for another hour, as Adam chatted on, finding out how the two women had met, where Anna was at university, what course she was doing, and so on. She warmed to him, and could see why he and Sarah were so suited. And in turn Adam, looking past the girl's evident physical appeal, quickly recognized what Sarah had found so attractive, Anna's strangely alluring mixture of worldly wisdom and vulnerability, innocence and experience.

'Right,' said Adam a bit later, 'I'm to bed; it's been a very long day, so I'll sleep in the study. You look after Anna,' he added to Sarah, hugging her goodnight, and smiling at the young girl as he left the room.

The two women sat up a little longer, talking: then Sarah took Anna's hand, and they went up to the bed they had shared for the last two nights, and innocently cuddled each other to sleep. Sarah woke in the middle of the night, and gazed at the girl sleeping peacefully, her face lit by the silver light from the window.

'I do so love her,' she whispered to the watching moon.

* * *

'Will you stay another day?' asked Adam.

The three were back in the kitchen again, having a long late breakfast.

'We could go into the city when you are ready, then there's a late afternoon movie at the independent cinema that I'd really like to catch, and afterwards we could eat out...'

Anna looked at Sarah hesitantly.

'Yes, do stay,' Sarah encouraged.

Anna hesitated again. A vision flashed through her mind, of the three of them entwined naked: she knew what staying might lead to. But the other two were both smiling at her with open, friendly faces. Suddenly, she grinned back.

'I'd love too.'

So they went into the city centre. Anna hadn't yet seen the cathedral, so the older couple showed her round; and for a while they all sat listening to a fine choir rehearsing for a concert later that day. Then they split up, with Sarah and Anna going off shopping together: as they parted on the cathedral steps, Sarah whispered to Adam a suggestion of something to buy for Anna. Adam smiled broadly.

'A wicked idea,' he murmured back, 'I'm truly shocked if that's what you've been thinking while we've been admiring the music!'

Sarah punched him playfully, and taking Anna by the hand the two women walked off towards a row of rather classy small shops nearby.

An hour or so later, having bought Anna a pair of distinctly sexy high-heeled evening sandals, and both tried on some dresses, the women were in a up-market lingerie shop.

'Let me help choose some really pretty things, Anna; I'll like to buy you some.'

'You mustn't; you've bought me too much already,' said the girl, as she touched a French lace bra longingly, but you could tell her heart wasn't in the refusal.

So they selected together some of the filmy garments for Anna, and Sarah picked out a few things for herself and they went into adjoining changing cubicles to try on the bras. Sarah pulled back the curtain separating the little cubicles.

'Did you see how the shop girl was looking at you?' Sarah asked in a teasing whisper.

'What do you mean?' Anna replied, though she'd noticed the girl – very pretty, small features, with cropped dark hair, elegantly but simply dressed all in black in a tight T-shirt and tight trousers. She'd felt the girl's gaze as she had walked round the shop.

'I think she fancies the pants off you!'

'Hush! She'll hear! Don't be ridiculous.'

'You are blushing!'

'Oh, shut up!' Anna couldn't help laughing. At that moment, she was topless, standing in her jeans, her hair a bit dishevelled from having pulled a jumper over her head. She looked utterly beautiful. Sarah suddenly drew Anna towards her and kissed her hard. For a moment, the younger woman tried – not very seriously – to pull away, but then melted into the kiss, and put her arms around Sarah. There was a slight gap in the curtains at the front of the cubicle, and the pretty shop assistant was just outside, quietly tidying one of the racks: she noticed the embracing women through the gap, and caught Sarah's eye over Anna's shoulder. Slowly, deliberately, as Sarah held the shop girl's gaze, she bent to kiss one of Anna's erect nipples...

Meanwhile. Adam had collected the car and driven out to a trading estate on the edge of the city, his destination a new large sex shop that had recently opened there. He'd not been to the shop before, but he located it easily enough, though it was discreetly hidden behind one of the big stores. And he quickly found what Sarah had so wickedly suggested he should buy for Anna – a light two-tailed tawse (the tawse was, Sarah had often said, her favourite instrument to submit to, offering so many gradations of sensation from teasing tingling strokes, through exciting stings, to penetrating tongues of fire). His main errand accomplished, Adam looked round the rest of the large shop. There was the usual display of tawdry lingerie, vibrators of every size and colour, row upon row of videos... Nothing really appealed.

But then, slightly hidden by a rack of magazines, he suddenly saw something on a stand by itself. Adam swallowed hard as he inspected what he'd found more closely – it was intricate, rather well made, strikingly obscene. He tried to imagine Sarah with it. What would she think if he bought it? What would Anna think? Would they be excited or think it too perverse? Adam hesitated a long time. It cost the better part of a hundred pounds. But part of him knew full well that he would regret it for ever if he didn't take the plunge and risk the purchase. Finally, Adam took out his credit card and approached the counter.

* * *

The three met up later as arranged, went to an early show at the cinema, and then to Adam and Sarah's favourite cafe bar. They ate an enjoyable meal and Sarah teasingly flirted with both Adam and Anna. They pretended not to notice and tried to carry on an animated conversation about their favourite film-makers.

'I'll get another bottle of wine,' said Sarah. 'It's not fair; I'm driving,' complained Adam.

Sarah giggled. 'Hmmm. Maybe I'll make it up to you later.'

Adam caught Anna's quizzical eye, raised his eyebrows, and went back to their discussion, as his wife weaved her way to the bar.

It was mid-evening before the three finally collected the car, the women now mildly and very happily drunk.

'We'll sit in the back,' Sarah said to Adam, pulling Anna in after her. And in the rear-view mirror as he drove home, Adam caught glimpses of his passenger snatching a kiss.

'Keep your hands off each other, you wanton women!' he teased.

Anna stuck her tongue out at him in the mirror, and continued kissing Adam wife.

* * *

'Are we going to show each other our purchases, then?'

The three were now in the living room again, the room lit by candles scattered around, the remains of another bottle of wine on the table (though this time, Adam had drunk the main share).

'What's in your mysterious bag, Adam?'

'That's for later, perhaps: you two show me what you bought first.'

'Shall we show him, Anna?'

The girl paused: this was the moment of decision, she knew. Then she got up, pulling up Sarah by the hand.

'Come on then!'

The two women left the room, Sarah putting a CD on the player as she left; they returned a few minutes later. Anna was wearing her new evening sandals, black hold-up stockings, and a very pretty lacy black bra, with matching panties cut high on her thighs. Sarah, balancing on even higher heels, was similarly dressed – the two women had bought the identical, very expensive, lingerie. They sashayed down the room hand in hand to the music, and Adam burst into applause. They gave another couple of turns around the room, struck model-girl poses, and then went out again. A moment later, Sarah returned in another outfit, this time in white – cool and elegant. Adam tried to catch her as she swayed past, but she escaped him with laugh and posed some more, and then called out to Anna, who came back in her other purchases, long bare legs topped by small thong-backed knickers, then an almost transparent lacy white bra. The effect was somehow both girlish and sexy, both innocent and intensely provocative. She too paraded up and down as if on a cat walk, until Sarah took her hand and the women stood side by side, an arm round each other's waist.

'You both look quite beautiful,' said Adam, for once lost for more eloquent words. 'I've bought you something, Anna. I hope you'll like it. It was Sarah's idea... Shut your eyes!'

He reached into his bag, and brought out the tawse, and placed it in Anna's outstretched hands.

'I can feel what that is!' she cried after a moment, and opened her eyes. She grasped it, as if weighing it, and then flicked it through the air a few times.

Adam caught Sarah's eye, and motioned her towards the sofa. The woman lent over the arm. Adam tugged at her knickers, baring her buttocks.

'You must try it out,' he said to Anna.

'Can I?' she asked the older woman.

Sarah was silent, simply pushing out her beautiful behind. Anna raised the tawse and flicked Sarah's buttocks. And then again, and harder again. The buttocks flattened slightly and the woman gasped.

Then more strokes. Anna walked from side to side to change the angle of her strokes.

'You can be a bit fiercer than that,' said Adam.

And the girl plied the tawse again, planting a fiery kiss on the older woman's bottom. It was a light tawse, an instrument that would sting and bite but not deeply hurt.

'Yes, like that: give her six more like that.'

And Adam counted aloud as Anna cracked down the tawse on the reddening behind. The girl paused long between strokes as if savouring every moment. But eventually,

'Five.'

Sarah gasped as her buttocks flattened again and sprang back. Anna was breathing more heavily, her breasts rising and falling as she raised her arm for the last stroke.

'Six.'

Sarah cried out and involuntarily reached behind her to rub her arse.

'Hmmm. I think maybe you should kiss that better, Anna.'

And Adam lay some cushions on the floor, and taking Sarah's hand, laid her face down on them. Anna knelt behind the woman and leant over, touching the reddened flesh with delicate licks and kisses. Sarah soon began sighing with pleasure as the knowing tongue caressed her. Adam watched the women for a while, then quietly he asked Sarah to turn over. She did so, lay back languorously and spread her legs. And Anna, knowing what was expected of her, resumed the ministrations with her tongue but now at Sarah's moist core. Anna's beautiful thonged buttocks, raised as she bent between the woman's thighs, were quite irresistible. Adam picked up the tawse and laid it gently on the girl's behind. There was no murmur of dissent as she continued her licking. So still very gently, Adam caressed and touched Anna for the first time, not with his hand but with tingling, teasing strokes of the leather.


The woman lying back on the cushions began to moan as the girl's tongue probed and thrilled; and as Sarah's excitement mounted Adam began to make the strokes of the tawse less teasing, harder. Muffled sighs started from the girl between Sarah's thighs. Anna continued her licking, and Adam his fiery caresses. The girl softly moaned and hearing the sighs suddenly triggered Sarah's orgasm; she cried out and Adam simultaneously cracked the tawse in fierce final heat on the young girl's proffered behind.

* * *

A pause for recovery, for more drinks. Then Adam said, hesitantly, still not able to predict the women's reactions, 'I've something for you too, Sarah.'

'Hmmm, your mysterious package, eh? Well, are you going to show us now?'

Adam drew a box out of the bag, and laid it on the coffee table. There was an illustration on the lid. Sarah's eyes widened as she saw it.

'Oh my god, that's... that's obscene,' she gasped as she took the box and looked more closely. She swallowed hard, fascinated.

'What is it?' asked Anna, 'Let me look! Oh fuck... that is obscene. You're a pervert, Adam!' She laughed. Then, to Sarah, 'Go on, open it then, you must, you must...'

Sarah opened the box, and drew out its contents and held them up.

'Shall I...?'

'Of course,' the others chorused.

'Turn round then, both of you, don't watch.'

So Adam and Anna turned away; the man drew the young girl to him and started caressing her back, and his hand wandered down, down to slim buttocks, hot under his hand from the tawsing.

'God, you feel gorgeous!'

'Thank you, kind sir,' Anna simpered teasingly. She added, more quietly, 'Don't stop; that's really nice...'

Moments passed. Then, 'You can turn round now.'

So they did. Sarah was facing away from them, her back now crisscrossed by narrow black leather straps, with more straps buckled around her waist and diagonally across her buttocks. Then, slowly, she turned round. Straps framed her breasts and crossed her flat stomach and gathered at her crotch, and there, springing from the leather harness at her groin, proudly erect, rose a realistically sized phallus.

There was a stunned silence in the room as the two others drank in the sight.

'That's incredible,' said Adam.

'Wow...' said the girl.

'I'm glad you are impressed!' smiled Sarah, striking a pose, and then teetered around the room on her stilettos. She reached Anna, who held out her hand and touched the phallus.

'Oh. That's... nice. I thought it would be all hard and cold, but it's soft on the outside and warm.

The two women embraced. Anna feeling the phallus pressed against her.

'God, that feels sexy.'

The two women, arms tight around each other, started kissing. After a while, they parted.

'So, Sarah, are you going to use your new cock?' Adam reached into the bag again, and brought out the last item in it, a small bottle; he opened it and spread a little of the lube on the phallus.

Anna removed her lingerie and lay down again on the cushions and spread her beautiful slim legs akimbo; Sarah kneeled before her and gently placed the tip of her phallus at the entrance to Anna's core. She moved forward a little, Anna lifted her hips, and then the girl was penetrated. She sighed, and the two women rocked together, and with each stroke more of the phallus disappeared inside Anna. The women gazed into each others eyes and their bodies got into a slow sensuous rhythm of love-making. No words were necessary. Adam could see that Sarah was transported by the experience of pleasuring the young girl in this way that was simultaneously so natural and yet unnatural. And Anna was plainly being turned on again, making little sounds of enjoyment; her hands explored the contrast between the black straps and hard little metal rings framing Sarah's body and the soft skin between.

Adam, watching intently, was suddenly struck by a new thought, and got up, and carefully reached down the large heavy mirror over the fire place and leant it against a cupboard door.

'Anna,' he said quietly but in a firm voice that would brook no denial, 'get on your knees in front of the mirror; and Sarah, you now take her from behind.'

The two women disentangled and rearranged themselves. The phallus, now glistening, began to penetrate Anna from the new angle, and the girl sighed quietly once more. Sarah began to rock her hips again.

Then Anna understood why Adam had rearranged them. For in the mirror, she saw him reach for the cane from where she now knew it was kept; and she realized that while there had earlier been a tangle of legs, now Sarah's behind was a perfect target. She saw him rest his hand on Sarah's shoulder, raise the cane, pause, and then swish it down towards her lover's buttocks. At the moment of impact, Anna felt the phallus jolt inside her, and saw Sarah's face screw up with the pain as a moan escaped her lips.

'Frig yourself as you watch Sarah take it,' Adam instructed the girl. And propping herself up on one hand, she reached down with the other and began fingering herself. The two women locked gazes in the mirror, and Adam began to ply the cane again, slowly and quite hard.


With each stroke, Sarah cried out and the strange dynamics made her hips thrust forward with extra urgency, driving the phallus into Anna. With each stroke, the young girl cried out in a different way, with overwhelming pleasure as the dual sensation of the penetration and the masturbation combined with the exquisite turn-on of seeing Sarah suffer in giving her so much delight.

Adam, standing behind Sarah, could see both their faces in the mirror, and marvelled, as he had in the past, how close could be the expressions of sexual pleasure and of submissive pain.

The cane cracked down again; another stripe quickly appeared across Sarah's beautiful arse. The girl's fingers were now beginning to strum fast.

'Make yourself come soon,' Adam said, his voice a hoarse whisper from the sexual tension. And the fingers moved faster yet.

Sarah yelped as the cane bit harder, tears were beginning to form in her eyes, but her hips retained their sensuous rhythm. Again the cane fell, the sound loud in the silent room; this time it was Anna who moaned loudest as she felt the phallus jolt again and saw the older woman's face react to the renewed line of fire across her buttocks. Her orgasm was close. She mouthed to the woman in the mirror, 'I love you', and the woman worked the phallus inside her faster, with little bucking movements. Then Sarah cried out again as the cane striped her; two tears rolled down her cheeks, but she was smiling at the girl.

'Oh god, I'm coming, I'm coming...' cried the girl.

'Yes, yes, come for me, come for me,' panted the older woman. Anna's body began to shake as her orgasm mounted. And then Adam timed the final swish of the cane to perfection, bringing down the cane again, not too hard, but enough to make Sarah cry out one last time, and push her hips forward as if to escape the pain, and so she brought Anna over the brink and the girl's climax washed over her.

* * *

Later, when the two women had recovered a little from their shattering experiences, they playfully leapt on their tormentor and audience, and stripped off his clothes, and frolicked some more; and now they have created a tableau suitable to delight a bottom-worshipper such as he. Adam is kneeling behind Anna, his prick held deep by her delightfully tight little anus, while he is licking Sarah's striped behind as she stands astride the kneeling girl, his tongue slowly approaching her perfect rosebud. And with our three joined in this heavenly position, as sounds of pleasure begin to fill the room again, there, dear reader, we must leave them.

Episode 5

Sam Ramsey serial, Ep.3. "Confessions"

Story from Februs 30.

Confessions

The tale of Adam & Sarah continues
Episode three of the serial by Sam Ramsey

Episode 1 * * * Episode 2

'Do you want more coffee?' Adam and Sarah were eating a companionable breakfast, she still in her bed, he (already dressed) sitting at the end of it; sections of the newspaper were strewn between them. He glanced across; she was looking dishevelled but very decidedly attractive. The top buttons of her night-shirt were open and he could see the curves of her breasts as she reached across to take the cup of coffee. He felt a strong flicker of desire, and a stab of regret. At other times, Sarah might have enthusiastically consented to a quick 'good-bye' tumble – but not today, Adam was sure, for of late she had shown an unusual sexual reserve.

Sarah caught his appreciative look and felt a pang of guilt. She knew that she had been rather distant with Adam recently, and part of her wished that things between them were back to normal. But her feelings were in too much turmoil for that. She realised only too well that it was absurd and self-indulgent and dangerous to be overwhelmed with a sudden obsession for someone little more than half her age. But these things are beyond reason.

Adam got up to leave, gave Sarah a quiet hug, which she returned warmly, grateful that he didn't press her for more. 'I'll be back about six on Thursday,' he smiled. 'Enjoy yourself when your friend comes to stay... be good!'.

Why did he say that, Sarah, wondered; did he suspect something? No, surely not. It was just one of those idle remarks...

'I will. Bye, love. Take care. Do drive carefully...'

'Bye. I'll miss you.'

* * *

Late in the afternoon, two days later, Sarah drove to the station to pick up Anna. It was a couple of months since that business trip, since the mad day when Sarah had gone to the beach with the young girl working as a waitress at her hotel, and they had made love by the sea – and then later, the older woman had introduced the young girl to the strange pleasure, the delightful pain, of submitting to a leather strap on her beautiful behind.

A wonderful diversion, Sarah had thought afterwards. Maybe she would tell Adam sometime, and he would surely be as turned on as he had been years ago when she had first confessed to having slept with a couple of girls when she was a student. But then she found she just couldn't get Anna out of her mind. It wasn't the sex, though that was a delight. And it wasn't the novel and unexpectedly thrilling experience of giving for the first time what she had so often received from Adam, and making the girl squirm and moan. There was something about the girl's beauty and vulnerability that had captured Sarah's heart. She was falling in love.

So, without saying anything to Adam, Sarah had visited Anna a few weeks later at the university where she was a student. They had gone out for a long lunch at a cafe bar, and talked for hours, easily and without reserve, as if they had known each other for years, finally parting late in the afternoon with a single chaste kiss. Then, ten days later, when Sarah was in a nearby city, they met up for dinner, and this time, unbidden and quietly insistent, Anna returned to Sarah's hotel and they made love again – very gently and tenderly.

Now, knowing Adam would be away for the better part of a week, Sarah had invited Anna to stay, and here she was, running down the steps from the far platform and flinging her arms round the older woman's neck, smiling into her eyes and suddenly kissing her full on the month.

'Hi! It's wonderful to see you...'

* * *

'It's going to be a cold night. Shall I light a fire in the living room?'

'That would be great... we could make love in front of it.' Anna grinned at Sarah, who reached out and squeezed her hand.

'You read my mind!'

They took what remained of their bottle of Chianti from the kitchen where they had eaten Sarah's pasta and homemade sorbet, then sat over the cheese for a long time. They went, hand-in-hand, into the sitting room. A large room, formed by knocking together two smaller ones; a comfortable, lived-in, room with slightly battered, well-used furniture, the alcoves lined with books, and some rather good modern artists' prints on the walls. An original Victorian fireplace was still in place at one end, and a log fire was laid. Sarah set about lighting it.

Sarah remembered that Anna had told her that she played the oboe in the university orchestra, and that music meant a great deal to her.

'Choose something, and put it on the hi-fi.'

The older woman watched as the girl walked across the room. Anna had changed after her journey, and was now wearing a dark patterned skirt that fell well below her knees, with an equally dark plain shirt in some soft material that clung and showed the shape of her breasts. Her long straw-coloured hair was tied back in a pony-tail. The effect was very simple, very beautiful. She was barefoot, which Sarah found strangely touching.

The girl examined Adam's large collection of CDs for a long time, suddenly serious. Eventually, the strains of a Haydn string quartet quietly filled the room – civilised, very human, intimate music. Anna danced solemnly back to where Sarah was sitting, and curled up at her feet.

* * *

A later scene. The music has changed, murmuring in the background very quietly. The fire now gives the only light in the room. And the room is quite hot, for the fire is more than the autumn night really needs. The girl is naked, lying on her back, her hands cupping her breasts, her legs spread. The woman is not yet fully undressed, her bottom still partly covered by very pretty, very expensive, lingerie. The woman's head is between the girl's thighs, tongue lapping at the girl's centre. The girl's head is beginning to toss from side to side. Her orgasm is mounting.

* * *

The two women are lying together, limbs tangled happily. Sarah reaches for the wine bottle. Empty.

'Time for some whisky, I think!'

She unwraps herself from the girl and fetches more drinks, and then hugs Anna to her again.

'That was wickedly nice!' Anna smiles, stretching her slim, pale body like a cat.

'Nice, but not wicked,' Sarah replies. Then, teasingly, 'Are you ever wicked?'

Anna giggles. And then her tone changes. 'I was wicked once, and in front of a fire like this one; I did something I really shouldn't have done...'

'Tell me about it?'

Anna sits up, hugs her knees, looks into the flames. Sarah sits beside her close, an arm round the girl's shoulder.

It was at Easter last year. I went off for a few days with my best friend Lizzie to a little cottage her family own in Wales. It was lovely; just the two of us, mostly working, revising for our summer exams. She'd arranged for her boyfriend, Giles, to come down at the end of the week with his friend Simon who I knew just a bit. So they turned up on the Friday, and we had a really good time the next day – a long walk across the hills to a pub for lunch and then the long walk back again; and later, when we'd recovered, we made a meal together, and sat in front of the fire, getting more and more drunk. Then it was inevitable, I guess...

Well, Giles and Lizzie started fooling around; and not to be left out I began snogging Simon who had turned out to be really nice. Giles half-undressed Lizzie and massaged her back; and Simon did the same for me and it was pretty blissful. And eventually... things just went on from there, like a competition between the boys to see how far we'd go in public. So if ends up with Lizzie and me more or less undressed, and with Simon shagging me while I'm watching Lizzie ride her Giles, and she kisses me as she comes. Wow! I'd never done anything remotely like that before and it was incredible.

If we'd stopped there it would have all been all right. But after we'd rested and drifted off in front of the fire for a while, I was still feeling randier than I think I'd ever felt before. Lizzie was very quiet and seemed out for the count, so there I was, between the two boys. And I couldn't resist. I knew Lizzie would hate it, but I started snogging her Giles all the same. And then Simon joined in again, and they both really got into it, and I lay there with two sets of hands and lips all over me, and I mean all over, which was heavenly. So after a while, I've come again, about the best ever, and then I am on my hands and knees with Giles taking me from behind while I suck off his friend. And that's when Lizzie woke and saw us.

She tried to be cool about it, but she never really forgave me or Giles... and so her two closest friendships soon came to an end, all for the sake of a drunken shag. Which was pretty bad of me, I guess. And what's really wicked is that there's a large part of me that doesn't really regret it...

* * *

'Well, you have been a bad girl,' Sarah teases, aroused. A pause. 'Perhaps you should be punished...'

There is another pregnant pause. They have hardly spoken again of that first night, when Sarah stung Anna's behind. That episode was initiated by Anna: but will she consent again, now she has experienced it once?

'Perhaps I should be punished...'

Another pause. They hold each other's gaze. Then Anna smiles and ceremoniously kneels before Sarah.

'Reach behind the books on the top shelf in the far alcove and bring me what you find there.'

Naked in the firelight, the girl rises and crosses the room. She stands on a stool, reaches up and her hand lights on something behind the books; she retrieves it.

'There are two more...'

Anna reaches again. Then she brings back what she's found and lays them on the low coffee table – a short two-pronged tawse; a whip with a dozen fine leather strands; and a light, springy cane.

'Now from that shelf over there... you see those two large dice? Bring one here.'

Anna does so.

'When I say, you roll the die. If it turns up one or two, I will use the whip. If you roll three or four, you'll be tawsed. And...?'

'If it's a five or six, I'll be caned,' the girl whispers.

'You understand perfectly,' Sarah laughs. Then, very quietly, 'Come here.'

For a moment, the two embrace, breast to breast, their arms tight around each other, kissing passionately. Sarah's hands press the girl's bottom; then, her voice taut with emotion,

'Roll the die.'

The dark red object skitters across the coffee table, bounces off the tawse, and comes to rest. A five.

* * *

Anna is standing, leaning slightly forward over the back of the chesterfield pulled in front of the fire. Her straw hair now hangs loose down her narrow back. Her bottom curves outward, thrust slightly towards the older woman. There are already a few very faint marks across her buttocks, for Sarah has flicked the cane a few times, lightly and playfully: the slight tingling stings and the erotic tension of the situation have excited the girl again, so when Sarah asks 'Are you ready to be striped?' Anna silently nods.

Sarah, her body flecked with beads of perspiration from the fire and the love-making, stands behind the girl, holding the cane in her hand. Since the day she spent with Anna by the sea, she has fantasized about the possibility of this moment, frigging herself as she imagined the girl first moaning again in submission and then being comforted and petted and made love to. The dark delight wraps itself round Sarah's soul, and she raises her arm...

Anna catches her breath as the first real lash bites into her buttocks. A moment of shock and then burning hurt runs through her. She steadies herself. When she is still, the cane descends again, harder, fiercer, and the girl cries out.

Sarah stands quietly for a moment, looking at the girl's beautiful back, curving down through her narrow waist, down to the swell of her buttocks, now marked by two hot lines. The cruel marks only accentuate the perfect shape. She feels a rush of excitement. Her nipples tauten.

The cane descends again, biting agonizingly. The girl presses her body into the upholstered back of the sofa, her eyes smarting, her lashes damp. But she recovers and slowly offers her bottom again to the waiting woman. A fourth hiss of the cane, a fourth fiery kiss.

'Aaah! Sarah! Aaaaargghh!'

The woman drops the cane and stands pressed up behind Anna and hugging her close. A long moment passes. Then she holds the girl away from her a little and starts kissing her shoulders. A tongue traces slowly downwards, downwards; hands stroke the girl's back and reach forward to caress her breasts. Downward further; lips, mouth, cheeks, press against the girl's stripes, feeling the heat.

Sarah kneels, licking the hot flesh. Then her hands on either buttock gently stretch apart the cheeks, revealing the girl's pale rosebud. A tongue explores, teases, licks, penetrates. Anna sighs in a different way. A hand touches her wet centre.

Suddenly, as if recollecting unfinished business, the woman jumps to her feet.

'There must be two more...'

'I know,' the girl whispers.

The cane is retrieved.

'Down, sweetheart; on your hands and knees.'

The girl obeys, in the firelight, an image of submission, the line of her body perfect.


Another tormenting fiery stripe and the girl yelps. A final long pause. The woman prowls behind her, the tension palpable. The last moment must come, but not before every line and curve of the girl is fixed in her memory. Suddenly, fiercely again, a final cut – and whether by accident or design, it agonizingly cutting across the other stripes.

Anna bursts into tears, and kneels up, pressing her face against the standing woman's flat stomach, wetting it with her tears, as she holds her ravaged buttocks. Sarah strokes her head, murmuring endearments. The sobs slowly subside; and then Anna kisses away the streaks of wetness on the woman's skin and nuzzles down into the hair below. Sarah leans back on the sofa and parts her legs. She sighs deeply. The girl's tongue sets to work.

* * *

Anna stays another day. A day full of lightness. They talk and are silent together, joke and discuss serious issues, and walk into the city, where Sarah insists of buying things for the girl – a dress, perfume, music. They eat out early at Sarah's favourite restaurant. And then back to the house. They are in Sarah's bedroom, where Anna is trying on the new dress again.

'You need higher heels and a different bra,' Sarah says, opening a cupboard and pulling out drawers. 'Look through these, while I have a quick shower...'

When she returns, the girl is transformed. She is standing in front of the long mirror, balanced on Sarah's highest heels (black patent shoes that Sarah has only ever worn at home, for Adam's delight). Anna is wearing a black platform bra with cups that hardly cover her nipples, a g-string, and black hold-up stockings with lacy tops.

'I found these... I hope you don't mind.'

'No, you look incredible. An icon of sexiness. Adam would have a heart attack!'

'I found this in a drawer too,' the girl adds, more tentatively, and takes from the bed Sarah's vibrator. 'I've never used one. Are you surprised? Will you show me?'

Sarah is embarrassed for a moment and then laughs, sits on the bed, and grabs the girl and pulls her off-balance onto the bed and into her arms.

* * *

They are now downstairs again, in front of a fire. There is music, louder this time; old seventies numbers. The girl, still in her sexy lingerie, is kneeling between Sarah's thighs, but the vibrator has just been cast aside as the older woman recovers.

'Now that's what I call wickedly nice!' Sarah grins and rubs her hands down her body languorously.

'Good,' says Anna. 'I thought you just might be enjoying that... I sure enjoyed my turn!' Then a sudden thought. 'But what about you? What have you done that is really wicked? Fair's fair, since I told you my story last night...'

Sarah is suddenly subdued. 'I've never told this to anyone...'

'You know I'll keep your secrets.'

It's a few years ago now. Adam had been away at a conference, and afterwards I found he'd accidentally left under the seat of his car a local paper from the city he'd been in. And it was folded open at the page with all the adverts for massage parlours and so on. I just knew that he'd been to one. He'd done it before and I'd found him out and been really angry – though, if I tell the truth, there's part of me that found the idea rather exciting, when I pictured him lying there being sucked off by a girl he'd only just met. But this time I didn't say anything; I just seethed inside, and I used it as an excuse to misbehave much more badly myself.

About a week later, I was away on a business trip, and I knew that I'd be meeting up again with this youngish guy David who manages one of our small branches, and who'd made it pretty plain in the past that he fancied me. So this time, when he was entertaining me to dinner, I flirted back outrageously, and one thing led to another, and we ended up in bed back at my hotel.

Sarah is quiet for a moment.

'That doesn't sound so very bad to me.'

'Let me finish.'

Well, we fooled around for a long time; he was really slow and considerate, and great at oral sex, and I came wonderfully. And then, because I was still so cross with Adam and wanted to punish him somehow, when David wanted finally to come inside me, I turned over and... I asked him to... I asked him to take me that way. I mean anally.

And that was wrong because I hadn't let Adam make love to me like that for a long time even though he adores it – it's one of those things that doesn't get easier as you get older, and the last times had hurt too much in the wrong sort of way. Well, I don't know whether David was really experienced or whether it was beginner's luck, but he seemed to know exactly what to do, and he opened me so gently and filled me so slowly, and then moved in just the right way, and for the first time ever I came from anal sex. It was unbelievable. And it wasn't a one-off. We did it the same way again, even better, the next night.

Afterwards, I was able to teach Adam how to do it so as not hurt me, and we still sometimes make love that way, though, he never makes me come like David did. And I still feel bad that someone else has had what really should have been Adam's.

Anna kisses Sarah. The room is suddenly quiet. The girl quietly gets up, her heels clicking across the floor, and changes the CD. Then she reaches for the large red dice, and hands one to the older woman.

'Roll it, Sarah.' There is a note of question in the girl's voice. The two look at each other, Sarah's luminous grey eyes bright. There is a moment's stillness, and then she throws the die. A two.

The woman, naked, slowly fetches the many-thonged whip, kneels and hands it to the girl. Anna takes it and weighs it in her hand, and then seems to hesitate.

Sarah whispers, 'You can use it anywhere – on my back, on my thighs, even on my tummy and breasts... Where do you want me?'

Silence. Then 'Stand where I did...'

And Sarah leans against the sofa. After a moment, tentatively at first, and then with fire and excitement, the whip begins to fall.

Sarah squirms and moans. This is so different from being whipped by Adam, yet no different. She lets herself float into the sensation as the tips of the whip sting more and more of her body. She gives the last part of herself to Anna. And Anna too is wrapped up in feelings that grow in intensity as Sarah's discomfort grows. She does not understand; but her body melts. She wants to frig herself, she wants Sarah's knowing tongue in her arse again, she wants to whip Sarah.

Sarah cries out.

* * *

So, when Adam left his conference over a day early, and returned unannounced, that was the sight that greeted his eyes, as he quietly let himself into the house, sounds of arrival masked by the music.


A pretty young girl, straw-coloured hair down her back, stood in the very high heels, her breasts barely held by a tiny bra, her buttocks parted by the tiny thong of her knickers. Across her behind, faint but unmistakable, were the marks of a recent caning. She was agitated, breathing hard, aroused. In one hand, she held a whip, which was curling across his wife's thighs. A fine tracery of marks covered Sarah's back, extending oven to her breasts. She was grimacing, in pain, in pleasure, for the girl's other hand played between her thighs, frigging her fast. He recognised the signs; the woman was near her release. The whip swung again. Lighter, stimulating her breasts.

'Oh yes, ... just there.'

And again.

Adam coughed. 'I see that when the cat is away...'

(To be continued)

Sam Ramsey serial, Ep.1. "When Adam met Sarah"

Story from Februs 24.

When Adam met Sarah
by Sam Ramsey

The room is spacious – once two smaller rooms, but now neatly converted. The alcoves are filled with books regimented in tidy rows; seven or eight modern prints hang on the walls, signed artists' proofs in modest good taste. Heavy curtains are drawn closed. Low tables, piled with more books, carry lamps, only two of which are dimly lit. At one end of the room an open fire is glowing brightly. The man perches near the fire on one arm of a sofa; stocky, of medium height, forty-ish, his neat hair thinning, dark eyes humorous. He is dressed soberly, though his suit jacket is thrown onto the back of a chair.

There appears nothing here out of the ordinary – except for the woman: but she indeed is worthy of a second glance. She looks rather younger than the man: glossy hair, very dark, neatly bobbed, fine features discreetly made up emphasizing her startling grey eyes, a trim figure with legs long for her height. She would be striking enough even if she were not quite naked – naked, that is, apart from the erotic cliché of black stiletto shoes (which though not absurdly high, are surely not meant for walking).

She rests, not quite still, on hands and knees on the fine carpet, her breasts swaying slightly as they hang. Small gold clips are attached to each nipple, and between them falls down a fine gold chain, also swaying gently and glinting in the firelight. Her smooth bottom is now marked by two weals, sharp against white flesh: she sensuously raises her bottom further towards the man, and after regarding her tenderly for a moment, he puts down his glass of wine and reaches down to caress her thighs. His fingers move up to play lightly across the stripes, and then slowly, tantalizingly slowly, towards the crack between her buttocks. She sighs, shifts her knees to part her legs a little, and the man's fingers move to stroke her softly. She sighs again, but he then withdraws his hand: she looks back over her shoulder, and slowly resumes her original position, closes her legs and raises her bottom.

From the floor by the sofa, the man retrieves the thin cane that has fallen there, stands and raises his arm. A pause, a moment's stillness – then the swish of the cane through the air, the crack of cane on soft flesh, and the sound of the woman's cries.

* * *

When Adam met Sarah, they were both at university. She was a second year student, he six years older, had just finished a postgraduate degree and was now a junior researcher. They were introduced at a party, and that (or so they later told the story) was that. They started going out together: but, both feeling that the relationship was destined to be special in their lives, it was three months before they finally slept together.

Sex with Sarah was different from anything Adam had experienced before. She made love with a kind of passionate passivity: once aroused, she would willingly abandon herself to him in every way, but very rarely did she initiate anything or express sexual desires of her own. Adam found this passivity unexpectedly erotic. But they were both young, and in some ways very innocent – so it was only slowly that he came to explore the boundaries of Sarah's submissiveness.

One hot summer evening, a year or so after they had become lovers, Sarah met Adam from a late seminar and they went out for an Indian meal at their favourite restaurant. Happy and flirtatious, they strolled back to Adam's flat; they kissed passionately and Adam started undressing Sarah, stealing kisses on her body as more and more became available. He laid her naked on his bed; she stretched back and he kissed her breasts again.

'Don't go away! I must have a shower.'

'Mmm... Hurry back. I'm not sure I can wait,' she laughed, fingers of one hand lightly brushing the nipples that he had just made hard. Adam watched Sarah teasingly play with herself for a moment, then collected a towel and went to shower, not hurrying but luxuriating for many long minutes in the powerful cool spray washing away his sweat and tiredness. Feeling vastly refreshed, he returned to Sarah who was still lying stretched on her back, with her eyes closed. He leant down to kiss her breast again – but this time, she brushed him away:

'You're too late,' she murmured drowsily.

'What do you mean, too late?'

'You just are...'

Adam realized with a mixture of arousal and annoyance that Sarah's playful toying with herself must have continued in earnest while he was in the shower – and once Sarah had come, she usually lost interest in further sex.

'So who's been a wicked girl?' he asked, in a mock-solemn voice. She pouted at him and turned away on her side: Adam tipped her onto her front, and on an impulse slapped first one side then the other of Sarah's shapely bottom.

'Ouch, that hurt.'

'Perhaps it was meant to.'

Adam put a hand on her shoulder, and Sarah turned her face to nuzzle it. She looked up at him quizzically with her large grey eyes; Adam held her gaze coolly, and with slow deliberation spanked her twice again. Sarah drew in her breath and bit her lip. She said nothing more but turned her face into the pillow. Adam paused, then lifted his hand again and spanked her another dozen times, very slowly, quite hard and full on her bottom. Sarah moaned slightly but still said nothing. He bent down and kissed the nape of her neck, and then ran his tongue down her spine; he scattered more kisses over her now blotched and reddened bottom, and Sarah moaned in a different way, parting her legs.

'Kneel up,' he whispered. And he entered her – and Sarah responded with passion, and surprised them both by quickly climaxing.

* * *

Afterwards, mild spanking became an occasional part of their love play, and they would ritually re-enact that first time. Sarah would undress in front of Adam, and then submit to his gaze and play with herself in front of him. When she had come, she would lie across his lap and be punished for her wantonness. And then he would caress her reddened bottom, kiss her most intimate places and make love to her. Once he used a plastic ruler on her bottom: but this was still all light and playful.

Adam later began sometimes buying magazines; Sarah was initially shocked. But she found herself drawn to the pictures of girls being caned or tawsed. And soon they were enticed to take the first dark step beyond playful spankings.

It was again summer, now four years after they had first met. A transparent, hot midday. Adam and Sarah had driven out into the country, up into the hills, then left the car and walked across two fields to the small ravine they had discovered the previous summer. The sides of the ravine were thickly covered with scrub oak, and it was quite safe to scramble to the stream at the bottom. Here and there, small patches of grass grew beside the stream; and they clambered down to one of these. From his large shoulder bag, Adam retrieved their picnic and a bottle of wine.

Later, half-drunk, Adam reached over to Sarah, pulled her to her feet, hungrily kissed her and then in one movement pulled down the long back zip of her light summer dress. The dress fell away and she stepped out, naked but for skimpy lace panties.

'Those too,' he said. And then, 'On your hands and knees.'

Adam took the gauzy Indian scarf which Sarah had used to tie back her long hair, and made a blindfold. Then he paused to look at her, the dappled shadow on her nakedness.

'Sarah – you know I love you.'

'I know,' she whispered.

Adam then reached into his bag, and brought out – dark, supple, well-made – a light two-pronged tawse. He took it in his hand, and very gently rested it on Sarah's white bottom and stroked her with it.

'Can you feel the smooth leather? I bought this when I was in London last week.' Sarah did not reply, but sighed slightly: she knew immediately what it was. A couple of weeks before, when Adam for the first time made as if to use one of his leather belts on her, Sarah had stopped him: 'No: it mustn't be something ordinary, it has to be something... special'. And Adam had understood, and heard the unspoken consent.

'This first time,' Adam continued quietly, running the tawse over her, 'I'll give you six strokes, unless you stop me now.' Still silence in the little grassy-hollow, with the oaks rustling above in the softest summer breeze.

Adam lifted his arm, and brought the tawse down firmly across both buttocks. Sarah cried out as the pain shot through her bottom, burning, burning. Then again the sharp slap of leather, the pain jolting through her, another cry. A third time, Adam brought down the tawse on her pale flesh, her buttocks shook under the impact, the dragon tongues of the tawse bit into her with fierce heat, drawing another moan into the summer air.


He paused. Sarah was still again, her head bowed, her breasts hanging down with darkly erect nipples; her buttocks now aflame, the marks of the tawse clear. A fourth time, the leather struck her – another loud slap, another sudden flush of pain across her bottom, a sobbing moan that seemed to come from her very core. Another pause, then a lighter fifth stroke on the top of her buttocks. Then a last pause, and Adam flicked the tawse sharply a final time, lower, near the sensitive top of her thighs and Sarah cried out again in surprise and renewed pain.

For a long moment Adam looked down at Sarah, at her beautiful back, slim waist and her perfect bottom now reddened and fiercely marked. Then he threw down the tawse, and lay beside her, drawing her down into his arms: he pulled the blindfold off her glistening eyes, and she rested her head on his chest, as with one hand she rubbed her ravaged arse. They lay together like this for a long time, Sarah naked, her long dark hair wild, not speaking. At last, Adam with great tenderness washed Sarah's face with water from the stream, then he dressed her, and took her hand and led her back across the fields.

Just before they reached the car, Sarah suddenly stopped, flung her arms around Adam's neck, kissed him passionately – and then broke free and ran laughing on to the car.

* * *

Sarah instinctively knew that some things are best left unexamined, unanalysed. Why should rituals of punishment and submission bind her so tightly to Adam? Why should he, in other ways so gentle, be so aroused by her willing participation in the rituals? She preferred to leave the mystery intact, and when Adam at first occasionally tried to talk about these things, she silenced him.

But over time, they slowly explored further: sometimes the tawse, as that first time, fiercely licked her bottom with tongues of fire. Sometimes, a many-thonged fine whip stung her whole body with biting kisses as she was spreadeagled; sometimes, a riding crop slashed her soft thighs. And then, eventually, there was the cane: the pain, each new time, so startling, taking Sarah to the limit, the submission so total, the love-making afterwards so wonderful.

* * *

When Adam phoned from the conference, Sarah was already in bed.

'I'll be home about eight tomorrow.'

'I've missed you.'

For once, as rarely these days, they would have the house to themselves.

'I've been thinking for days about that last time, at Easter...'

'Yes, oh master...' Sarah teased.

'Be ready!' said Adam with mock sternness.

Their playful banter continued, masking a mutual seriousness. For Sarah, the waiting times, as she prepared herself – apprehension and arousal finely balanced – were themselves a delicious thrill that she craved.

Sarah lay in bed dreaming. The image of the girl in the changing room suddenly flashed before her eyes. It had been just after Easter. Sarah had gone to buy a summer dress; it was a quiet time, and she was at first the only occupant of the small communal changing room. Then a young girl had walked in. They exchanged smiles, and Sarah realized the girl was extremely pretty. The girl noticed Sarah looking at her as she changed, paused, and then – rather unnecessarily – removed her bra, as if flaunting her perfect figure to the older woman.

Sarah smiled at the girl again, and as they both tried on their dresses, it seemed like a silent flirtation. Sarah removed the dress she had been trying on, and on a sudden impulse turned her back to the girl, and bent over slowly over from the waist to pick up her own clothes. She knew that as she did so, her tiny lace knickers would ride up, showing the cane-marks, still quite clear from the night before. She heard the girl gasp slightly with surprise and felt her stare. Eventually Sarah straightened, turned and smiled again, looking the girl straight in the eyes. Sarah quickly slipped on her own dress, gathered up the two she had been trying on, and as she left, she said softly to the still half-naked girl 'One day, you must try it'.

Now, lying in bed, Sarah found herself wishing that the encounter hadn't ended there. Aroused by the memory, she started stroking herself. And as her hands wandered she let the images come one after the other – the pretty girl lying naked as Sarah carressed her. Then the scene changed to one like in a video the Adam had recently brought home from abroad: the girl lay on Sarah, breast to breast, as Adam applied the cane, so that Sarah could feel the strokes through the girl's body as she held her. Finally, as her climax came near, Sarah imagined that the strumming fingers were now the girl's...

* * *

When Adam's key turned in the lock, Sarah was waiting in the living room, naked under her silky wrap but for the tiniest, laciest thong. She threw her arms round his neck when he arrived, and his hands strayed all over her.

'It's so good to see you.'

'You too: it seems weeks not days.'

They embraced and caressed: after a time, her wrap fell more and more open.

'Mmm, that reminds me...' said Adam, as he kissed her breasts. 'I've brought you a present from the sinful metropolis.'

Sarah open the box; a file gold chain, and at each end little clips.

'Is this what I think it is?'

'Try it!'

Sarah knelt in front of Adam, shrugged off the wrap and put her hands behind her head, lifting her small breasts to him. She sighed as he placed the clips on each nipple.

'You look wonderful!'

Sarah got up to look at herself in the mirror over the fireplace: unbidden, the thought of the girl in changing room rushed back into her mind – part of her wished that she was placing clips on that girl's breasts, hearing her gasp again.

Adam sat on the sofa, still formally dressed: Sarah knelt at his feet. They drank wine for a while, desultorily chatting, the sexual tension mounting between them. Then Sarah said:

'I have a confession.'

And she told Adam in vivid detail about the girl, about her fantasies, about the previous night's indulgence. Adam was aroused.

'I go away for five days and you turn into a lesbian sadist!' he said quietly. 'I think punishment is due, don't you? Sarah... fetch the cane now.'

Sarah walked across the room, her legs and bottom so taut from the height of her stiletto heels, and retrieved the cane from behind a long row of books. She slowly returned, handed it silently to Adam, and went to stand in front of the fire, her hands outstretched to hold the mantle shelf, her head bowed, her beautiful behind framed by the lace of the black thong and now thrust out towards her master.

Adam removed his jacket, and weighed the cane in his hand. At last, weeks of waiting were over; the moment – the darkly wonderful moment – had come. The room is silent but for the crackling of the fire. And then the first fierce stroke suddenly bites into Sarah's bottom. She moans but holds still. Then another crack of cane on her soft flesh, another blaze of pain.


Every time this ritual is performed, Sarah is shocked again by the hurt of it. Her bottom has become the centre of all sensation; the fire, the pain seems beyond measure. She rests her head on one of her outstretched hands. Adam pauses, and watches the stripes he has drawn develop – he the painter, her arse the canvas. Then he moves very close behind her, and she presses back, feeling his hardness. After a moment, he reaches down and slips off her thong:

'Kneel down,' he murmurs gruffly.

Sarah slowly sinks to her hands and knees in front of the fire. The cane drops to the floor by the sofa, as Adam pours himself another drink.

* * *

The man canes the woman six more times, hard whippy cuts, with long pauses between. At each new stripe, she cries out as the pain courses through her. She makes no attempt to muffle her moans: for she knows that such sounds of submission are a gift that he cherishes. Her arms and legs are trembling slightly, and the man pauses again to caress her shoulders and waist and swell of her breasts until she is still again. Then two final strokes of the cane where her bottom meets her thighs – she calls out his name and then lies prone on the carpet.

The man regards the woman for a moment, then he sets down the cane and gathers her into his arms and holds her: as once long ago by a remote stream, time stands still in a moment of perfect harmony. After a while, he carefully places some soft feather cushions on the carpet and gently lies the woman down. He takes the clips from her nipples, and places her own hands there. She begins to move her hands, first on her breasts, and then she spreads her legs, the man watching as he undresses. When she starts to moan more and more, he turns the woman onto her front: she raises her bottom for a final act of submission. There is a last moment of pain, then the woman relaxes and what is still so hurting also becomes the centre of all delight.

Could it be that one day the magic, the dark mystery, will go out of their rituals of punishment and submission? All things must pass. But today the old magic is as powerful as ever, and in the end, as so often before, the woman fills the room with wild cries of abandoned pleasure.

Episode 2

Further Education

Story from Februs 25.

Further Education
by Darren Young


Ben looked around the room, a full house tonight. He enjoyed this weekly evening class, or should that he appreciated? Verbs, verbs, everywhere but never the right one. OK, 'Contemporary Literature and Society' was a pretentious title but the tutor, a 'serious' novelist, had a light touch and an amusing style of presentation.

His fellow students were the usual mixed bunch. Would-be writers in the main, anxiously analysing the work of already published authors, concentrating assiduously, taking things very seriously.

Others were more laid back, simply glad of a break from the kids or a chance to make new friends. They'd nothing to prove, future Booker prize juries could relax.

And which category do I fall in? mused Ben. Piles of books around his flat revealed a genuine interest in the subject but if he was honest – one of his better traits – he wouldn't be adverse to a brief encounter either.

For some reason the only other two males in the class had dropped out in the early stages, leaving Ben the sole remaining representative of his gender. Anxious not to dominate conversation, he'd opted for a low profile. I'm a newish man after all, he'd reasoned.

A couple of female students flashed smiles. Social interaction had progressed to the friendly chat in the canteen stage; polite opinions swopped, jokes benignly smiled at. Could this week's subject: Sex in Modern Writing – Erotica or Pornography? possibly be why so many souls had turned out on a wet April night? True, romantic fiction had also got a good crowd but he'd a feeling his cynicism was well founded.

'Hi Ben,' a warm familiar voice jolted him from his reverie and a smiling young woman drew up an adjacent chair. Ben beamed backed a greeting but had no time to talk before the lecture began.

As the tutor launched into a brief preamble, read a couple of college notices, distributed a booklist, Ben stole a series of furtive glances at his immediate companion; just to practise the character sketch techniques they'd learned last term.

Nicola was her name. Quiet, but certainly not shy. Friendly, if a little guarded. A responder rather than an initiator. Green eyes, red hair, mid-twenties, around five foot four with a slim, shapely figure. Face it, he fancied her.

Her voice jolted the daydream believer back to reality. 'It's warm in here,' she whispered shrugging off her blouson jacket. The jumper beneath emphasised a slender waist and small, high breasts.

Flicking back her shoulder-length curls, suddenly aware of Ben's gaze, she smiled affectionately then rummaged in her bag for a pair of round, steel-framed spectacles: 'I'd better put these on, don't want to miss anything.' Ben was still absorbing the implications of that remark when the tutor introduced the guest speaker.

Louise Lasalle was in her early forties, extremely good looking, confident and clearly well-educated. Resembling a successful business woman rather than any stereotype of a writer she was elegantly and expensively dressed.

She began her discourse with some historical examples of erotic writing – Chaucer, Shakespeare, the Decameron, before moving on to practical tips: how to handle commissioning editors, which of the various permutations of acceptable subject matter an aspirant author might consider. The first half of the session passed both quickly and divertingly, ending with a promise from Louise to throw the forum open for questions and discussion after the break.

'There's nothing new under the sun,' said Ben to Nicola as he fetched her a coffee. Without intending to he'd reached the canteen first where, to his surprise and pleasure, she'd made a beeline across the room to join him. 'They certainly weren't short of inhibitions in the past,' she agreed, 'but it's the second half, the more contemporary stuff, I'm looking forward to, I think we'll find things get a bit more controversial.'

Her guess proved correct. Louise was explaining the increase in erotic stories for women – on sale in a high street near you – when the argument started.

With a mixture of cowardice and prudence Ben, as token male, kept his head down and his own counsel while barbed words flew about his ears.

An especially tetchy teacher named Angela Dwight took the line that such paperbacks were just another way for men to make money from women.

'As a writer and a woman,' Louise pointed out gently, 'I feel far from exploited.'

'We shouldn't be allowing them on the bookshelves,' cut in Angela, who despite her education clearly hadn't absorbed the difference between aggression and assertion, 'erotica, pornography it makes no difference, people must be protected.'

'And look what strange bedfellows you end up with,' replied Louise sagely. 'Religious fanatics, right-wing bigots, anti-abortionists, people that love to proscribe. You say you're a feminist Angela,' she continued, 'did it ever occur to you that the self-appointed moralists you seen so anxious to court are the same people that want to deny women any choices at all?'

'That's true,' said a nearby voice arid Ben turned around to see Nicola on her feet. 'I've bought and enjoyed some of these books, I don't need your protection.'

'Like Louise's spanking stories I suppose,' sneered Angela sarcastically. 'Women being beaten or bound, what a wonderful use of our new found freedom of expression.' Nicola reddened but stood her ground. However it was Louise, still calm and in authority, who answered:

'You're twisting the argument again, Angela. You just can't seem to appreciate the difference between fantasy and reality. A lot of my readers are every bit as professionally and personally powerful and successful as you. If they want to act out a submissive fantasy with a trusted partner it doesn't make then servile, subjugated or second class. Simply it's a matter of being honest about one's sexuality. By writing our own erotica we make our own choices.'

The controversy was still raging when the session finally overran.

Ben was intrigued, and not just by the debate, although it'd been instructive to see women arguing in favour of one of his favourite fantasies. He'd also gained an insight as to where Nicola was coming from, and it was somewhere he'd very much like to go. Now or never, he thought as they filed out of the building.

Nicola stood in the corridor, chatting to Louise. 'Fancy a drink?' he asked. He'd intended the question for her alone but 15 minutes later the three of them were ensconced in the saloon bar of the Swan.

'Did you enjoy reading my books?' Louise enquired innocently. Her enquiry had been directed at Nicola. 'Yes,' they unintentionally answered at the same time, then giggled self-consciously at the revelation.

'Well, my stories usually feature a good deal of CP', Louise began; 'And sex,' Nicola interrupted. 'Of course,' Louise continued with a twinkle, 'but I'm interested in means as well as ends. Tell me,' she continued, 'is your interest in spanking purely literary, or have you ever indulged?'

The two younger people exchanged glances. 'No, not yet,' replied Nicola, 'but the idea sends shivers down my spine, in the right situation with the right person, I believe I would.' Impressed by the courage of this intimate disclosure Ben decided to follow suit. Somehow it felt easier to reveal such a long-held desire to a woman: 'I'd love to have a relationship in which I could be masterful, of course we'd be equal in every other respect,' he added hastily, 'if I could just find a submissive partner.'

'If you'll forgive me flaunting my age and experience I suggest you've found each other,' replied Louise. Ben suddenly became aware that Nicola was now sitting very close to him; unprompted she held his hand.

"Let's not prevaricate,' continued Louise, smiling at this overt conformation of her intuition. 'You must both come to dinner this Saturday; perhaps we can provide food for thought as well. A personal tutorial for two special students.'

'A masterclass,' responded Ben with a grin. 'Exactly,' confirmed Louise, 'between then and now I suggest you both read some of my stories, absorb the mood, study the characters and dress for the occasion. Oh, and you might like to bring some decent wine; Italian white would be good.'

'We'll be there,' said Nicola earnestly and Ben realised that she'd made the decision for them both.

* * *

Three days later the dinner party was going marvellously. Ben felt calm and at case. He'd an anxious moment earlier in the evening when Nicola had been nearly 15 minutes late at the station. Finally she'd arrived, in no apparent rush and looking ravishing, to greet him with a far from sisterly kiss.

Louise and Phil, her partner, owned a large Victorian house in a pleasant north London suburb, decorated inside with taste, flair and an eclectic selection of art.

Ben quickly observed a difference in Louise's demeanour, noticeably more subdued than at their previous meeting. Phil cooked while she welcomed and entertained yet, despite this apparent role reversal, within these walls a man was clearly in charge.

Just as Louise's appearance belied her occupation so too did Phil's. Tall and solidly-built with a Yorkshire accent and that county's celebrated directness he turned out to be an English professor at a nearby University. Adept at getting his initially somewhat over-awed guests to talk freely he proved an informed and witty host, able, without apparent effort or command, to subtly direct the evening's events.

The meat concluded Ben noticed Louise sitting silently, hands in her lap, eyes following the flow of conversation but making no comment. An electric tension began to suffuse the atmosphere of what might otherwise have been taken for an ordinary dinner party.

'Always an enjoyable part of the proceedings,' observed Phil expansively, 'the anticipation of things to come. I gather Louise has promised you two novices some instruction in our ways,' he continued. 'Well, Saturday evenings here are set aside for Louise to account and atone for her sins and for me to dispense discipline as I see fit.

If you, Nicola, and you, Ben, would care to join us we'd be delighted to share our knowledge and experience.'

'I'm willing,' replied Nicola decisively.

'Me too,' confirmed Ben experiencing an agreeable thrill of adrenalin-fuelled expectation as he spoke the words.

'Splendid,' Phil smiled. 'Now, you'll no doubt have noticed Louise has been looking a tad apprehensive this last half hour or so; well she might. Her conduct over the last week – I won't bore you with the details – has earned her a traditional three-part punishment which I now intend to commence. If you two would be so good as to follow us through to the next room we can begin.'

The lounge was large and warm, atmospherically lit with uplighters and furnished with comfortable antiques.

'Proper punishments begin with a spanking,' Phil pronounced, 'only a bloody barbarian goes straight for a rod or switch. Build up gradually and be surprised how far you can go.'

Ignoring a suitable-looking upright wooden chair he sat instead on a well-padded sofa. Catching Ben's quizzical expression Phil explained: 'I know in the magazines the unfortunate damsel touches the floor with hands and toes but if you're intending to keep her there for more than five minutes it's hellish hard on the back.'

Taking Louise by the hand he drew her to attention beside him.

She wore an elegant wool suit, silk blouse and black high heels. 'Lift your skirt woman,' he ordered. Louise glanced around, as if only now aware of the expectant looks on the faces of her invited audience. Nervously she ran her tongue across her red lips before obeying. From just above the knee she gradually inched the material up bare legs, teasingly revealing taut thighs and buttocks until at last it bunched around her waist.


Unhurriedly, Phil turned Louise in a circle running his hands over her silky-smooth, lightly suntanned flanks. A few strands of dark hair strayed from the front of a pair of black lace-edged knickers, barely containing a full firm backside.

Every inch a sensual, sexual woman thought Ben feeling the front of his trousers tighten involuntarily. Next to him Nicola put on her glasses. On the sofa Louise now languished across Phil's lap.

Slap, slap, slap, Phil applied his right hand to the rounded, pale checks. Elbows resting on the sofa cushions, chin in her cupped hands Louise stared into the middle-distance as if entranced. Some 50 or more smacks later Phil halted and instead tugged her knickers tightly into the furrow that separated the two reddening globes. Louise jerked her hips agitatedly, the sudden switch from pain to pleasure occasioning her first audible response. Sighing contentedly she turned to observe her partner's ministrations.

'Quite sufficient a gradual warm-up,' said Phil by way of reply. 'High time you had a proper spanking.' Slap, slap, slap. Nicola sat on the upright chair, leaning forward to gazed with rapt concentration as this live CP scenario unfolded. Ben noticed her wince in sympathy as noticeably harder smacks echoed like pistol shots around the room. Her skirt had ridden up revealingly and he watched in fascination as she unconsciously clenched and unclenched her thighs.

The effect on Louise was clearly less erotic. Little yelps and moans now escaped her lips as she tried vainly to twist her body from Phil's tight, waist-encircling grip.

Another pause, Louise groaning in pleasure as Phil's hand again soothed the hot mounds and his finger explored hidden depths. Told to raise her hips she instantly obeyed allowing Phil to slip the black scanties to her knees.

Smack, smack, smack, Phil redoubled his efforts. Protesting loudly now Louise wriggled fiercely on his lap earning a dozen scalding slaps to her thighs for her trouble. 'Women who struggle must pay the price,' announced Phil steadfastly. Ben stole another glance at Nicola who remained fixated by the sight before her, one hand twirling her red hair, the other beneath her skirt.

Phil's hard hand descended six more times to conclude the first stage of his wife's ordeal. Tugged to her feet, she stood hair awry and dishevelled, in marked contrast to the manicured, self-possessed woman of 15 minutes previously.

Instinctively her hands flew to rub her burning bottom, now a uniform ruby red. 'Oh, no you don't,' Phil's directive was punctuated with a sharp slap to the front of each thigh, drawing a wail of complaint. 'Hands on head and into the corner, now.' Fettered by her tangled knickers Louise hobbled across the room to stand facing the wall her dark glistening thatch just visible to three pairs of admiring eyes.

'Your turn, I think, Ben,' said Phil mildly, returning to his seat, 'I'm sure you can find an excuse to punish that pretty young person next to you.'

Ben was equal to the moment. 'I'm not sure I need one,' he replied in an assured voice, 'there again,' he added after a piquant pause, 'I certainly do not like to be kept waiting by a date.'

Nicola's reaction to this new authoritative tone was not quite as he'd imagined. He'd expected to be treated to an expression of fey shock, contrarily she merely poked out her tongue. With one stride Ben covered the distance between them. Grasping her wrists he'd pulled the miscreant to her feet and, before she knew it, seated himself on the chair and pushed her over his lap. Drawing up her short pleated skirt with his right hand he reached with the left to deftly remove her glasses.

'Bravo old chap,' said Phil taking them from Ben while the latter surveyed his prize. Ignoring Nicola's token protestations he allowed his hands to glide over a pair of damson coloured briefs. Similar coloured suspenders were fastened to once-again fashionable tan stockings.

'Now hang on a min...' Nicola's last ditch plea for clemency died on her lips as Ben swung down his arm. Resisting the temptation to spank too hard too soon he followed Phil's example and built up the tempo slowly, working skillfully to both chastise and arouse. Painted finger nails scrabbled at the rug, painted toe nails in high strappy sandals kicked in the air.

Ten minutes later, knickers round her ankles, bare bottom an angry pink, Nicola stood next to Louise sneaking a glance over her shoulder to watch the men sip their wine in companionable, contemplative silence.

Phil's plan for the next stage of this practical introduction to the not so gentle art of CP proved ingenious. Plump cushions were placed at the two ends of a long oak dining table and the women bent over them to lie face to face. He instructed each to grasp the other's wrists before personally taking on the onerous task of removing knickers and spreading legs.

Walking over to a cupboard in the corner Phil took out two tawses which, judging from their appearance, had given sterling service over many years. He handed the lighter of the two to Ben with the words, 'I'll go first, then you follow suit.' Taking his place Ben noticed the older couple were standing in front of a full-length mirror. He watched carefully as Phil raised the burnished two-tailed leather strap to shoulder height before bringing it down across the crown of his wife's upturned hindquarters.


Louise cried out, sliding forward on the polished table top. The twin hillocks of her cheeks flattened with the impact before springing back into their former spherical shape. Ben followed suit but was disappointed to deliver a rather feeble sounding swat. Phil's turn again and a satisfying crack of leather on skin drew another shout from Louise who, were it not for Nicola's firm grasp, would no doubt have shot bolt upright.

Ben tried again but still had not mastered the technique. Nicola's cry was one of genuine anguish and, as her feet performed an agonised tap dance, he was horrified to see an angry red weal form on her right thigh. He swallowed the urge to apologise as Phil blithely advised, 'A little too far to the right, don't let the tails curl round or you miss the proper target'.

Fortunately Ben hit his stride with stroke number three, going on to deliver five crisp, blazing stripes, one after another, each accompanied by increasing cries of woe.

'Very good,' observed Phil. 'You're quite getting into the swing of things.' He ran his hands reflectively across Louise's now blotchy, blaming buttocks. 'Another four should fit the bill nicely – tell you what, let's try to synchronise them.'

It was an image Ben hoped he'd never forget: a pair of tawses concurrently swishing down to punish two already very sore bottoms whose owners, self-possession rapidly deserting them, yelled and twisted in unison, tightly grasping each other's hands for support and succour. Taking his cue from the reflection in the mirror, Ben ensured his final cuts lashed low into that supremely sensitive area where buttocks and thighs merge, forcing the recipient up onto her toes. Louise's lip trembled, her face flushed but, although breathing rapidly, she maintained her composure.

Less cushioned to resist the searing impacts by the tenth stroke Nicola's mascara was running in rivulets down each cheek, her high heels drumming on the polished parquet. She looked absolutely gorgeous, thought Ben, at once proud, vulnerable and thoroughly dominated. His erection neared critical mass as he floated on the biggest high of his life.

'Feel free to rub,' said Phil expansively as, a thorough tawsing completed, the two women stood stiffly, tentatively reaching behind to gently knead their ravished nether regions.

'And finally,' he added returning to the mysterious corner cupboard, 'the cane.' Again his choice of implement was rather heavier than Ben's. 'I suggest half a dozen for Nicky as it's her first time, but for Louise, who seems determined to be stubborn, the full dozen.

Right woman, centre of the room. You know the drill.'

Head held high, Louise did his bidding. Shedding her blouse and skirt en route she stood erect in just heels and a Wonderbra, revealing that nature had allocated equally generous curves to the upper half of her body. Taking a deep breath she gracefully bent forward to grasp her ankles, feet half a metre apart.

Phil delivered half a dozen hard, unhurried strokes spaced at roughly ten second intervals and leaving a legacy of neatly spaced parallel lines that would decorate her derriere for several days. Between each whack Louise struggled to maintain her stance but, despite the all too obvious pain searing through every nerve ending, failed to shed a tear.

'Very impressive my dear,' said Phil affectionately as she stood to once again rub the target area 'but you're the architect of your own misfortune. Bend again please, knees together, legs straight, and this time push that bottom right out.'

'The trick,' be addressed this remark to no one in particular but spoke with the voice of one uttering a universal truth, 'is to know and respect your partner's limits, but each time take them just a fraction further. Louise has demonstrated self-control, I shall now exercise complete control.'

Ben and Nicola stared speechless, this was a scenario far beyond their dreams. Chastened and humiliated, nevertheless Louise was visibly sopping wet. 'Do you accept this final chastisement?' asked Phil quietly. 'I do darling,' came the unhesitating reply.

This time the strokes fell rapidly, one after another, each criss-crossing those applied earlier. Squirming in pain Louise had tears in her eyes by the second and to Ben's amazement, was both smiling and sobbing by the sixth.

Having kept position throughout Louise straightened as if released of a burden to address the remaining participants: 'If you'll forgive us we've some pressing business in the bedroom...' she paused wincing as she massaged the corrugated globes, 'please take your own time to finish and make full use of the facilities.' Another pause, Phil strong and silent stood behind gently cupping her breasts in his large hands.

'I'm pleased to confirm you've both excelled at this first lesson,' he added with mock severity, 'next month we're holding an advanced class, I look forward to your attendance.'

Their hosts departed. Nicola walked gingerly over to Phil, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him long and hard, moulding her body to his as she did so.

'Just you wait your turn,' responded Ben firmly, as he led her unprotesting to the well-upholstered arm of the sofa. Off came the pleated skirt, the T-shirt followed. Two diminutive but prominent breasts, each nipple erect, were proffered. 'Not yet,' said Ben his voice barely a whisper but suddenly possessed by a confidence and authority he'd only previously imagined.

Having bent Nicola face down over the sofa's broad cushioned arm, legs straight and slightly apart, he stopped for a moment to survey his handiwork. Her glorious pert little bottom positively radiated heat. Angry red stripes embroidered the centre and a livid crimson hue gradually faded as it spread to her flanks and thighs.

Ben left a long interval between each of the subsequent six strokes of the cane, allowing the full stinging effect to warm its way towards the glistening treasure awaiting him in the valley below. Her beautiful, bare, blush-red arse bore marks that would stay for several days, yet he'd not thrashed her hard. There'd been no need.

And she knew. 'Now you've beaten me, what's next?' she enquired rhetorically, replacing the proffered spectacles. A visible tremor of desire ran through her lithe body. 'Please Ben. I need you, inside me, now.' By way of reply he loosened his belt and grasped her hips.

One step to heaven. Once more Nicola bent forward then once again went up onto her toes, the heat from her beaten bottom firing her loins and suffusing his as her new lover thrust deep and hard inside her.

Three months later, Nicola's first erotic novel was published to wide critical acclaim, even gaining plaudits from mainstream book reviewers. It was dedicated to: 'My two oldest friends, Louise and Phil, and my new mentor, Ben.'