by Sarah Steel
The whip. He struggled up to his feet, swayed and was forced down by firm hands, one taloning set of long fingers cradling and squeezing his balls. They propelled him belly-down across a leather-topped stool, gagging his mouth and binding his wrists tightly together behind him. Heavy buttocks - the grey-eyed blonde - pinned him down as she straddled him. He shuddered, delighting in and yet dreading their soft warmth on his back.
'Warm him up,' the ringleader barked harshly.
The onlookers stepped back to observe his chastisement as the grey-eyed blonde, sliding her bottom towards his neck, lowered her breasts into him as she sank her face down to inspect his buttocks. He writhed as he felt her hands cup and spread his cheeks apart, felt her supple thumbs prising his cleft painfully wide. Despite his fear, his thick shaft dug into the leather stool, twitching and pulsing as her fingernails scraped his anal whorl. She sat upright - he felt the swell of her perched buttocks ripple - to accept a short leather belt from the brunette. He clenched his cheeks in a spasm of anguish as she dangled the tip of the belt across his rounded buttocks, dipping it into his cleft.
Crack, crack, crack. His upturned cheeks jerked in response to the withering lash. Crack, crack, crack. The grey-eyed blonde bounced as she delivered each stroke, her damp slit saluting him with a Judas kiss each time she plied the leather. Seven more times, in furious, merciless succession, the cruel length of hide cracked down, snapping onto his rump and blistering his cheeks. She drew the belt up to her lips to kiss and tongue it feverishly, then tossed it aside, returning her cruel hands to ravish his crimsoned flesh. He came, grunting thickly, as her nails raked the crown of each punished cheek.
'Watch him,' barked the dominant brunette, hauling the blonde away. 'Look.'
Sliding down from the stool, his belly smeared with his own sticky warmth, the milkman groaned softly as he saw the four faces peering down at the tell-tale sheen on the wet leather.
'I'm not going to get my full pint at this rate. Take his gag off and make him lick it up.'
A hand reached down, grabbed his hair, dragging his face into the warm silvery puddle. His gag was whipped away. He refused to lick.
'Use the belt.'
Whimpering slightly as another hand snatched up the belt and plied it across his defenceless buttocks four times, he lapped up his own warm mess.
'Now get me a bottle,' the brunette barked, flexing her yellow gloves impatiently, 'and put that gag back on.'
A willing pair of hands sprang to obey both commands. As the gag was roughly applied, he glimpsed the yellow rubber-sheathed fingers of the brunette's right hand closing around the empty milk bottle.
'Up,' she ordered.
He knelt up and shuffled back from the stool. She strode forward and sat upon it, her heavy bottom dimpling the shining leather. She nodded, parting her thighs. Two pairs of hands assisted him to his feet, pushed him towards her and guided him across her knees. He shuddered as the wet knout of his throbbing shaft grazed her inner thigh.
'Hold him down while I position the bottle.'
Pinned down, from his inverted viewpoint he saw her yellow-gloved hand guiding the empty milk bottle down the tip of his extended shaft. He grunted as she tried to sleeve him with the cold glass, writhing as she gave the bottle a deft twist.
'It's no good. He's too thick for a bottle. Pass me that jug,' the brunette instructed, retrieving the bottle.
A plastic jug from the food mixer was positioned on the cork tiles beneath her parted thighs. She scooped it up and placed it at his throbbing length, instructing a naked accomplice to kneel and hold it.
'And now we milk the milkman,' she laughed softly, taking him firmly in her rubber-gloved hand. 'We shall get our pint.'
He closed his eyes and shuddered.
'Commence,' came the crisp command.
Opening his eyes in a reflex of alarm, he found himself staring directly into the bobbing breasts of a bending nude. The breasts were slightly pear-shaped, the flesh smooth and silky. The strip of neon up above illuminated the swollen outer curves deliciously and gave the deep cleavage an inviting shadow. Despite his fear, his erection twitched. The yellow rubber-sheathed fingers grasping it tightened their dominant grip.
'I am going to spank you,' the bending nude whispered, cupping and bunching her heavy bosom so that her peaked nipples brushed his perspiring face. 'I am going to spank your bare bottom very hard, you wicked young man. My daughter-in-law has confessed everything to me. And she too has been punished, although I intend to keep a very strict eye on her from now on. But this morning, it is time for you to suffer.'
His eyes flickered up, finding no mercy in her stern gaze. Rising, she briefly crushed her stubby nipples into his eyes. Seconds later, she was bending down over his upturned buttocks, her left hand pinning his neck firmly, her right hand palming his cheeks in preparation for the rain of pain to come. He tensed, squeezing his cheeks together tightly. The gloved fingers around his shaft responded painfully.
'Relax your buttocks, milkman,' the brunette controlling him across her lap instructed. 'My friend prefers to spank a soft bottom.'
He refused, keeping his cleft a tightened flesh-crease. The yellow glove released his shaft and, as it cupped his balls, slowly became a fist. He yelped and instantly surrendered his bottom up to its doom.
The flurry of harsh spanks rang out loudly against the shining tiled walls of the kitchen. The firm, flattened palm of the punishing hand swept down harder after the ninth searing swipe, and faster after the thirteenth. Grunting and cursing into his restricting gag - but rendered immobile by the rubber glove at his balls - the bare-buttocked milkman suffered severely as his reddening cheeks seethed.
'I'm milking him now,' his tormentress announced, her tone primly clinical.
He felt the rubber-gloved fingers encircling, then gripping, his massive length. The harsh staccato of the spanking hand continued to bark aloud across his crimson buttocks, and the gloved hand milked him rhythmically. Burning and squirming in his shame and pain, the milkman tensed and jerked his bottom up, as if desirous of harsher discipline. His neck strained against the hand that pinned it down and he squeezed his thighs together, screamed a smothered cry of anguished delight and came, squirting his liquid release noisily into the plastic jug.
Eager faces, their wide eyes sparkling with shocked delight, peered under his belly at his pulsing, glistening glans as five more savage spanks cracked down across his cheeks. His orgasm spasmed and ceased, though the edge of the plastic jug scraping across him to catch the last sticky pearl caused him to hammer his hips in helpless abandon.
'Not much from that one,' the grey-eyed blonde opined doubtfully, holding the jug aloft in triumph and squinting into it. 'I make it 8cc. It's going to be a long job getting the full pint.'
'We have all the time we need,' the cruel brunette whispered, absently plucking out a wiry black hair from his pink anus.
'No, please, I'm sorry. I'll do anything, anything—' His words, his pleas for pity were genuine. But they went unheard, being merely another muffled moan to the ears of his implacable punishers.
'Next,' the brunette commanded.
A faint trace of Orange Water announced his second punisher.
It was the blonde, the grey-eyed blonde who had measured his first contribution to the plastic jug.
'I want him kneeling on the floor,' she announced.
Her victim was positioned, thighs slightly apart, to her satisfaction.
'Give him the jug. He can hold it himself, this time.'
The milkman, his hands released from their bondage, clasped the jug reluctantly at first, but an imperious tap from a warning fingertip had him angling it correctly so that it received his flaccid member.
Standing directly behind her kneeling victim, the blonde guided her left foot between his parted thighs and tapped his balls with her pink-varnished toenails. He clamped his thighs together, trapping her foot. She steadied herself; her left arm stretched out to grip his shou
lder.
'Open up,' she snarled softly.
The jug trembled as he obeyed - and trembled again as she continued to toe his sac in slow, sweeping circles with her upraised foot. Peering briefly over his shoulder, she glimpsed his manhood thickening and arrowing into the waiting jug.
The other nudes watched, their eyes vicious slits of eager expectation. 'Keep going,' the brunette whispered, flexing her gloved fingers slowly. 'Almost there.'
The grey-eyed blonde suddenly withdrew her foot, knelt down behind her victim and called aloud for a wooden spoon.
'Butter the handle,' she instructed.
The pale pear-wood spoon, its thick shaft glistening with a daub or butter, was supplied. The blonde brushed the concave bowl of the spoon against her slit, then returned the pale pear-wood to her wet heat to bruise it deliberately, causing her to snarl in pleasurable pain.
'Don't spill a single drop, milkman,' her voice curdled. After a brief silence, the wooden spoon spoke, harshly swiping his right buttock. With her left hand still gripping his shoulder, she sensed his body tense, sensed his gathering climax and the approaching ejaculation.
Both in response to the swiping spoon across his rump - and the cool touch of dominance at his shoulder - his naked body spasmed in her absolute thrall. Judging him to be only seconds away from release, the blonde twirled the spoon deftly in her hand as she sank to her knees and rammed the buttered shaft in between his cheeks. Probing the anus, she pumped him wickedly. With a loud groan into the choking gag, he slumped, emptying himself with a splatter into the plastic jug. As his seed spurted, the wooden shaft pumped rhythmically. His buttocks clenched to trap and contain it - but her skill with the buttered wood was too much for him.
'That gives us 17cc so far,' the brunette chuckled, holding up the jug and examining the clouded fluid. 'Give him a quick shower, some slow humiliation and half an hour's rest.'
They had been tenderly brutal with him in the shower. Bound at the wrists once more, he had been propelled by three of his four naked captors under a freezing sluice. The fourth, the grey-eyed blonde who had used the spoon so cunningly, knelt down by the bathtub, knees splayed, playing with herself until she had squealed her own climax loud and long.
Fingering the shower gel into his most secret places, they deliberately nannied him into utter humiliation - a humiliation completed when the yellow rubber gloves visited his foreskin with a fastidious sponge, and in between his cheeks with a cruel nailbrush at his cleft. Cursing into his tight gag as he twisted and writhed to avoid the nailbrush, he was forced to submit to their total domination. Roughly towelled and then intimately talcumed - the grey-eyed blonde splashing a cupped handful of stinging Orange Water into his sensitive cleft for good measure - he was tossed down onto a bed and allowed to drift off into a dream-crazed sleep.
They woke him with black coffee laced with brandy. His mouth was sore after the gag, and he had to work his lips for several moments before gulping down the welcome drink. Over the rim of the white mug, his eyes rose up sorrowfully to meet the brunette's stern gaze.
She launched into a harsh rebuke, pouring scorn on his assumed potency and mocking his reputed prowess, stinging him with her cruel taunts as sharply as the leather belt. Satisfied that she had made her point adequately - the giggled laughter of the others confirmed this - she warned him firmly off the young housewives and then produced the plastic jug with an ominous flourish. 'Still a long way to go,' she continued, adding, 'but we have the rest of the day. I'm sure they won't be missing you at the betting office.'
He looked up, frowning.
'Oh, we have been watching you very closely, milkman. We know every little thing you do.'
He lowered his head.
'Take today, for example. By now you would have parked the milk float behind that pub in Cross Street. After an hour or two in there, you would stagger over to the bookies. Nobody will miss you, milkman, and that makes you completely ours.'
They ordered him to kneel against the side of the bed. The grey-eyed blonde took control of the plastic jug and held it carefully between her thighs as she knelt upon the bed. Guiding his shaft into the jug, she buried his ungagged face into her soft bosom. 'Begin,' she murmured.
They caned him, the other three nudes stepping up in turn to swish-slice his bare bottom with whippy little garden canes.
'Suck,' she commanded, adding a stern caution not to bite. Flinching under the welter of searing cane strokes as the supple bamboo lashed his cheeks, he obeyed her instruction, guzzling at the pebble-hard nipples and sucking upon them frenziedly. Transfixed in his pleasure-pain, the milkman's shaft became engorged: so stiff did the urgent spear grow that it raked up and threatened to dislodge the plastic jug. The grey-eyed blonde adjusted her posture and realigned the jug, smothering his face as she did so with her suffocating pillows of swollen satin flesh.
Swish, swipe. Swish, swipe. Relentlessly, though not with maximum savagery, the canes strokes impelled him towards the trembling brink of explosive release. Nuzzling the firm ripeness of the blonde's heavy breasts, he pumped his hips and cried out aloud as a vicious stroke lashed him instantly into a searing ecstasy. The squirt and sporadic splatter of his ejaculation was audible, despite his soft screams of delicious agony.
'26cc now,' he heard a distant voice say. 'Coming along nicely.' He heard other vixen voices laughing. He opened his sweat-scalded eyes to see the plastic jug being passed around and held up for close scrutiny. It came to rest before the cool appraisal of the rubber-gloved brunette.
'Coming along,' she echoed, chuckling darkly.
Spreadeagled, his wrists and ankles were bound to the bedposts with nylon stockings. As he squirmed, the impromptu but effective bondage burnt. They mounted him, one at a time, kneeling down over - then onto - his helpless, upturned face. He spluttered and gasped as the first heavy bottom smothered him, subsiding into muted moaning as the hot, feral flesh above was expertly rasped across his mouth. His erection rose sluggishly in response to the first vigorous queening; straightened potently as the second wet slit and hot cleft raked his mouth; engorged painfully as the third nude rode him ruthlessly - squeezing her heavy buttocks into him punishingly - and exploded in a shimmering jet that rattled against the strategically positioned jug as the fourth Valkyrie straddled her helpless mount, demanding that he tongue her bittersweet sphincter.
'31cc and rising,' was the verdict from the brunette, who was carefully calibrating the contents of the plastic jug.
To his surprise, they did not loosen his bonds - nor did they produce a whip, crop or paddle. His bare buttocks, reddened and painfully scored with earlier punishments, escaped chastisement for the next ninety minutes. It was an hour and a half he would remember for the rest of his life.
They used little balls of cotton wool and feathersoft brushes. They used foundation cream, blusher, face-powder, eye-liner, lipstick, lip-gloss and an eyebrow pencil - giggling as they squashed nakedly around his prostrate body.
He resisted more vehemently than in his earlier attempts to escape the lash and the cane, twisting his face from side to side: but the cruel rubber glove at his balls quelled his frantic protests, forcing him to submit and surrender as they feminised him totally.
Burning with deep shame at the bizarre face staring back at him from the hand-held mirror, he felt tears trickling down to furrow the alien make-up. The sweetness of the lipstick on his mouth failed to mask the sour taste of haunting humiliation. Without using a single instrument of discipline or correction - or spilling a single drop of his semen - they broke the milkman as easily as he would smash a bottle on a concrete path.
'One last donation to the milk fund,' the brunette purred, untying his ankles as the others tackled the nylon stockings at his aching wrists.
Handing him two nylons as he sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his freed wrists, the brunette ordered him to don them. He obeyed, palming them up his sinewy calves and fingering the darker bands stretching around his thighs.
'Turn over, face down,' the brunette continued, tapping the bed dominantly with a rubber-sheathed finger: though in a soothing, seductive voice.
Meekly, he obeyed, drawing his stockinged legs together. A dildo, wickedly curved at the glinting knout, was produced and lubricated with face-cream. The yellow-gloved hand teased his sphincter with it for several minutes before slipping it in between his parted cheeks. He sobbed softly as the supple wrist of the brunette pumped. Stiffening and arching his back seven minutes later, his shaft speared the duvet.
'Catch it,' the brunette cried, jabbing at the plastic jug.
The grey-eyed blonde giggled. 'Just in time.'
'That makes nearly half a pint,' the brunette whispered. 'You may go now, milkman, but we expect to see you here next week,' she tapped the jug, 'for the rest of your delivery.'
The cock of the walk, now a capon, grunted softly and nodded.
The brunette tapped his nose with the sticky tip of the dildo. 'We thought you would,' she smirked.
Servile Maid
Tuppence opened her eyes - and smiled as she suddenly remembered. The shrill whistle that had just woken her must be the early morning market train bound for Much Wenlock. It was Lammas Eve. Every chocolate-coloured third-class carriage would be full of fat farmers and their fatter wives struggling with dressed poultry, eggs, rounds of dark yellow cheese and baskets of flowers.
Lammas Eve. Tomorrow, all the surrounding Shropshire countryside would be bringing in the harvest. Tomorrow night, lusty farm lads would chase wanton girls around -and then into - the haystacks. Tuppence smiled sleepily, her fingertips dabbling at her nipples lazily, as she imagined bare-breasted girls plucking straw out of their tousled hair beneath the big harvest moon. Bare-breasted girls wiping their wet bellies and thighs dry with the sleeves of their ripped gowns, drying the sticky seed sown by the lusty harvesters.
