‘How many?’ queried Annette, a good deal more panicky than she’d thought she’d be.
‘Until I get bored with thrashing your really rather beautiful bare bottom,’ averred Jake, as if the fact were obvious.
‘Perhaps now your wanton behaviour in the restaurant seems ill-judged, to say the least? Grip the back of the chair tightly, try not to cry out too loudly and above all keep still.’
Annette did as Jake instructed, defiantly pushing out her curvaceous rear to meet the first of a succession of strokes. Jake worked steadily, pausing between each blow, taking the tip of the tawse in his left hand, carefully measuring his aim and then, WHACK, bringing the thick pliable leather flashing down with satisfyingly sharp cracks across her silky white skin.
Methodically he strapped her ripe, firm posterior, each successive stroke reducing the area of virgin skin unvisited by the tawse’s fiery kiss until the blows began to overlap.
By which point Annette could maintain her composure no longer, plaintively crying out, weaving her buttocks in anguish and gripping the chair back until her knuckles turned white. All the while her perfect peach of a bottom was soundly punished; only when it glowed a uniform red from the summit of her now glowing moons to the tops of her stockings did Jake cease. Annette, oblivious to the dishevelled spectacle she now presented, leapt to her feet, hands frantically massaging her blazing rear for the second time that day, dark, curly and discernibly damp pubic hair blatantly on show. Eventually she ceased her impromptu jig to slump defeated against Jake who held her gently.
‘Oh you beast,’ she protested softly, eyes brimming but somehow summoning the ghost of smile, ‘I won’t be able to sit down for days.’ To illustrate her point Annette took his hands and guided them to her smarting rump, wincing at even this gentle contact. ‘Feel how hot you’ve made me,’ she pouted in an injured tone.
‘Indeed I can,’ affirmed Jake, his roving palm gliding across her curves, the better to determine evidence of her body’s treacherous arousal. ‘Dangerously erect nipples too,’ he confirmed, aware of her shivering at his touch, ‘and a pussy that’s positively sopping.’
‘High time you gave it a good hard fucking then,’ urged Annette crudely, shamelessly grinding her crotch against his questing digits.
‘When I’ve completed your punishment,’ agreed Jake.
‘No, darling, please, I can’t possibly endure any more,’ wailed Annette.
‘You’ll take six, and you’ll count them,’ snapped Jake uncompromisingly, waving a slender riding crop in front of her. Dragging her to bedroom he pushed Annette roughly onto her hands and knees on the bed, divesting her of her skirt. Annette waited in trepidation, naked from the waist down, her inundated sex and bottom cleft clearly exposed to Jake’s voyeuristic enjoyment, the wanton shamelessness of her pose only increasing her sexual excitement. Drinking in the site of her truly magnificent rear, Jake felt his cock stiffen to almost painful proportions.
‘Six,’ he intoned solemnly.
Annette thrust her livid and no doubt sore bum out defiantly. ‘The ritual must take its course,’ she replied throatily, ‘go on, finish me off with a thorough thrashing.’
Jake nodded silently, cruelly flicking the leather flap at the crop’s tip against Annette’s inner thighs, drawing sharp exclamations of discomfort in response to each cruel kiss.
Slowly he drew the crop’s shaft along the slit of her vagina, parting her already lubricated labial lips and making Annette gasp at the indelicate intrusion. Maintaining her position, she tensed her muscles and closed her eyes, the first stroke could only be seconds away.
WHACK!
‘One!’ Her voice rose several octaves.
Successive strokes followed rapidly, each harder than its predecessor. Desperately she struggled to call out the count.
‘Two, Ooh!’
‘Three. Argh!’
Jake blazed the crop across her full globes.
‘Four, Christ!’
‘Five, Wooo!’
‘Six, yes, ooh!’ Annette shrieked, bucking like a horse.
‘Oh, but you’re wet,’ cried Jake, loosening his trousers he pushed the tip of his thick shaft inch by inch into her pouting pussy. Silently she thrust back her hips in invitation, attempting to skewer her sopping sex on his rampant rod.
‘Time for you to be fucked to the hilt,’ he gasped, lunging forward savagely.
‘Oh yes, do it, Jake, do it!’ Her voice was almost a scream.
Jake’s strong hands stilled her writhing bottom, pulling Annette onto the strong shaft of his erect cock. Her body reared at his touch, Annette’s moist slippery nether lips yielded, one moment his prick was poised between her pouting labia, the next he had sheathed it slowly, inexorably up her silky slot until her hot, expertly whipped bottom pressed firmly back into his belly. At which point, noisily, exuberantly, with a shudder of long pent-up pleasure, Annette came.
Patiently Jake waited for her excitement to ebb then, holding her haunches firmly, he continued to fuck her deeply from behind. ‘Oh God, it’s been so long,’ murmured Annette, abandoning herself to wave after wave of enjoyment, glorying in the sensation of being filled and stretched to the limit by Jake’s engorged member, and then promptly came again.
Carefully Jake turned her over, laying Annette gently on her back. She winced as her sore behind rubbed against the course fabric of the designer bedspread and moaned in ecstatic abandon when Jake grasped her nylon-clad knees, lifted her legs to her chest, spread her wide, and penetrated her cunt to the very core; thrusting determinedly until, within a few short minutes, he gave a cry of satisfied triumph and she came yet again.
‘Congratulations on getting the job, you must be very pleased?’ said the attractive young human resources staffer as she walked alongside Jake through the corridors of his new employer’s impressive multi-storey office a couple of weeks later.
‘Pleased and relieved,’ announced Jake with feeling, ‘it was a testing interview process.’
‘You did very well against stiff competition,’ explained Jake’s corporate companion. ‘The only remaining formality is to meet your new boss; the company’s founder likes a few minutes with every new recruit.’ She popped her head around a large oak door, ‘yes, the MD’s free to see you now.’
In retrospect it was hard to recall who had been the most surprised since both parties rallied quickly to cover their embarrassed astonishment. Not quite fast enough for the personnel officer and the MD’s secretary not to detect a momentary tension in the air and exchange conspiratorially puzzled glances behind their backs.
‘Welcome,’ the good-looking middle-aged woman behind the desk rose to extend a hand of greeting, checking her impulse to call him Jake and just in time recalling the surname on the file in front of her. ‘My name’s Annette Robinson. I’m the CEO of the company.’
‘Very pleased to meet you, Ms Robinson,’ replied Jake levelly, taking full advantage of the few extra seconds available to him to collect himself. ‘I’m absolutely sure I’ll enjoy working here.’
Four and a Half Acre Wood
by Congressio
Lady Christina abruptly spurred her bay gelding into a gallop. A moment later, Anne followed suit. Heads flattened to their horses’ necks, the girls gave chase across His Lordship’s field, heading straight for Four and a Half Acre Wood.
No one knew why it was so called. It didn’t appear by name on maps dated before 1731; the area was shown as extensively forested and simply marked “HuntingForest”. An estate map of 1732 showed the name “Four and a Half Acre Wood”, but even allowing for vagueness of scale and draughtsmanship, it was clearly much larger than its name suggested. By 1985, however, it had reduced in size and the Ordnance Survey maps of around that time suggested it covered around five acres.
Lady Christina was His Lordship’s trophy wife. Twenty-seven years younger, she had married for money and position. He had married to have a beautiful woman on his arm at banquets and for sex. A pr
ostate problem, exacerbated by too many of the former, had diminished his appetite for the latter, much to Lady Christina’s relief as she preferred younger, more virile men in her bed; and women too … especially her good friend and riding companion, Anne.
Unusually, given his public school upbringing, His Lordship had not discovered his wife’s other sexual appetite, that most English of sins: a good, long, hard spanking on the bare buttocks. Had he done so, he would doubtless have obliged her. And he would undoubtedly have had her flog him in return. The English aristocracy seemed to have spent much of their schooling with their bottoms in the air … receiving either a firm caning or a stout buggering.
Lady Christina eased the reins and stood up in the stirrups, slowing her horse as they approached the wood. She slowed firstly to a canter, then to a trot and finally to a walk. Anne reined down her chestnut mare similarly.
“Why are we here?” she puffed, slightly breathless from their careening ride across the fields.
“I’ve found the perfect place,” whispered Christina. “We’ll dismount here and walk in. It’s not far. Bring your whip.”
These last words started a fire in Anne’s stomach and immediately dampened the crotch of her riding breeches. She never wore knickers when riding.
They hitched the horses on long reins to some low branches, allowing them to graze on the sparse grass at the edge of the wood.
Christina led the way, carrying her riding crop and occasionally cracking it against the side of a riding boot. The whistle and crack stirred Anne’s appetite and the crotch of her breeches became even wetter. As Christina ducked under a low-hanging branch, Anne could see a damp stain spreading in the V of her jodhpurs and knew Christina was getting as turned on as she was. She shivered with delight and anticipation.
They halted. “There we are. What do you think?”
Anne looked around the small glade. It was some thirty yards in diameter, ringed by the deciduous trees that had typically made up Four and a Half Acre Wood since the late eighteenth century. She noted oak, beech and horse chestnut and a walnut or two. The floor was carpeted with last year’s leaves, slowly decaying into a rich leaf mould. Dotted here and there were the empty husks of horse chestnuts, so beloved of children for the quintessentially English game of conkers; she spotted several acorns too, turned brown by the passing year. Although it was now September, the canopy above their heads had not yet begun to take on its autumn colour but the fat tree seeds she could see hanging pendulous from the tips of many twigs would soon sprinkle the glade with their bright greenery amid the russets, oranges, yellows and reds of the falling leaves.
The sun struggled to penetrate the interwoven branches and leaf quilt above their heads, and what light made it through suffused the clearing with a green tinge. Moss covered several fallen trunks, adding to the greenness.
Ahead of her was an unusual branch. Around a foot thick it grew at right angles from the base of an oak tree, running parallel to the ground and at just the right height to be bent over for a spanking and more. She walked forward and saw just behind it another branch, similarly parallel to the ground and at the right distance and of the right thickness to be grasped while bent over the larger branch. Both branches were moss-covered, but the moss on the main branch was squashed and partly rubbed away in one place. Behind it there were two clear spots on the thinner branch, just where one would grip it when bent over the main branch. Anne turned to Lady Christina quickly to applaud her on her marvellous and fortuitous discovery, to find that she had come up close behind. They embraced and necked quietly for a while.
Anne broke away. “It seems you have visited here before, you little minx.”
“Just twice. I’ll tell you about it later. Both times were with men. But now it’s just you and me.”
“It looks so perfect. Let’s try it out.”
“Let’s. But who’s to go first?”
With that, Christina turned around, bent down and picked something up from the carpet of last year’s leaves and seeds. She put both hands behind her back, juggled something between them then presented her fists palm down for Anne to choose.
“Pick the acorn to go first.”
Anne didn’t really mind which order they went in, but played along. She laid both hands over Christina’s fists and struck a thinking pose.
“Hmm. Left or right? Right or left? I don’t know … yes, yes, right, right!”
Lady Christina turned over both hands and opened them. There was an acorn in each.
“Cheat!” shouted Anne. “Now you must go first. And you’ve earned an extra six for cheating.”
Christina leant forwards and kissed Anne, slipping her tongue inside her mouth.
“I knew you’d see it my way,” she murmured, and handed her riding crop to Anne. “Your choice of weapon, madam.”
Christina walked to the horizontal branch, unzipped her jodhpurs and eased them down her legs to the top of her riding boots. Like Anne, she worn no knickers. Inside the crotch was wet and beautifully pungent.
She bent forwards across the branch, rising on tiptoes to grasp the far branch, then settling herself ready for whatever was coming to her. The twin globes of her creamy bottom were perfectly presented for a hand-spanking and for what would follow.
Anne stuffed her crop down her left boot and flexed Christina’s a couple of times before stuffing it alongside her own. She strode towards Christina’s prostrate form and positioned herself on the left. She stroked Her Ladyship’s smooth flesh. There were no traces from any previous flagellation, so she knew from past experience that it must have been at least a week since Christina had received the cane, although the marks of a hand-spanking would have disappeared more quickly. She ran her fingers lasciviously down the crack between Christina’s cheeks, her fingernails brushing the puckered hole and then dipping briefly between the lips of the coral labia peeking coyly between Christina’s thighs. They both shuddered from the sexual tension building between them.
“Ten each side to warm up,” Anne announced. Christina’s buttocks wiggled in anticipation. “There’s no need to count these.”
Anne drew her right arm back and delivered a stinging smack to Christina’s left buttock. The next fell on the right cheek.
Anne waited. A faint pink blush began to show on each rounded target. A faint handprint on the otherwise unblemished surface.
The next four smacks were delivered to each cheek in turn in short order. Christina gasped with each of the last.
“Wow! I’m warming up nicely.”
The pink blush was steadily reddening and covering the whole of Christina’s bottom. No longer could individual prints be distinguished; they were merging into a single broad stain of cerise flesh.
Anne shifted her stance and her aim. Now, instead of swinging her arm slightly downwards, she swung upwards, catching Christina from below and in the crease between her bottom and her thighs.
“Ouch! Ouch!” sprang from Christina’s lips as the pair of blows landed. The tops of her thighs were particularly sensitive. Anne waited until she saw them turning pink, knowing that as they did so, the accompanying sting was spreading upwards and downwards too.
Five more smacks then landed in quick succession, turning the underside of Christina’s bottom and the tops of her thighs cherry red.
“Double wow.”
Anne wetly kissed each cheek in turn, laving her tongue over the entire surface and dipping into the crack between them. Christina wriggled and sighed.
“Well, now! What have we here?”
The deep male voice was unexpected and unnerving. Engrossed in themselves, neither Anne nor Christina had heard any approach. They had thought themselves alone and unlikely to be discovered.
Anne spun around, but Christina remained prostrate over the branch, her pert and now very red bottom evidently on show. A slow smile spread across her face. She had recognised the voice.
“Good afternoon,” the intruder said, raising his cap politely
above a weather-beaten face. “I’m Tom, the estate manager – Big Tom they call me. And this is my son, Tom.”
Anne was flustered. Tom the estate manager seemed unperturbed by the sight of his mistress half naked and showing the after-effects of a good spanking. For his son Tom this seemed to be altogether a different affair. His eyes were sticking out and, glancing at his crotch, Anne observed that his cock was too. If Tom the estate manager was Big Tom, his son certainly wasn’t Little Tom … at least not where it counted.
“Well, then,” Big Tom intoned, looking at his mistress’s reddened bottom. “It looks as though we arrived at the right time to lend a hand or two.”
He turned to Anne. “Give me your whip and give milady’s riding crop to Little Tom here.”
Anne meekly pulled them from her riding boot and handed both implements over. Big Tom was a broad-shouldered man, and as he rolled up his right sleeve Anne noted solid muscle on his forearms. His biceps bulged. Little Tom copied his father, but with his left sleeve. He too was well muscled. Together, they took station either side of Lady Christina. “How many was it to be?” Big Tom asked.
“Twelve. Oh, and an extra six for cheating in the draw as to who went first.”
“So, it’s eighteen strokes for milady, and how many for you?”
Anne quivered. She had expected Christina to spank and thrash her, not two brawny men. She became conscious that her breeches were now very obviously stained around her crotch, and was keenly aware that both Big and Little Tom had noticed.
“Twelve.”
The number came from the bent-over Lady Christina. Anne dumbly nodded in agreement. “Twelve.”
“Twelve it shall be then. Now, milady, I hope you’ve got a firm grip of that bough. Eighteen from Tom and me will test you sorely.” He chuckled at his joke.
Anne gulped. She’d expected twelve in total. Now it seemed it would be twelve from each man, twenty-four strokes all told. She rubbed her bottom, shivered and gulped again. “Oh my poor bottom,” she thought.
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