Subculture

by Sarah Veitch

  As he said the word clit she felt the focused heat being applied to her left buttock again. Before she could cry out the hot pain shifted to the naked right globe so that the smarting sensation felt balanced. ‘Two nice hard fast ones,’ her employer’s voice said. ‘Just in case you got complacent about my rhythm.’

  ‘No - just got bored waiting,’ Lisa lied. She puckered up then relaxed her nether cheeks in a useless bid to lessen their anguish. Realised that she had another four to go.

  ‘Halfway there,’ Michael murmured, as if reading her thoughts. ‘How’s it been for you so far?’

  ‘Pointless,’ the herbalist said sharply.

  ‘Does this bit think it’s pointless?’ She felt his fingers on her achingly distended folds.

  ‘Don’t touch me,’ she muttered, then felt a new internal ache of disappointment as he moved his hand away. She didn’t want him to know that he’d aroused her, yet she desperately needed to come and come and come.

  ‘Could I take a rain check on the other four strokes?’ she said huskily. If he agreed and untied her he’d have to help her to her feet. She could sway against him. He’d look down at her and they’d kiss as if by accident, then he’d slide his fingers or tongue down her body and bring her relief.

  ‘Only good girls get rain checks,’ her employer replied smoothly.

  Lisa felt new rage and frustration sweep through her. ‘I’m good,’ she countered. ‘And I’m a woman, not a girl.’

  ‘You’re bad because you lie to yourself and others about what you want.’

  ‘A mind reader, are you, doctor?’ she sneered quickly.

  ‘Just perceptive. And I’ll continue to call you a girl as long as you behave like one. Real women know what they want in bed and find ways to ask for it every time.’

  ‘You mean you expect me to ask to taste your paddle or your palm?’ the herbalist asked incredulously. When he was talking to her he wasn’t punishing her soft flesh, so she was keen for the conversation to go on.

  ‘You know damn well that isn’t what I mean. There’d be no power struggle there. You’d have less fun.’ He paused, fondling her raised bareness. ‘Sweetheart, you enjoy the skirmish.’

  ‘Don’t enjoy this,’ Lisa said sourly.

  ‘Getting your bum thrashed? Of course not. But you enjoy the way it makes you especially wet.’ She closed her eyes nervously as she felt the air currents change, knew he’d lifted the paddle again above her bottom. ‘You love the quality of the climax which follows being disciplined. Your arse and nerve endings may hate it, honey, but it’s what your psyche and your pussy craves.’

  Before she could argue, he punished her with the hardwood implement again. Lisa cried out and drove her belly forward as she vainly tried to escape an iota of the hot impact. God, he was merciless. She wondered what colour her flesh was by now, wished she could see. ‘It’s colouring nicely,’ the doctor said. ‘You’re lucky that you’re fair skinned, love - means I get the shade that I want quite quickly. Takes longer to similarly chasten a beige-toned bum.’

  ‘I’m sure you manage to force yourself,’ Lisa muttered.

  ‘Indeed I do, and I’ve never had any complaints,’ the doctor said.

  She thought of the lustful way Carmen had looked in the photo, remembered the satisfied moans and yells of Jamilla and Dania. She wanted to join them in their orgasmic paradise.

  ‘Let’s treat these naughty hot cheeks to stroke six,’ Michael continued.

  ‘Oh let’s,’ Lisa jeered. Was aware that she wanted him to break through some barrier. But which barrier, and why?

  ‘I think we’ll toast the left cheek this time. It’s looking a bit left out, a bit neglected,’ her employer continued. Lisa held her breath. Neglected like her quim was, she thought dazedly, as ignored as her throbbing clitoris and pouting lower lips. She cried out as the paddle made searing contact with one bent-over bare buttock, and writhed madly in her bonds. She’d take the remaining two strokes and beg for ten more if he’d only give the gentlest of rubs at her love bud. Just a little feathery friction to her labia and she’d sing like a bird.

  ‘Now where shall we lay on the seventh whack?’ Michael Landers murmured with casual cruelty.

  ‘Want me to draw you a map?’ Lisa said.

  ‘No, just draw in your breath as the paddle strikes down.’ she heard the taunting tone enter his voice. ‘I like to see you wriggle, hear you groan.’

  ‘Pity for you that I’m staying immobile,’ Lisa replied. She willed both of her buttocks to stay smooth and relaxed beneath the punisher. Damned herself and him to hell as he doled out the seventh wallop and she jerked and moaned.

  ‘Last but not least, one stroke of the paddle coming up,’ the doctor quipped. She sensed him staring down at her half naked body. Wondered how her exposed small hemispheres must look. ‘Shall I roast the tender underswell?’ the man continued. ‘Or concentrate my energies on that helpless crack?’

  ‘Surprise me. Go on - use your imagination,’ Lisa snapped, trying to take verbal control of the situation.

  ‘If I was fully using my imagination I’d have you walking to heel in the gardens on your studded collar and lead,’ the former surgeon said. His voice grew dreamy as his musings continued. ‘I’d teach you how to show humility, how to give a paw.’

  ‘And I’d teach you what ten years in prison for assault is like, you supercilious bastard,’ Lisa spat out, pushing the exciting yet demeaning image away.

  Heard his low laugh. ‘But angel you’d have agreed to be trained. I’d have teased your hot wet pussy till you agreed to anything. Till you put your collar and lead in your mouth and brought them over to me.’

  ‘Dream on,’ the herbalist gasped out. Wished that his words weren’t making her crotch quite so swollen. Wished that she could assuage the heavy increasing heat between her tied-apart legs.

  How hard would the last paddling be? Each whack had sizzled and stung, but she sensed he’d been holding back, acclimatising her slowly to erotic chastisement. Would this final hardwood wallop vanquish her? Make her say that she’d do whatever he wished? Lisa wriggled on her belly in an agony of mild fear and anticipation as she waited for the lash.

  When it came, it heated the dividing crease of her backside. The fire seemed to race through to her lower belly and to her pubis. She shoved her clitoris shamelessly against the edge of the low stool and tried to maximise the friction on her labial lips.

  ‘Up until now I thought only canine bitches in heat rubbed their pussies against the furniture,’ Michael Landers said amusedly.

  ‘Fuck you.’ Her words came through a mist of desire.

  ‘I think you’d like to fuck me, my dear.’

  ‘Not if you were the last person on earth,’ Lisa retorted. She couldn’t show the conceited pig that she was unbearably aroused. She wondered if he was about to untie her, take her gently in his strong sure arms.

  He did. She held her breath as he slung her over his shoulder and carried her across the huge room to the bed. He set her down on her hands and knees atop the duvet.

  ‘Look in the dressing table mirror at your toasted arse, my sweet. There. Isn’t that pretty?’

  Numbly, Lisa turned her head back, stared at the smooth reflection of her naked rear. Both cheeks were a glowing hot crimson. So was her glistening sexual fringe. ‘Like what you see, do you?’ she managed.

  ‘Very much,’ Michael confirmed.

  Then touch me, lick me, feel me she thought dazedly. Waited for him to join her on the King Sized bed.

  And waited and waited and... Lisa flopped down upon her tummy, leaving her skirt rucked up. Let him stare at her paddled contours. Let him get stiff and stretched. He’d make some excuse in a moment to walk over and touch her.

  ‘I think I’ll go to sleep now,’ she said challengingly.

  ‘As you wish, my dear,’ Michael
said.

  The herbalist stared as he turned towards the door. He wouldn’t leave her like this - he just couldn’t! He’d watched Marie-Rose spanking Dania earlier tonight and now he’d paddled Lisa. He had to want to come as much as she. Any moment now he’ll turn back, she told herself as he continued to cross the long room. Any moment now...

  The door opened, closed. He’s calling my bluff, she rationalised. He’ll come back. He’ll cup my sore buttocks. I’ll think up some other wager so that he has an excuse to fondle my clit. She’d come really fast, then order him to leave her alone. That would show him! She’d have the last action and word.

  No she wouldn’t. Three minutes later Lisa acknowledged that her tormentor wasn’t going to return - at least not that evening. He’d left her with a sore bum and an aching quim. She slid her middle right digits inside herself, gliding in three slender fingers. Longed for a man’s thicker fingerpads. Or a man’s...

  She forced back the thought. Remembered the vibrator. Crawled to the edge of the bed then stumbled over to it. God, it’s width felt good. She realised belatedly that Michael might be planning to burst in, hoping to find her using the mechanical pleasurer. Hastily she double-locked the door.

  Groaning, the herbalist lay on her paddled bum. Her bare curves rubbed against the duvet sending fresh heat to her pubic region. She splayed her thighs far apart, imagining that they’d been cruelly staked there. Then she pictured some man warning her that he was now going to tease her with the machine, but that she wasn’t to come. Don’t wriggle, said the inner voice, or you’ll make your Master angry. Don’t even moan with pleasure or else he’ll have to take off his thick leather belt.

  Please, not your belt, she entreated inside her head.

  Yes, angel, it’s for your own good. It’ll make you better.

  But I’m not ill, she parried.

  Sweetheart, your pussy is all hot and feverish. It’s really sick.

  Groaning at the images, Lisa positioned the mock phallus at her soaking rim. It went in easy. She switched the base on to its first speed, knowing that she wouldn’t need any more. That paddling and Michael’s teasing words had taken her to the edge and kept her there for an unbearable period. Now it would take so little to make her come.

  Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. The smooth thickness oscillated inside her lubricated void, filling it with increasing rapture. The tiny movements thrilled through her tummy, her inner thighs, her swollen folds. She was almost there. Master I beg to come. That inner voice again. But do you deserve to come? asked her Master. Have you been an obedient little girl? She pictured his hands brushing lightly over her quivering rump as if he owned it. Or have you been a bad young slave who needs to be stripped and tied and whipped?

  ‘Aaaaah!’ Lisa moaned as the orgasmic surge shot through. She put her free hand to her mouth to stifle her cries of elation. Kept her right hand on the vibrator’s handle, holding the machine right in. Her paddled cheeks buffed against the cover as she pushed down and down and down to force out the last of the sweetness. Long moments later she switched off the sex toy and withdrew it gingerly from her satiated core.

  Sleepily, she turned over onto her tummy. She wondered what Michael was doing now. Hoped dazedly that he’d been forced to use some vibrating mechanical vagina. Could you buy such an object? He’d doubtlessly know. He knew how to secure the best mock phalluses, how to effectively lay on a paddle. Knew how to take a previously sensible egalitarian woman to the very limits of disciplined desire.

  To her limits and beyond? Lisa drifted towards sleep. She knew that if he’d kissed her after the thrashing she would have responded with the kind of ardour she hadn’t felt since she was a teenager. She’d felt the level of lust she’d felt as a seventeen year old petting in the backseat of some boyfriend’s father’s van. If he’d only held her and stroked her hair and moved his hands down to her sexual centre... But she wouldn’t plead for his caresses, and Michael had said he’d only make love to her if she begged.

  Chapter Seven

  She was an engaged woman - she had to concentrate on thoughts of her fiance, and of her work. Shakily, Lisa walked to her new Consultation Suite. It was four whole days since Michael had brought her to a shrieking and moaning orgasm with the vibrator. Four days of recalling the way the paddle had singed her helpless cheeks. The herbalist felt the traitorous frissons snake through her groin at the memory. She had to forget.

  She was grateful that Michael hadn’t referred to the incident again. At dinner each night since he’d been the genial if slightly formal host, making sure that everyone was well fed and catered for. Not one of the assembled staff had been spanked or teased or stripped.

  Now Lisa was to meet him for a chat before her first patient - and afterwards to see if he agreed with what she diagnosed.

  ‘Morning,’ she said as he sauntered in. She tried to look nonchalant. Admitted inwardly that she’d felt so much more in control in Scarborough on familiar ground.

  ‘Any clues from the case notes?’ Michael Landers asked. Lisa told him what she thought then held her breath until he nodded. ‘That’s what I figured,’ he murmured, looking pleased.

  ‘When I see the full answers to my questionnaire I should be able to make a more firm diagnosis,’ Lisa added.

  ‘Indeed. I’ve found that the same complaints crop up time and time again.’ The doctor smiled at her appreciatively. ‘Synthetic drugs don’t always deal with the underlying problem - which is where you come in.’

  ‘Me and my herbs,’ Lisa replied. She felt ridiculously happy. If only it could always be this way.

  An hour later the patient waved her grateful way out and Michael smiled his way back in. Lisa felt gloriously infallible.

  ‘Next,’ she said gaily, looking towards the door.

  Michael smiled. ‘You have your last consultation at three, after which Achille will be driving the patient home some way across the island. Do you want to go with him for a change of scene?’ He stretched out and picked up one of the thick tomes from her bookshelf, looking down at it intently. ‘He’ll be driving along past the harbour. It’s picturesque.’

  ‘Sure. I’d like that,’ Lisa said calmly. She’d been churlish to refuse his earlier chauffeuring offers. ‘Why doesn’t Achille live in?’ she continued curiously.

  ‘Oh, I only need him part time. And he has a wife - they run a cafe together.’

  ‘So only single female staff get rooms at Vitality,’ Lisa murmured, thinking out loud.

  ‘Ah, so you consider yourself to be single?’ Michael said. She sensed a note of triumph in his voice.

  ‘No, I’m... halfway there. Halfway to being married. I just meant... well, I’m only temporary. I don’t count.’

  ‘If you help every patient as much as you helped the woman you’ve just seen then your contribution will count a great deal,’ the doctor disputed. ‘You could stay on.’

  ‘No I can’t.’ The herbalist was surprised by the strength of her own response. ‘Reece wants to live in a less out of the way place, less countrified.’ She suspected that she was deliberately misunderstanding her new employer, that he meant she could stay on here alone.

  ‘And do you always do what Reece wants?’ Michael Landers asked softly.

  ‘No way.’ Lisa realised that in her relationships she was the one who usually called the shots, the one that men deferred to. ‘I’m a free agent, of course.’

  The doctor stared at her steadily. ‘Then as a free agent you could choose to live permanently at Vitality and further your career.’

  And further my submission with you? Lisa turned away from him and towards her notebook, pretending to write down some additional information. ‘I got a letter from Reece today. He’s missing me a lot,’ she mumbled awkwardly.

  ‘That’s understandable.’

  ‘He - I’ll get Achille to show me where the Post Office is.’ Lisa continued
quickly, ‘You know, for when I write back to Reece.’

  Michael left. Lisa started to write to her fiance immediately. Maybe if she sent some of her words and thoughts to Reece she’d start to feel closer to him. Would overwrite the lust she’d felt when Michael Landers bared her bottom and tied her over a stool and brought a hardwood paddle swishing down.

  Her next patient came and went. Then another. Lisa kept hoping that Michael would reappear so that she could enjoy his professional friendship and respect. Suddenly lonely, she fought back the urge to seek him out in his surgery. She settled instead for grilling the inscrutable Marie-Rose.

  ‘Is Dr Landers busy?’ she asked casually.

  The older woman nodded. ‘He’s always busy.’

  ‘Non-stop work, is it?’ Lisa continued.

  The Receptionist looked at her more intently. ‘No, he makes time for personal friends.’

  Was he seeing someone just now? Lisa kept the question inside. Didn’t want to appear to be fishing for information. Natural curiosity could so easily be confused for personal regard.

  ‘He runs a tight ship,’ the herbalist murmured, remembering Michael’s own earlier words. She looked back at Marie-Rose, hoping that she’d divulge further detail of the man’s lifestyle.

  ‘He certainly does,’ the Maltese receptionist said with obvious pride. She turned to the side of the Reception hatch and neatly stacked five coloured records cards. ‘He has a place for everything and keeps everything in its place.’

  And everyone, Lisa thought warily. It seemed that Michael had the right to call in to her consultation suite whenever he wished, but he hadn’t encouraged her to reverse the procedure. If she went to see him now she’d feel like she was taking too much for granted or intruding on his valuable time.

  At the end of her working day she showered, snacked and changed. Then Achille knocked on her bedroom door. ‘Siska’s already in the front seat awaiting the drive home,’ he said lightly. ‘Prepare to hear her life story - she’s a big Dr Landers fan.’